But it is the modernization of Scotland’s own politics that some in the US must now be regretting – specifically the fact that the devolution settlement placed the decision on whether to release Abdelbaset Ali al-Megrahi on compassionate grounds into the hands of a liberal Edinburgh lawyer, Scotland’s justice secretary, Kenny MacAskill.

Over the past week, as it became clear a decision on al-Megrahi’s future was imminent, many Scottish pundits and opposition politicians were consumed by what is called the Scottish cringe – the idea that some decisions are just too big for bonny wee Scotland and that Scots will inevitably make a mess of them. The handling of the affair has variously been described as a shambles, a mess and an embarrassment with accusations of spin and even deception, courtesy of the Liberal Democrats, chucked in for good measure. It is as yet unclear on what evidence all this has been based.

But it was when the US secretary of state, Hillary Clinton, intervened that the cringe really grew. Surely MacAskill would change his mind now – how could he cope with the enormous pressure being heaped on him by the world’s sole remaining superpower? In fact, watching the justice secretary’s measured performance it seemed that he had coped pretty well.

He had made his decision, he said, not on political or diplomatic grounds, but in the interests of justice, in line with what he believed to be decent values. Far from being an embarrassment, perhaps the real shock is that it has been demonstrated to the UK that the relationship with America does not have to be based on utter subservience or strategic interests. Gary McKinnon anyone?

No one should be in any doubt that the Scottish government cherishes its relationship with the US. This is Scotland’s “Year of Homecoming”, during which thousands of Americans, and others with Scottish roots, are encouraged to come home – and spend some of their dollars as well as their time.

The first minister, Alex Salmond, is a frequent visitor to the States and has already had a meeting with prominent Obama administration figures, including Clinton herself. Last year, Salmond gave an address at the University of Virginia, in which he explicitly made the case for independence – perhaps mindful of the need to engage with the US in advance of any independence referendum.

It is unlikely that the SNP’s hostility to nuclear weapons and its policy of Nato withdrawal are hugely popular in Washington, something Salmond and other leading party figures are well aware of. In common with Britain, the SNP government has clear economic and political interests in maintaining its friendship with the US. But that does not mean, as MacAskill said yesterday that Scotland should be forced into “debasing its values”.

In recent years in particular under Tony Blair, UK foreign policy has been centered on doing whatever it takes to ensure the primacy of the British Prime Minister over other European leaders in the affections of whoever happens to be the White House incumbent. When that happens values tend to go astray and expediency takes their place.

The Bush administration’s attitude to the environment was instructive in that respect. A policy so clearly wrong-headed passed with little British government disapproval. It seems hard to believe that such a flexible approach actually commands a great deal of respect in the corridors of US power.

In the Lockerbie case there’s good evidence that for various economic reasons the British government is not unhappy both that al-Megrahi has been released and that it can’t be held responsible for the decision. If the SNP had been thinking purely politically it would probably have come to a different conclusion: keeping the Lybian in prison would have annoyed the British and pleased the Americans – not an unhappy combination for Scottish nationalists. But MacAskill took the decision because he believed it was the right one and for that he should be applauded.

Ewan Crawford was private secretary to John Swinney, the former SNP leader

-Chapter Four: The Children-

-1-

“Oh, my god!” Amy said as Ben pulled his RX-7 into the cul-de-sac before the Lancaster mansion.

She opened the door and got out of the car before it stopped moving and looked straight up at the five stories of black stone and arched windows.

Ben’s car door slammed shut behind her, and she heard him say, “So what do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” she said, but her response was only reactionary.

In fact, Amy didn’t know what to think of it. She had no frame of reference for something such as this. She’d spent the first twelve years of her life living in a single-wide trailer.

She’d thought her father had made it big when he bought the three-bedroom, one bath house across from Ben’s grandparents.

The biggest house she’d ever lived in was the one she and Ben had spent eight years in when Ben owned the restaurants. It was a four bedroom, two and a half bath two story.

The largest house she’d ever been inside was Graceland. She and Ben had taken her father there on vacation the last year of his life. She was pretty sure two or three Gracelands would fit inside this one.

It was the biggest house she’d ever seen in her life.

