Too Much of a Good Thing

I found this interesting article and video about a man in Ethiopia with 12 wives and 78 children. Here is an excerpt from the article:

In this remote, densely-populated region of Ethiopia, it is common for men to have multiple wives. In Ayatu's case this tradition has backfired. Years ago, he had enough land and food to satisfy everyone's needs. This changed when Ayatu had to sell land or cattle to make the dowry payment for each new wife he took, usually a sum of between $500 and $1,000. Now, the family compound is almost bare from overgrazing, two of his wives have moved with cattle in search of greener pastures, and two others died from unknown illnesses in the 1990s. The situation is so desperate that Ayatu cannot afford to send his children to secondary school, and he is marrying off two of his 15-year-old daughters to ensure they are fed. Thirteen others are living with their married siblings.

Read the article or you can watch the video:

Foreigner in a Familar Land

As I write part two on my trip to Addis, I think of all the stories I read about the poor conditions in Ethiopia and wondered what I would find when I arrived. Many people talk about the situation of beggars approaching them as they leave the airports and move throughout the city screaming out to them "ferengi" or foreigner. I've read how families develop strategies for dealing with the beggars; some decide to hand out money, others swear that we should buy fruit, a few take sweet treats from home, and I've even heard of people handing out pens. I've read some who say that there are far too many beggars and that you will never have enough and so when you start giving out anything more come.

With those stories in my head the only thing that I was fearful of was landing alone in Addis at 9:30pm dependent on strangers who said they would pick me up at the airport. Would they be there on time? How would I know them and how would they know me? In looking for my strangers would I be swarmed by beggars coming out of dark places? I am usually game for any challenge but as my plane landed I felt my heart racing a little. I've landed in tiny airports like the one in Kingston, Jamaica that greets you with tropic heat and people singing. I've landed in Los Cabos, Mexico where you have to hit the button to find out if you will get a green light for go or be stopped on red. I've landed in San Juan and Mexico City, and even at the tiny airport hut on Martha's vineyard, but in this unfamiliar land so far away, I wondered what I would find.

I guess if I'd given some thought to the fact that large Jets from Ethiopian Air, Turkish Air, Lufthansa, Emirates, and Alitalia are landing there daily, I might have envisioned a large international airport like so many I've landing in around the country. I walked from the plane expecting something third world, antiquated, dusty, dark, old, hot, and a little unwelcoming but when I stepped onto the concourse at 9:30pm in Addis it was a big international airport busy with people and activity. Every site was familiar from the lines, the signs for baggage and ground transportation. I knew that my first stop was the visa office and I wondered how much I'd have to explain and how my trip would be scrutinized. These were people about their business and I was nothing more than customer 1,225 for the day paying my $20 and getting a stamp. As I stood in the line I was surrounded by Americans, Europeans, Ethiopians, and people from many other African and non-African countries. It was like landing at Dulles or DFW or any other airport where you find many of the service workers to be people of color. It was like landing in Hartford or Detroit, maybe even a smaller version of ATL.

Still I had to get the visa and then figure out how to get to my bags, through customs and find my ride. It took about 25 minutes of standing in line, the same usual suspects complaining, trying to cut, and suggesting that the process should be more efficient. Some of us looked at each other with knowing head nods as we watched one man continue to kick his bag along the floor in front of other people until they had to let him move forward in the line. Usually I am always in a hurry, but I found myself looking at people who looked like me or people that I know trying to imagine where they'd come from or even what they were doing in Addis. It was efficient as there were about four people checking passports, taking money, handwriting receipts, and affixing visa stamps for a never ending line. The time went quickly I think because I was busy studying the faces of the people that passed me by. I was cleared to the next step, where I stood in line and waited to be officially cleared to enter Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. That $20 stamp and my time in line was enough to get me through.

