Shedding light on Fascist-occupied Addis

When the Fascist troops of Benito Mussolini invaded Ethiopia and Emperor Haile Selassie was forced into exile in May 1936, what were the experiences of both young and adult people in the capital, Addis Ababa, and in other towns across the country? How did they cope with the profound disruption? Beyond the written records produced by Italian authorities and other European observers, what were the Ethiopian perspectives of the time? In a series of articles, Ethiopia Observer will feature firsthand accounts drawn from the memoirs of Ethiopian youths of the time, illuminating the anguish, quiet resistance, and daily realities of life in occupied Addis Ababa.

One such witness was Tekletsadik Mekuria (1913-2000), who was in his early twenties during the Italian occupation. This young man—who would later emerge as a prominent historian, civil servant, and diplomat—recalled and chronicled these turbulent years in his Amharic memoir, Ye Hiwote Tarik (My Life Story), published posthumously on November 25, 2015.

Born on 11 September 1913 in Assagirt Sar Amba, a small village in Ankober, Shoa to a family of clergymen, Tekletsadik moved to Addis Ababa with his father at the age of six. A year later, he began his studies at the school of Rufael Church, and by the age of eleven he was able to recite the Psalms of David, demonstrating remarkable aptitude. He later studied for four months at the Alliance Française, where he received his first exposure to modern education and acquired a basic knowledge of French.

From the age of fifteen, he worked for several years as a note-taker for a landlord. He married at nineteen in a marriage arranged by his father. A year later, he enrolled at the prestigious Teferi Mekonen School to continue his studies, with instruction conducted in French. The school was closed a few months before the arrival of the Italians, and he went to work at the Berhan ena Selam printing press. There he addressed mail containing publications sent to Europe in an effort to alert the world to the imminent Italian attack.

As the Italian entry into the capital became imminent, a friend invited Tekletsadik and his wife to take refuge in his home. They accepted and moved into the friend’s concrete house, a stark contrast to their own dwelling with its thatched roof. From there, Tekletsadik and his older friend watched young people streaming toward Arada, a neighborhood later named Piassa, to loot cloth shops—a vivid indication that law and order had completely collapsed.“Wosene, my friend, who was older in both age and maturity, would reflect on the vanity of people as he watched the rioting,” he wrote. The looting and rioting continued for two days.

“When Emperor Haile Selassie headed to Djibouti on May 3, 1936, the commander-in-chief of the Italian forces, Marshal Badoglio, entered Addis Ababa. During this time, I neglected attending the missionary church; instead, I focused on protecting myself and was filled with anger and a sense of menace at the arrival of the Italians,” he wrote.

The missionary church he referred to was the Bible Churchmen’s Missionary Society, led by the Englishman Alfred Buxton, who sought, through Bible classes and preaching, to promote reform within the Orthodox Church.Tekletsadik Mekuria explains that he began attending the Society a few months before the invasion, when Qes Badima Yalew, an ex-Orthodox priest, brought him there, telling him that Buxton was seeking someone to copy Aleka Taye handwritten Book of Religion. Although that task was ultimately assigned to another person, Tekletsadik continued attending the mission, and became an active member of the group. Other prominent members included Haile Gebrel Negero, Abebe Gemeda, Worku, and Temesgen Gebre—the latter remembered both as a resistance fighter against the Italians and as the author of the first modern short story in Amharic literature.

Tekletsadik Mekuria’s memoir vividly illuminates the mood and atmosphere in Addis Ababa following the conquest of the capital by the invading forces. After a few days, when conditions had stabilized and the gunshots had ceased, he recalled venturing out with a friend to observe the state of the city.

“On the way, we came across Italian soldiers marching in large numbers from the lower palace to the higher palace, near Emperor Haile Selassie Hospital. As instructed, my friend and I greeted them by raising our right hands.

Upon reaching Arada, however, the scale of destruction became unmistakable. The streets bore grim signs of devastation, with swollen bodies lying along the roads and shop doors broken open and looted. Broken forks and plates were scattered everywhere. It looked as if a fierce battle had raged here,” he wrote.

“After witnessing all this, in the weeks that followed, I went to Mr. Buxton and attended prayers. Having never before seen such rioting or the collapse of a government, and with no other work or activities to occupy my time, I devoted a considerable part of my days to prayer and preaching.

Mr. Buxton, in particular, gave us daily Bible lessons, and during this period I became increasingly drawn to spiritual matters, practicing with growing intensity until I myself began to preach,” Tekletsadik chronicles.

“Beyond this, the fall of the Ethiopian government surprised, saddened, and deeply disappointed me, and I even entertained the idea of embracing a monastic life,” he says. “I was at the mission by chance, a matter of circumstance. Had there been someone with a military spirit to urge me to take up arms and perform patriotic acts, I would have done so,” he added.

The memoir is not a record of his daily activities and offers little detail about the texture of life during the occupation. Yet he manages to enlighten us—for example, how he survived without work, rented a room with the financial help of the mission, and welcomed an old friend, Girazmatch Kebede, who came to stay with him along with his wife.

Under the guidance of the Mission, he began attending the Alliance and took Italian courses. He doesn’t remember how he got a French–Italian dictionary, but he managed to teach himself some Italian.

“One day, while I was chatting with Girazmatch Kebede, I suddenly heard gunshots and a commotion outside,” he wrote. “Curious, we went out and saw a man running past our house. We asked him what had happened. He told us that the French and British had launched an attack from Djibouti and Aden. He kept running. But since there had been no such news the previous week, I knew he was making it up, and could only shake my head at his story. We went back into our house and stayed inside, closing the doors.”

But it was not over. We sense something significant had occurred on that day.

“While we were inside with the doors closed, there was a knock at the door. Some frightened neighborhood women were also in the house, and they all rushed to the bedroom. But I, as the homeowner, could not run away, so I calmly opened the door,” he narrated.

“Two Italian soldiers stood there—one carrying a firearm and the other a bomb—and entered the house,” showing the seriousness of the situation. “They asked me if I had a weapon. I said no. They went to the bedroom and asked who was there, pointing at Girazmatch Kebede. I told them he was my brother, and that the other women were my wife and my sister-in-law.

“They asked me to open the cupboard, where books I had bought at different times were kept. One of them then asked if I was a priest, and I said yes. They even searched the pillow but found nothing. I had a feeling they were looking for money.

They put their weapons back into their pockets. When they were a little more relaxed, I asked them what had happened. One of them said, “Graziani ferito.” I sensed that “ferito” meant something bad, but I didn’t know whether it meant wounded or dead. After they left, I looked it up in the dictionary and understood that he had been wounded.”

Main image: Tekletsadik Mekuria at the age of twenty.