Looking up at it gave her a creepy feeling not unlike the feeling she’d had when she and Ben had visited a Gothic Cathedral in France.

“Your parents lived here?” she said.

“I didn’t believe it either until I saw the photo album.”

She looked back at Ben and then up to the house.

Ben would get on just fine here. He liked dark and dreary, but she didn’t think she’d like it.

She’d always fancied herself a creative homemaker, but this was way out of her league. She was a brass and glass girl. This was the Sistine Chapel.

She hadn’t even wanted to come here.

But Ben seemed adamant about patching things up.

“Just take a ride with me and see the house and everything will be different,” he’d said.

“How the hell are we going to pay upkeep in a place like this?” she said, still unable to peel her eyes away.

“With the money that I inherited.”

She looked at him again. “How much?”

Ben shook his head. “We’ll never have to work again.”

She looked back at the mansion.

“Our furniture is going to look like shit in there.”

“We don’t need our old stuff. The house is entirely furnished. What we don’t have, we can buy.”

Amy laughed in spite of herself.

Ben stepped around beside her, looked up to the house, and nodded.

“Well, no sense in standing out here all day. Let’s go in, and I’ll show you around.”

-2-

By the time they reached the Master’s Quarters, her tour of the house confirmed it. The house was unlike anything she’d ever seen.

And the master’s quarters was especially daunting. It looked like a place someone with the last name Rockefeller or Vanderbilt should sleep. The master’s bedroom alone was larger than their two-bedroom apartment, and it was laden with eye-candy.

The bed was curtained and up on a pedestal. The walls were of a parchment color paneled halfway up with ornately carved cherry. And the back wall consisted of a long panel of windows.

“Check this out,” Ben said walking over to the windowed wall and opening one of the windows. He stepped outside, and Amy followed.

What she found was an enormous balcony that stretched the length of the back of the house complete with lawn furniture and old-fashioned iron grills.

And the view was spectacular.

She could see over the treetops in the patch of woods behind the house, that there was a small pond beyond. An old gazebo with white paint flaking off of it stood on the bank.

Beyond the pond, more woods and the skeleton of an old church steeple rising just above the trees.

“Make yourself at home,” Ben said.

She turned and looked at him, and found him gaping at his wristwatch.

“We have a little more than an hour before the Bekins truck gets here. I want to scout around and find a place to store the stuff we’re not going to use.”

“You’ve already moved our stuff?”

Ben nodded.

“Does this place have a phone?”

Ben huffed. “Funny you should ask that. It only has one phone and it is unusable. The phone company is supposed to be coming out, but it might be a while. Use your cell phone.”

She turned and looked back out at the view. She sensed Ben standing behind her and watching for a moment, before he turned off to mind his business.

-3-

Ben began to discover the folly of his moving into the Lancaster mansion immediately.

He was scoping the house looking for a place to store the bulk of their furniture when he happened on an area outside of the main body of the mansion that he found most unusual.

Instead of the stone or hardwood floors that lined most of the hallways, this area was covered in the kind of pebble-flecked white tile that one might find in a schoolhouse or government building. And there was a faint antiseptic smell lingering in the hall.

Each door he opened seemed to lead to the same kind of room — a small bedroom-like set-up with a white radiator beneath each window. These rooms each contained WW2 style beds with simple iron frames designed for not more than one person — their mattresses stripped of linen.

Each room held identical tables — circular and small like a card table with a stained wooden top, and sometimes a wooden chair before it.

Each had a bathroom — old-fashioned water closets with bath tubs that looked as though they were designed for people with difficulty moving around. The wall by the commodes had iron hand rails on each side as did the tubs.

At length, he came to a room with a green door that was different than the others. It was a heavy metal door with a steel-reinforced glass window at its top, and a sign on the door read “NO ADMITTANCE.”

Ben squinted, scratched his head, and then opened the door.
He recoiled at the sight inside.

A man wearing a white lab coat stood over a gurney just inside with his back turned to Ben. And the only hint of the nature of his work was the two bare feet pointing up at the end of the gurney.

“Excuse me?” Ben said.

The man held up a bloody gloved finger without turning to face him.