I followed the arrows and found the baggage carousels that were labeled just like they are at home. I saw my bags come around on the conveyor and before I could get to them a skycap approached me; the way only a skycap can do, wheeling his cart insisting that he take over. You know, just like at home. I pointed my bags to him and he pulled them off the belt. I have to tell you after 20 hours on a plane I was happy to see him and glad for the help. We really didn't speak so I don't know much about his English skills but if you travel you've done this dance before. We approached another checkpoint where people were lined up to go through a customs check with their bags. My guy with my bags directed me away from the lines and he took me directly to a man that was some kind of gatekeeper. The two men spoke it Amharic and I only gathered that somehow I was being given the hookup that allowed me to bypass that checkpoint. The gatekeeper asked me if I had any electronics in my bags. When I said no, he ushered me through.

I'm thinking this isn't bad at all. Just as we wheel pass the customs checkpoint, I'm feeling a lot more at ease and we go around a corner and there are two WOMEN holding a sign with my name on it. I didn't have to look, hunt, wander around looking lost and confused. They were right there. One was the owner of the hotel named Senait and the other was the hotel assistant Tsion. Senait kept repeating my name. "You are Valarie A. (add my full name)? You are not at all who I expected to see. You are the Americano Valarie A. (insert full name). I had imagined someone very different. Welcome my friend you will have a great trip here. May I give you a hug?" We hugged each other and kept looking in each others faces, she was looking at me as though she were trying to find some connection that she was sure was there. There was another couple with us who were traveling from Germany. I instantly felt secure whatever fears I had went away and I began walking out of the airport into the darkest, darkest night.

The night was very, very dark and it reminded me of the dark summer nights that we spent in Indian Rock, Virginia when I was growing up. It was a different kind of uninterrupted darkness and my family would joke that it was a place where you had to pipe in sunlight. With little more than small light bouncing off of the cars, there were many people hanging out in the airport parking lot. Was I really in Africa? It didn't feel like I thought it would feel, look like I thought it would look or even smell like I thought it would smell. I kept looking around amazed at how much walking into that parking lot reminded me of driving down Madison on the west side of Chicago on a hot summer night. It was the same way that you see people on the corners in groups talking loud, laughing, drinking, or smoking. It was like walking out into that urban area that exist in any big city where the late night activity is just hanging out in the neighborhood in a way that makes many uncomfortable but where people are really minding their own business and keeping their distance.

Here I was going through the parking lot with these two very attractive women and watching beautiful petite Tsion wheeling the big heavy cart with my luggage and the luggage of the other family. Something about it didn't seem right and I kept offering to help. She insisted on pushing that rikity old cart with one bad wheel alone. We kept walking and I heard men saying things in Amharic that I only can imagine were something like, "Damn, girl you look good. What's up can I get a number? Why you walking so fast? Where you goin', can I go? Why don't you let me carry that?" It was all in Amharic and delivered in softer tones that I'm use to hearing but I was sure I understood. You could tell some were on the late night neighborhood hang, some where hustling offering to wheel the cart for a fee, some just wanted the momentary attention and then there were a few that were begging, looking for hand outs. Well I don't even know if they were begging but you could definitely tell that they were down to their last and needed some help. Some it looked like made the parking lot home for the night.

I am a big city girl so the sights and sound were not all that unfamiliar. I might hear and see all the same things going to church on Roosevelt and Wolcott in Chicago that is flanked by an amazing Medical district on one side of the street and dire poverty on the other. I think I was more surprised at how "city" it seemed. When I was a teenager in Indianapolis you might have seen the same scene being played out at the McDonalds on 38th and Meridian or at the White Castles on 38th and Keystone. Any sista that grew up in or around the neighborhood knows is that you keep walking with attitude and give NO eye contact, men will do their cat calling but there is a level of respect in some weird way that they don't go beyond; I saw the same thing in Addis. We walked through the parking lot deliberately but were slowed only momentarily when we Tsion and I looked back to see the German couple way behind. They had gotten caught up or something I don't know. They obviously stood out more as foreigners but Senait went back tried to move them along.

