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.