“I get to you just as soon as I’ve finished fixing your mother.”

Ben frowned and stepped inside the room and looked to his right.

His mouth fell open.

Another gurney sat against the wall with a little girl, who couldn’t have been a day over nine strapped, down like a mental patient to its iron rails. A white strip of cloth had been tied over her mouth in an effort to gag her. Her wide brown eyes darted fearfully around the room as she struggled against the leather straps that bound her hands and feet.

The shape of her face, the tone of her skin, and her auburn hair reminded Ben of his mother’s self portrait in the sitting room of the master’s quarters.

He cast a fearful eye at the man hovering over the gurney in the center of the room.

The man in the lab coat discarded a bloody mass of tissue on a metal tray beside his instruments.

Ben stepped up behind the man in the lab coat and around him and gasped at the sight.

The woman on the gurney, an attractive lady with curly locks of red hair lay with her brown eyes open and locked in a dead-man’s stare up at the bright lights above. Her lips were blue and parted slightly revealing her front teeth, and there was a smudge of blood on her right cheek.

Her naked torso had been split in two with her skin clamped back like a frog someone was dissecting. It appeared that the good doctor was in the process of removing all of her organs.

Ben turned away and clamped his eyes shut, and felt the Big Mac he’d had for lunch boiling back up his esophagus. When he opened his eyes, the room was completely different.

The gurneys were gone, and the dome of lights over the area where the man in the lab coat had been dissecting a woman was dark.

Ben shuddered.

-4-

An hour later, Ben found himself lugging a heavy Bekins box into the Main Downstairs Den. His mouth fell open when he stepped into the enormous room of hardwood floors and oaken walls. He carted the box across the room and sat it down on the hardwood floor before the six-foot hearth and stood up straight.

That’s when he found himself face to face with the portrait of his pale ancestor.

* * * *
A pale hand drooping over the edge of a lime bathtub.

Blood spinning counter clockwise down the chrome drain.

A little boy standing in the doorway staring wide-eyed at the spectacle.

The figure in the painting hovering in the shadows above his bed. He wore all black medieval clothing with white ruffles, and his skin was electric blue like that of a cadaver. His eyes blazed green almost glowing in the dark. His black beard undulated as if he were submerged in water. And there was an electric smell to the room like ozone.

Ben was petrified, but the spirit seemed not to notice. He stretched out his bony hand.

“We’ve come to protect you.”

* * * *
It was the same man he’d seen in all his dreams. The same figure he’d encountered at his apartment last week.

He had no concept of how long he stood before the hearth staring at it, and he also didn’t realize it when Tom stepped up beside him, folded his arms and trained his eyes on the portrait.

“Amazing isn’t it,” Tom said suddenly causing Ben to jump.

Ben looked at the man standing beside him who didn’t remove his eyes from the portrait.

“Who was he?”

Tom nodded. “He was Henry Lancaster, the builder of this house.”

“What do you know of him?”

Tom’s eyes gleamed and a shrewd smile curved his thin lips. “He was severe. He built this house in the late 1500s as a kind of fort to protect himself and the remaining survivors of his colony.”

Ben frowned. “That doesn’t agree with history. I’m pretty sure that there was no colony in Georgia until the 1600s.”

Tom shrugged. “I’m just reciting what I’ve read from the journals in your library.”

“Journals?”

Tom nodded. “It’s all there, including the journal of the man himself.”

Ben looked back at the portrait. “I’ve seen him in my dreams.”

Tom gave him a Mona Lisa smile.

“What?”

Tom looked up at the painting. “There’s an old wives tale; they say he protects the children.”

We’ve come to protect you.

Ben turned his head and looked back on the face of the man with wonder. Tom had called him severe, but the man in the portrait had a meekness about him.

He looked weak.

And he stared at the rendering for an indeterminate amount of time pondering all the new information.

“What was wrong with him?” he said after a time.

When Tom didn’t answer immediately, Ben turned to look at him and found nothing where he’d been, but empty space.

-5-

Amy Eaton looked in the foggy antique mirror over the walnut dresser in the oval bedroom, took in a deep breath, and released it slowly. This was the part that she’d been dreading, but she’d postponed it as long as she could.