There was one beggar that caught my attention. Without realizing he had been walking in front of me a little earlier, I now saw him standing dressed all in black, obviously trying to keep warm. I saw many people walk by him just like he wasn't even there, but I couldn't take my eyes off of him. I had just made a purchase and still had the change in my hand. I passed by the man the first time, but I doubled back and put almost two dollars in the cup he was holding. I had watched this man for nearly 30 minutes being passed by dozens of people, so I was shocked to see that he had one coin in his cup for all his efforts. When I put my money in he said, "Thank you and God bless you! I hope you have a good day." I could understand him perfectly and he spoke clear English. That's not really surprising considering that it was last week and this man was standing outside of the McDonald's on the corner of Wacker and Washington in downtown Chicago. In the city of Chicago it is nearly impossible to pass through the downtown streets or enter any big corporate building without passing by one of these homeless forgotten people. Some are lame like those I saw in Ethiopia, some are just down on their luck, some created their own problem through a series of bad decisions. But they are the same, they are there and many of us walk pass them without thought. I'm not sure why people have to go to a third world country before they recognize poverty when the same conditions exist in our own backyard.

I know that times are difficult in Ethiopia and there may be homeless beggars screaming out to ferengis at they pass them by, but the same scene is played out in every city throughout America every day of the week. I honestly was not approached by one beggar while I was in Addis Ababa, not when I went through the parking lot of the airport, while I went through the streets of the Merkato, or even as I walked daily from the hotel to the orphanage. I saw the poverty in the streets, I saw the people that you knew had nothing, and maybe once or twice I saw people look at me trying to decide if I was ferengi or one of them but no one extended their hand to me looking for a hand out, a hand up, or just a little compassion. I do, however witness that any day that I walk through downtown Chicago.

We got all of my bags in the van and headed out of the airport down the long dark streets. The van we got in was a non-descript cargo van with a seat for me and my driver. It was an old stick shift that Senait drove with confidence wearing her "pretty girl outfit" and cute high heel sandals. Her nails were done, her makeup was fresh and she new she was cute. As we drove the fifteen or twenty minutes, I saw familiar sights of people walking in the darkness carrying their lives in plastics bags. We talked about Oprah, Obama, God, and how an Americano named Valarie A. (insert full name) could arrive looking so much like an Ethiopian. We continued the drive and I learned that Senait sings Opera. She assured me that she was the only Ethiopian that sings opera and she started singing Ava Maria.

I'm listening to her amazing voice as we passed areas where it was obvious that life had been less kind to some. We laughed on this dimly lit night about how we could get Oprah to do an expose on Ethiopia and feature Seanait and her operatic aspirations. Laughing with her on the drive we covered religion, her thoughts about adoption, and politics and it seemed that I wasn't that far from home. In Ethiopia like any other big city it is difficult to travel through to your destination without passing those that really have no where to go. We pulled up into the quietness of the Dimitri hotel. People came from inside the hotel to usher me in with my bags. Tsion now went behind the desk to do her second job of registering me as a guest and a small woman about 4' 10" and 90 lbs came to get my bags. My heavy bags that barely met the Lufthansa weight requirements. She told me I was on the third floor and looked for the elevator but all there was in front of me where a set of white marble stairs. I watched this tiny woman, happy to be working insist on carry my heavy bags one by one up three exhausting flights of stairs. I tried to help her but the urgency and pride that she had required that I assume my role as guest and watch her work. I watched her lug every false idea about the industrious nature of Ethiopians on her back without a complaint. I can't tell you how hard it was to watch her struggle up those stairs and do nothing. I walked the stairs once with my everything in a purse bag and needed to use my rescue inhaler once I reached my floor.