She lifted her cell phone and dialed the number, and then she hit the send button and pressed it to her ear hoping she’d get the answering machine, but the phone rang twice before he picked it up.

“Hello?” Dick said.

“It’s me,” she sighed.

“Amy? — I’ve been worried sick about you. I’ve called your phone, but it only rings. I even called Ben on the pretense that I wanted him to come into work, and when he didn’t answer, I thought that son-of-a-bitch did something to you.”

“No, every thing’s fine.”

“Where’ve you been?”

She bit her lower lip. “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“This doesn’t sound good.”

Amy sighed. “I’ve decided to give Ben another chance.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“I can’t just throw away our marriage, and Ben is not a bad man.”

“Not a bad man? You said it yourself; the man has always been off his block.”

Amy shook her head and sat down on the side of the bed.

“He goes on drinking binges for weeks at a time. Doesn’t call, doesn’t write, doesn’t draw you a picture. You find him in a hospital half-dead.”

“That was one time, and that was after he lost the restaurants and the house.”

Dick huffed. “He wakes up in the middle of the night screaming and won’t tell you why.”

“Dick.”

“What?”

She sighed again. “We’ve fallen on hard times, and he’s drawn up into himself. But all of that’s over now.”

“What’s this all about? A week ago you were dead set on leaving him.”

She shook her head. “This is just way too complicated.”

“Do you not care about me anymore?”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Well, I think I deserve an explanation.”

Amy lay back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. “Look, I’ve done something very wrong here. He’s got problems, but he’s a good man.”

“Whatever.”

“I have to break it off.”

“Fuck you.”

And he hung up.

Amy hit the end button on the phone and sat up and looked in the mirror, and a pang of terror shot through her chest. Ben stood in the doorway of the bedroom staring at her.

She spun around.

“How long have you been standing there?”

Ben shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Ben gave her an interrogative look. “About what?”

Amy studied him and started to respond, but before she could get a word out of her mouth he was speaking again.

“Have you been in the downstairs den?”

She shook her head.

“There’s a painting there. . . .”

He shuddered.

“What?”

He shook his head. “We’ve got a lot to do. Can you help me arrange some of this?”

“Sure.”

Ben stared at her a moment longer as if he wanted to tell her something that he couldn’t find the words to say, and then he turned out of the room. Amy watched him go thanking her lucky stars.

(Continue to Chapter 4 — Scenes 6-7)

Flowers are nice, but they don’t last. Chocolates are fine, but who needs the extra calories? Maybe it’s time to rethink the traditional Valentine’s Day gifts. Why not surprise your loved one this year with something unique and personalized? Instead of running out to the mall, take a new look at all of those photos you have around the house.

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Smiling lips, teary eyes,
and loneliness of the crowd.
Are your parting gifts to me,
and I accepted them with proud.

Yes….. I am alive here,
breaking the promise I made.
but I am dying every moment,
waiting for the coffin’s shade.

Continuing the series of articles on the insightful documentation provided by the Russian Military Officer, Explorer, and Orthodox Monk in his books about his deeds and excursions, observations and explorations in Abyssinia (undertaken over three years 1896 – 1899), I herewith republish a fifth part from his second book titled “With the Armies of Menelik II”; this excerpt offers an in-depth presentation of the itinerary between Kaffa and Gimiro to the Abyssinian border.

The excerpt offers also a wonderful advice to the idiotic and delusory fellows who imagine possible to achieve the libration of Oromia, Sidama Land, Ogaden, Afar Land, Kaffa, Berta, Agaw and other occupied lands through peaceful means, negotiations, pacifist approach, honest agreement, and common understanding.

The only way to liberate a subjugated land and a tyrannized nation is the most thunderous violence and the most decisive hit, the will to exterminate the criminal Abyssinian gangster and illegal occupier, and the unrestrained and forceful materialization of this rightful will.

The only way to destroy and irreversibly bury the terrorist colonial state of Abyssinia (fake Ethiopia) is to apply the utmost force on all the Amhara and the Tigray settlers, occupiers and all the individuals who do not respect the right of the Oromos and all the other subjugated nations of Abyssinia to Liberation, Freedom, Secession and Self-determination.