Many of my preconceptions were shattered from the time that I landed and made my way through the dark streets of Addis. I stared out the window of my hotel room and reflected on the earliest days of my adoption journey. One question that people would ask is why Ethiopia? I always responded that Ethiopia had chosen me. For months I heard the same refrain in my head, "I am the God of everything, not the God of the United States. These are ALL my children and care for them ALL the same. What you do for the least of these is what you do for me." I began exploring this far away country and thinking how big the world was and how small and insignificant I felt in it, but landing in Ethiopia assured me of my faith.What I've learned on this this emotional and spiritual journey is that I live in a world that is small and that it is the God of my creation that is big.

I've watched my worldview grow and the world itself shrink into familiar themes and connections centered on the same core values of love, hove, determination, perseverance, and compassion. There is no body of water or distance that will ever separate us from the fact that we are all connected. The bible says that there is nothing new under the sun but that it only time and chance happens to us all. I went to bed exhausted and anxious to see what the morning would bring.

A Story from Addis

We've Lost Five Staff in One Ward
Thursday, November 30, 2006


MEDICS on the frontline of Ethiopia's fight against Aids are increasingly dying of the disease themselves. On World Aids Day, Metro Chief Reporter AIDAN RADNEDGE discovers the grim reality of the risks at one typical hospital in the country's stricken capital.

I have to be satisfied just prolonging someone's life a little.' Dr Wondewosen Desta is depressingly realistic about how much or little he can do, running perhaps the most beleaguered children's ward in Aidsridden Ethiopia. Every day at least 40 HIV-positive, emaciated children are checked in for a lengthy hospital stay, with hundreds more sent away, sure to return again soon.

But it is not just the survival rate among his young patients that concerns him – but also among his staff. In this ward alone, five employees, including two top doctors, have died in the last few years after contracting HIV in the course of their duties. It could be during a rushed blood transfusion, using inadequate protective gloves. Or a fatal infection could follow when blood gushes from a patient's wounds into a medic's eye.

Malnourished, wide-eyed children perch in cage-like beds on the wards, each one looking much younger than the ages given on the bedside charts. Those employees who are not sickened or killed by infection are often driven away by despair. About two-thirds of the 600 children on the hospital's books are under five. Six are thought to have contracted HIV through sexual assault.

Two-year-old Mersi Kassahum shows a chubby, baffled face on a barrel-chested torso yet a stick-spindly pair of drip-fed legs. She is HIV-positive, just like 23-yearold mother Nardos, both condemned by a father and husband long since fled, leaving them and a ten-strong extended family abandoned on the outskirts of the capital. Nardos seems philosophical as she insists: 'I don't want to really worry very much about HIV. What's done is done. So I have to live with it, for myself and my daughter.

'This is the only outlet that could mean my child survives. It's not important to worry about something that's already been done. It's not worth worrying about my husband now he's left. There's nothing I can do about it.'

Read the rest of the story:

Letting Children Go

I came across a blog that is written by an Ethiopian family living in Addis Ababa. I've only read one story thus far but I am sure that it will give valuable insights. It might give you a moment of pause or cause you to think in a different way.

In the story an Ethiopian mother surrenders her child, but the story follows the father who feels the need to search for him.

Parental bond is a wonderful gift of God – an unseen and perpetual
umbilical binds the parent to the child. If ever it gets severed the world of
the parents comes to a halt – nothing else in the world matters. What happened
to Mary and Joseph for three days happened to Wondesen for seven good years.

Wondesen fell into a relationship their teens and the unexpected happened –
she got pregnant. Both of them had to flee from their homes and parents. They
went to live in a different suburb of Addis Ababa where nobody knew them. That
was when life began to harden for them. After the baby was born, the only thing
they could afford was to buy a loaf of bread daily dissolve in water and feed
the child. At a point they could no more agree because the girl wanted to go to
her parents since they were in the process of sending her abroad.

At a very short notice the girl revealed to Wondesen that she had made
plans to give the child away. Wondesen was terribly disturbed. But the girl
passed on the child to a woman who passed it on to other hands and the child
ended up in an unknown destination. Three weeks prior to this Wondesen had
become born again. The girl disappeared into the Diaspora, but the Wondesen was
sore grieved until life was no more worth living for the sake of the severed
link.