The language of force is the only that the incestuous Amhara and Tigray understand, so the Oromos and all the rest have no other way than to imitate Bulatovich in what he did to a filthy Tigray subordinate. The excerpt is most instructive:

“I had a confrontation with one of my elfin ashkers, Ambyrbyr, a young hot-tempered Tigrean. He got into an argument with Haile; and despite the fact that Haile invoked Bulatovich by his God — “Ba Bulata Amlak” — to leave him alone, Ambyrbyr started a fight with Haile. All this took place right in front of my eyes, and consequently it was an encroachment on the authority of my name. In view of this, I had to intervene personally in this matter. In spite of my command, Ambyrbyr did not stop. Then I struck him, but he got even more enraged from this and was ready to throw himself on me. I had to act decisively. I pushed him in the chest, and he fell down unconscious. After several minutes, he came to. With this, the incident ended. On the day after this unruly conduct, I dismissed Ambyrbyr from the elfin ashkers and replaced him with Aregau”.

In several forthcoming articles, I will publish all the other parts of Bulatovich’s second book, and in addition, I will extensively comment on parts of his first book (notably History, Religion, Conclusion). Herewith, I make first available a recapitulation of the earlier twenty three (23) articles of this series, and then republish the excursion narrative.

All the Oromos, Ogadenis, Afars, Sidamas and others, who fight for their independence, and all the neighboring countries, not only Egypt and Sudan but also Somalia and Eritrea, which are threatened because of the evil, eschatological dreams of Greater Ethiopia, must study, understand and diffuse the insightful documentation available in the two books, which were published by the Russian explorer before 110 years; in and by itself, this documentation constitutes good reason for the world to be preoccupied with the source of every regional trouble and instability: the Amhara and Tigray (Tewahedo) Monophysitic Abyssinians who rule tyrannically over the lands they invaded and the nations they subjugated.

Recapitulation

Earlier articles of the present series can be found here:

1st Article
The Oromo Genocide Solemnly Confessed by Official Russian Explorer in Abyssinia (Fake Ethiopia)

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/the-oromo-genocide-solemnly-confessed-by-official-russian-explorer-in-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia.html

Selected and highlighted excerpts from a book – report published by a Russian explorer, military officer and monk, Alexander Bulatovich, who spent three years in Abyssinia, during the last decade of the 19th century. These excerpts undeniably testify to the Oromo genocide perpetrated by the invading Amhara and Tigray Abyssinian armies, and have therefore to be brought to the surface of political debate by the Oromo political and intellectual leaders at the local, regional and international levels.

2nd Article
Russia, the Oromos, Egypt, Sudan, Abyssinia (Fake Ethiopia), Somalia, Islam & Orthodox Christianity

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/russia-the-oromos-egypt-sudan-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia-somalia-islam-orthodox-christianity.html

Republishing further excerpts from Bulatovich´s book, I focused on the possible reasons for Russia´s failure as colonial power in the region. As reasons I identified an inherent Russian quantitative approach to the colonial process and an overall misperception of the past and the present of Asia and Africa, which is due to the Russian academic, intellectual and ideological acceptance of the Anglo-French Orientalism, a bunch of disciplines elaborated by the French and the English academia in order to mainly promote and diffuse an interpretation of data that would suit the interests of the Anglo-French Freemasonry, namely the driving force of the Paris and London regimes.

3rd Article
Abyssinian Colonization of Oromia, Sidama and Kaffa in Bogus Ethiopia. An Early Witness from Russia

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/abyssinian-colonization-of-oromia-sidama-and-kaffa-in-bogus-ethiopia-an-early-witness-from-russia.html

Another, longer, excerpt from Bulatovich´s ´From Entotto to the River Baro´ which bears witness to the evil Amhara and Tigray plans of illegal occupation of the annexed lands and of tyrannical consolidation of the Abyssinian colonialism by means of settlements peremptorily implemented among the subjugated nations.

4th Article
Ethiopia (Oromo) vs. Abyssinia (Amhara). Unbridgeable Ethnic, Cultural Gap Revealed by Bulatovich

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/ethiopia-oromo-vs-abyssinia-amhara-unbridgeable-ethnic-cultural-gap-revealed-by-bulatovich.html

Two more excerpts that focus on the Oromo society, namely ´Galla Clothing´ and ´Galla Family Life´.

5th Article
Oromo National Identity Diametrically Opposed to Amhara Manner, Russian Officer Bulatovich Reveals

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/oromo-national-identity-diametrically-opposed-to-amhara-manner-russian-officer-bulatovich-reveals.html

Three chapters dealing with Oromo national identity, religion and language; all the preconceived concepts of the colonial era are herewith present, thus leading Bulatovich to erroneous interpretations. Certainly, the Russian explorer was not a linguist, historian or historian of religions; more importantly, academic exploration was not the primary interest of his travel which was kind of diplomatic reconnaissance. However, the chapter on the Oromo national character is greatly interesting because it demolishes the Ethiopianist myth of a supposed Ethiopian nation.

6th Article
Revelation of the Amhara Fornication: Light on the Anti-Christian Blasphemy of Fake Ethiopia

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/revelation-of-the-amhara-fornication-light-on-the-anti-christian-blasphemy-of-fake-ethiopia.html

Further excerpts from the same volume of Bulatovich, providing with his description of the Abyssinians. Reporting accurately and truthfully, Bulatovich offered the Orthodox tsarist Russia´s top authorities a trustful portrait of the unclean and incestuous character of the pseudo-Christian Abyssinian society.

With no family, there is no Christian society. As a matter of fact, Abyssinian eschatology is a corrupt system at the very antipodes of Christianity.

7th Article
Outrageous Falsehood on Abyssinia (Fake Ethiopia) Rejected: Solomonic Dynasty, Kingdom Do Not Exist

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/outrageous-falsehood-on-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia-rejected-solomonic-dynasty-kingdom-do-not-exist.html

Further excerpts from the same volume of Bulatovich, providing with his description of the Abyssinians. Reporting accurately and truthfully, Bulatovich offered the Orthodox tsarist Russia´s top authorities a convincing presentation and analysis of how and why Abyssinian nobility does not exist – which consists in a formidable blow against the falsehood of the so-called Solomonic dynasty of Abyssinia, and their connection to the Ancient Hebrews. In fact, there has never been any post-Agaw Abyssinian ´Kingdom´. The entire history of post-Agaw Abyssinia is a succession of uncivilized gangsters of incestuous origin, who were peremptorily called ´noble men´, ´kings´ or ´emperors´; they were imposed as such to all the peoples and nations that, with Anglo-French permission and support, the Abyssinians invaded and subjugated.

8th Article
Russian Officer Bulatovich Relates on Colonial Raids of Abyssinia (Fake Ethiopia) in Kaffa Land I

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/invasion-of-kaffa-by-armies-of-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia-narrated-by-bulatovich-envoy-of-russia-i.html

The entire text of Bulatovich´s first excursion from Entotto to the River Baro,

9th Article
Russian Officer Bulatovich Relates on Colonial Raids of Abyssinia (Fake Ethiopia) in Kaffa Land II

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/invasion-of-kaffa-by-armies-of-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia-narrated-by-bulatovich-envoy-of-russia-ii.html

The entire text of Bulatovich´s second excursion from Entotto to the River Baro,

10th Article
The Evil, Colonial State of Abyssinia (fake Ethiopia) Exposed by Bulatovich, the Envoy of Russia

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/the-criminal-state-of-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia-exposed-by-bulatovich-the-envoy-of-russia.html

Chapters on the Ethiopian System of Government, the State Government and the Distribution of Land, the Police, the Judicial System and Procedure, the Law and Custom, the Crimes and Punishments, and the Economic Condition of the State – the Treasury.

11th Article
War Criminals of Abyssinia (fake Ethiopia), Their Atrocities Exposed by Bulatovich, Envoy of Russia

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/war-criminals-of-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia-their-atrocities-exposed-by-bulatovich-envoy-of-russia.html

Chapter on the Abyssinian army; this part of Bulatovich’s text is also very critical because it highlights (see the section: ‘Conduct of War’) the inhuman practices of environmental disaster spread by the criminal robbers and inhuman soldiers of the Abyssinian state, which supported by England and France, perpetrated the worst atrocities ever attested on African soil and the world’s most appalling and multifaceted genocide.