Read the rest of the story...

Life as a Habesha

One site that I often read is www.abesha.com. I like the portraits and Q & A's that they do with young Ethiopian immigrants.

Here is a post from the site.

This Film Conveys a Coming of Age Story about Young Diaspora in America Washington, D.C. – January 30, 2009 - Zanta Media releases “Habesha Life,” a web based episodic series that explores the lives of young East Africans coming of age in the Washington, D.C. metro area. The series will be available free for viewing at the website www.habeshalife.com beginning February 15, 2009.

Everybody Has a Story

Many months ago I read a great book called Of Beetles and Angels: A Boy’s Remarkable Journey From A Refugee Camp To Harvard. It was written by a young man that immigrated to the US from Ethiopia at the age of 8 or 9. I was interested in experiences since he grew up literally around the corner from where I will raise my children. Below is an excerpt from a recent interview.

In the case of Mawi Asgedom, when he was a young boy he made ‘it’ out of Adi Wahla in Tigray with his family and into neighboring Sudan when countless thousands didn’t. From there again his family made ‘it’ out of Sudan and immigrated to Wheaton, Illinois.



Living in America, how do you feel about identity and how do you identify yourself?

Mawi: Well that is hard. Identity is a very American thing, and often times it is assumed for you before you can consciously do it for yourself. I would say in the past I thought of myself as part African-American, part African, Ethiopian and Eritrean and so on. At Harvard it was difficult to fall into one group because I would hang out with African-Americans. I would also be around white students because growing up in suburban Chicago (Wheaton) I was always around white people. Slowly I began to see that America was built on classifying people as this or that race. Today I feel like I belong both everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I don’t feel fully abesha, because growing up here, there is somewhat of a disconnect. (Laughs) I like basketball more than soccer. I feel like I am beyond simple classification now. As a speaker, strictly identifying yourself in one particular way closes you off to many potential audiences. It’s an advantage. As a speaker, I feel I can identify with diverse groups. I recognize cultural differences and can adjust to them.


Your book deals with the experiences of you and your family after emigrating to the U.S. Why do you think family is important and why did you choose to make it the theme of your book?

Mawi: I just felt that my story could not be isolated out of my familial experiences. Though I have experienced many things as an individual, the elements that shaped me the most were those that I had at an early age with and within my family. Also it was a story that needed to be told. That is not mine specifically, but it was the first book by a black immigrant refugee. It offers a different perspective than typical memoirs because I wrote it at a relatively young age. (Twenty-three)


Since your first book was published, you’ve also become a sought-after motivational speaker. How did it all come about? Have you always had public speaking aspirations?

Mawi: No way man. I was one of the shyest kids. I didn’t want to share my story with anyone because I was worried people would make fun on me. But as I matured, I saw my family and myself in a different light. I realized not only did I love my parents, but also I was also very proud of them. I would have never thought I would become an author or a speaker. But I love what I do. It all started after I graduated from college and was living in Oklahoma. The youth pastor at the church I was attending couldn’t make it one day and I took his place. The kids really seemed to enjoy my story and received it warmly. That’s how I got started.

Images of Ethiopia in America

Since the start of my adoption journey I have kept a file on positive articles and profiles of successful, prominent, or noted Abesha or Ethio-American people. I have been collecting these stories because I want the kids to see themselves reflected in images and positive stories of people who look like them and have life experiences similar to their own. I did not want the children to have to look to ancient history to find reasons to be proud but to also have contemporary examples of what was happening at the time that they came to this country.

I wanted to share this story with you all about Wayna Wondewossen. Some of you will understanding the significance in the name alone. She is a young Ethiopian born woman that came to the U.S. with her mother at a very young age. [Read her story]

This year she was nominated for a Grammy for her rendition of Minnie Ripperton's Lovin' U. Yes, Minnie Ripperton takes some nerve, I know. Amazing that this year she is not the only Ethiopian born Grammy nominee. Kenna was also nominated in the same Urban Alternative category.