12th article
The Nile, Egypt, Sudan Menaced by Evil Prophecy, Secret Expansion Plan of Abyssinia (Fake Ethiopia)

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/the-nile-egypt-sudan-menaced-by-evil-prophecy-secret-expansion-plan-of-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia.html

Chapter on Menelik’s family, the ‘family of the emperor’. This chapter is of great importance for the diplomatic and national security services of Egypt and the Sudan, because it reveals what the heinous and rancorous Amhara and Tigray Monophysitic (Tewahedo) Abyssinians try to hide; namely that the regime, the elites and the upper classes of these incestuous and barbarous tribes act based on a secret program (that they call “prophecy” because of their sick, abnormal and perverse minds) to destroy Egypt and Sudan, and expand their cannibalistic tyranny throughout East Africa.

13th article
Amhara Pseudo-History of Abyssinia (fake Ethiopia), False Assumptions of Bulatovich, Envoy of Russia

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/amhara-pseudo-history-of-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia-false-assumptions-of-bulatovich-envoy-of-russia.html

Chapter on the Sidamas and the African peoples. This part is full of inaccuracies, inconsistencies and wrong terms; it is clearly the topic Bulatovich explored less and had a most vague idea about. The reason is simple; he did not have the time for direct contact with any of them, being thus the victim of the customary and idiotic Amhara lies.

14th article
Heretic Christianity in Abyssinia (Fake Ethiopia): Russian Errors, Benefits for England and France

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/heretic-christianity-in-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia-russian-errors-benefits-for-england-and-france.html

Chapter on the Abyssinian church and faith that Bulatovich erroneously names ‘Ethiopian’; the attribution of the national name of Ancient Kush (Sudan) to Abyssinia relates to the Axumite King Ezana’s partly invasion of Ethiopia and destruction of its capital, Meroe, ca. 360 – 365 CE. That event had however a partly and momentary character that does not justify any further use from any Abyssinian ruler because that country was always located out of the historical borders of real Ethiopia. This is the reason the modern state is called Fake Ethiopia; its right name is just Abyssinia.

15th article
England, France, Italy, Russia, Bulatovich and the Bogus Historical Dogma of Fake Ethiopia

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/england-france-italy-russia-bulatovich-and-the-bogus-historical-dogma-of-fake-ethiopia.html

Chapter on the History of Abyssinia that Bulatovich knowingly calls ‘Ethiopia’ erroneously. The lengthy text (5133 words) is a complete collection of Western academic mistakes and misperceptions based mainly, and very often exclusively, on Abyssinian unsubstantiated claims, racist fallacies, and paranoid lies.

16th article
Bulatovich’s Conclusions Support Egypt and Sudan: the Blue Nile Does Not Belong to Fake Ethiopia

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/bulatovich-conclusions-support-egypt-and-sudan-the-blue-nile-does-not-belong-to-fake-ethiopia.html

Conclusion of Bulatovich’s first book; this is a text of the utmost importance for today’s diplomatic services of Sudan and Egypt, as well for the liberation fronts of the subjugated nations of Abyssinia, and more importantly the Oromos, the Bertas, and the Agaws who are the only inhabitants of the areas crossed by the Blue Nile in the monstrous tyranny of Abyssinia (fake Ethiopia) that must cease to exist.

The excerpt clearly demonstrates that the criminal, racist Amhara and Tigray Tewahedo (Monophysitic) Abyssinians never had any right to the Blue Nile waters prior to their illegal, criminal, colonial expansion and invasion of the annexed lands of the Oromos, the Bertas and Gumuz (Benishangul), and the Agaws.