Ethiopians for Obama

Here is an article about Selam Mulgeta an Ethiopian-American hired by the Barack Obama campaign as a field organizer.

Comments from posters

• Selam Mulugetta state of being is an indication of the depth and breadth of the Ethiopians assimilating into the community at large.
• Selam shoulders a unique role by way of represting Ethiopians in diaspora in the election of Obama, possibly the first black American president. I wish her sucess.
• This is a remarkable milestone for those of us who made the new land our home for the last 40 years.

Their Own Words: Ethiopian Assimilation in the US

If you haven't figured it out, the theme I'm on right now, it's the integration of Ethiopian culture into the lives of our children and how it intersects with American and African American culture.


I found this post on the Ethiopian Encyclopedia blog and thought it was interesting. It was based on measure of assimilation: language, culture, traditions.

• Most first generation Ethiopians can not speak Amharic...probably 1 out of 10
• Most first generation Ethiopians do not know the history of their country beyond the facts that it was never colonized and that Emperor Haile Selassie ruled in Ethiopia
• Perhaps 1 out of 6 practice their parents’ religion (many do not because they cannot understand the language)
• Cultural practices remain alive but its strength are dying. People do not stand up for elders-norr in amharic- but they do offer their seats to them and give them priority when serving food.
• Within the Ethiopian community their are different ethnic groups. So even those from Ethiopia may or may not share the same language,history, or customs. (*my addition)
  

Reasons for the speed of assimilation:

• Ethiopians are spread throughout the United States and lack contact with other Ethiopians.
• Living in a foreign country requires the ability to speak English for economic survival
  
• Ethiopian customs are not required for daily living.

What is important is the ability to identify with and feel at home in the host society. Read more.

The ONEs Who Did!

Many moths ago I had heard that the Ethiopia government was unhappy that so many blogs posted statistics of the millions of orphans, the people dying of AIDS, or numbers about starvation. It was enough for me to see that they did not like and I removed it from my header without much thought.

On any of the adoption forums I will defend the negative stereotypes and preconceptions that exist about Black people. I do so, one because it is the community that raised me and I want it represented in the best possible light, and two because I want people who are adopting children of color to recognize how harmful believing those things can be to the self-identity of their new children. There is no hope in telling me what's wrong. The hope is found in looking at what is possible.

I've always believed that you can never give advice to others that somehow isn't intended to teach you something as well. So, here is my big aah-haa moment.

It occurred to me this morning that constantly posting how many children die and how many are orphaned is just like me seeing how many black children are raised without fathers or how many black men are in jail. Constantly repeating those negative facts stains and limits the honorable Black man that wants to nothing but care and provide for his family. Over representing the negatives is not the whole story. Posting it all over the web will leave the impression that it is all their is to Ethiopia.

I or others like me are not exceptions, we are what our community raised us to be. My education or intelligence is not an exception. The fact that I don't live in poverty is not the exception as much as it is a testament of what is possible. It is the same for our children from Ethiopia. In a country that has so much more to offer than children for adoption, they want their story of hope, wonder, and excellence told. If not our children will become known as "one of those kids that would have died in Ethiopia." Some will believe that the only redeeming value is that they were adopted by a good American family.

I think that if we are going to be the country's ambassadors, they want us to tell people that they are under incredible strain and fighting against difficult odds and our children are evidence of their effort and not their failure. I think they would rather that we talk about what the government and its citizens are doing to ensure the welfare of children and families. I think they want us to talk about the important impact that they have had on the rest of the world in art, sport, culture, song, and history. I get that now. It should not have taken me this long to make the connection.

There is an old song by the Winans called Millions. The song says, "Millions didn't make it but I am one of the one's who did. I made it over. I came through hard trials and tribulations, persecution but I was one of the one's who did." I think they want us to say that for those who will not make it to the U.S.A our children carry their hopes, their strength, their resilience, and their faith. As long as our children live they will always represent the hope of what will come.

I Am My Sisters Keeper

I wanted to let you all know about an issue in Ethiopia that affects many women after childbirth. The condition is called obstetric fistula.

"Obstetric fistula was very common throughout the entire world but virtually disappeared within Europe and North America due to improvements in obstetrical care. To this day, the prevalence of obstetrical fistula is much lower in places that discourage early marriage, encourage and provide education of women and their bodies, and grant women access to family planning and skilled medical teams to assist during childbirth. This condition is still very prevalent in the developing world, especially in parts of Africa and much of South Asia (India, Bangladesh, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Nepal)."

As many of us that walk through this road introduced to our children's birth country, we feel that we must do something to improve the lives of families left behind. Two adoptive mother's have created a fistula prevention fund called, "Rahel and Kennedy's Circle of Friends". They are raising money to pay for the services women will need in the Fistula hospital in Ethiopia.

Check out there site and make a donation. There are so many great causes and getting involved helps the wait.

Below is Part 1 of the video series.

Video Part 2
Video Part 3

Ethio Adoption Polls

Make sure to cast your vote in the current poll on choosing names. My goal is 100 votes per poll but I've not hit that mark yet.

This is one of several polls that I've run on Ethiopian adoption but just realized that I never posted the poll results. So, here they are. You can still vote in the open polls. You can also add the polls to your blog.

What Led to the Decision to Adopt? Vote

Of the 58 people who responded to the poll:

• 37% of the respondents said they felt a special calling.
• 18% said that adoption was a good option for singles that wanted to parent.
  
• 17% sited issues with infertility.

See Results
Add poll to your blog.

Was Ethiopia the first Choice?

Of the 69 people that participated in this poll:

• 40% said that Ethiopia was their first choice.
• 36% said that Ethiopia was their only choice.
• 11% chose another country before choosing Ethiopia.

See Results

What Was Most Important in Choosing Your Adoption Agency? Vote

There were 78 respondents and:

• 38% chose based upon a referral from a friend or reputation.
• 12% chose based upon cost and fees.

See Results.
Add poll to your blog.

Top 100 Ethio Names

This list comes form the Students of the World website.

Rank		First names		Rank	First names
1		helen		1	dawit
2		eden		2	solomon
3		tigist		3	mulugeta
4		Meron		4	DANIEL
5		RUTH		5	henok
6		meaza		6	yohannes
7		hiwot		7	yared
8		Selamawit		8	FITSUM
9		Selam		9	Mohammed
10		tsion		10	ashenafi
11		hanna		11	samson
12		tina		12	samuel
13		kalkidan		13	yonas
14		Mare		14	Addis
15		SARA		15	michael
16		kidist		16	Tesfaye
17		saba		17	eskinder
18		Nani		18	Getachew
19		lucy		19	kibrom
20		Mesi		20	Tewodros
21		genet		21	abiy
22		Tsedey		22	habtamu
23		mimi		23	biruk
24		mahlet		24	Eyob
25		meseret		25	bisrat
26		tadu		26	berhanu
27		Fana		27	Tilahun
28		sole		28	zelalem
29		Marta		29	Nebiyu
30		huda		30	elias
31		aden		31	behailu
32		soli		32	adane
33		Rode		33	TEDDY
34		Gelila		34	abubeker
35		SAMRAWIT		35	biniyam
36		Muna		36	tsegay
37		MELAT		37	Amanuel
38		Winta		38	Abrham
39		betty		39	ANTENEH
40		Bezawit		40	MESFIN
41		Firehiwot		41	million
42		leyikun		42	abebaw
43		kiya		43	sintayehu
44		HAYMANOT		44	micky
45		mekdes		45	Alemayehu
46		Mahelet		46	surafel
47		EYERUSALEM		47	ABEBE
48		abinet		48	abdu
49		meskerem		49	ermias
50		tseday		50	temesgen