17th article
Bulatovich’s Appendices: Economic Profit as Reason of Support of Fake Ethiopia by England, France

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/bulatovich-appendices-economic-profit-as-reason-of-support-of-fake-ethiopia-by-england-france.html

Most of the appendices of Bulatovich’s first book

18th article
Jewish Soviet Scholar Katsnelson’s Study on Bulatovich Underscores Russian Failure in Fake Ethiopia

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/jewish-soviet-scholar-katsnelsons-study-on-bulatovich-underscores-russian-failure-in-fake-ethiopia.html

Excerpts from a remarkable and insightful treatise elaborated by the Russian Jewish Communist Historian and Philologist Isidor Saavich Katsnelson (A.X. Bulatovich – Hussar, Explorer, Monk); Katsnelson was a leading Egyptologist and Africanist who also contributed to the then nascent Meroitic Studies, the academic research about the last period of pre-Christian History of Ethiopia, i.e. Sudan, when Meroe (today’s Bagrawiyah, nearby Ad-Damer and Atbarah in Sudan).

Katznelson’s contributions hit the final nail on the coffin of the fallacious use of the great historical name of Ethiopia by the barbarous Abyssinian tribes who proved to be the worst pestilence in Africa’s History of Tyranny, Persecution, Racism, False Eschatology, Anti-human Conspiracy, and Genocide.

19th article
Failed Russian Orthodox Plans for Monasticism in Abyssinia (Fake Ethiopia), Bulatovich and Menelik

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/failed-russian-orthodox-plans-for-monasticism-in-abyssinia-fake-ethiopia-bulatovich-and-menelik.html

A confidential letter sent by B. Chermerzin, charge d’ affaires of the Russian Embassy in Abyssinia to A. A. Neratov, Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs, on December 15, 1911. This text offers an insightful about Bulatovich’s later travel to Abyssinia whereby he had the ambition to establish a monastic order.

Despite the fact that the Russian Orthodox explorer, military officer and monk was accepted by the Abyssinian gangster and ruler Sahle Mariam (pseudo-royal nickname: Menelik) to heal him through use of Russian holy icons, the hidden conclave of the Amhara heretic, pseudo-Christian Satanists who rule the cursed country of tyranny and genocide, prevented Bulatovich from achieving his pious target, thus clearly demonstrating their alliance with the Anglo-French Freemasons and their hatred of Christianity.

20th article
Russian Witness Bulatovich Shows the Need for Liberation of Oromia, Deportation of Gurage to Tigray

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/russian-witness-bulatovich-shows-the-need-for-liberation-of-oromia-deportation-of-gurage-to-tigray.html

A first part from Bulatovich’s second book titled “With the Armies of Menelik II” with focus on the Russian envoy’s excursion “From Addis Ababa to Jimma”. Throughout Bulatovich’s text is reflected the Abyssinian tyranny imposed on the Oromos little time before the Russian explorer’s travel. At the same time, Bulatovich makes clear that the treacherous and viciously anti-Oromo tribes of Gurage arrived to the South only following invasions and occupied their territory by right of conquest. The Amhara interlocutors of the tsarist envoy were naïve and idiotic enough to confess to Bulatovich their insightful about the Gurage’s original land in Tigray – something critical to bear in mind at the moment of Oromia’s liberation. The Gurage have no place in a free Oromia.

21st article
Bulatovich Shows that Oromos Need Aba Jefar’s Mysticism and Piety, not an Alliance with Evil Amhara

http://www.americanchronicle.com/articles/view/175438

The second part (“Jimma”) from his second book titled “With the Armies of Menelik II”. This excerpt offers a paradisiacal picture of the Oromo Kingdom of Jimma, and a magnificent portrait of the sublime mystic, the Oromo Moti (King) Aba Jefar. In striking contrast with all other words and sentences of his own text, Bulatovich insists on calling the noble king “half-savage”. This shows the extent and the depth of the European colonial evilness, Anti-African prejudice and zero-degree tolerance for any non Christian. Without knowing it, Bulatovich proves that European colonialism was the World History’s most terrorist, most antihuman, and most iniquitous political deed.

22nd article
Bulatovich: Noble Kaffas, Oromos, Sidamas vs. Evil Amhara, and the Forthcoming End of Abyssinia

http://www.americanchronicle.com/articles/view/175810

The third part from his second book titled “With the Armies of Menelik II”; the part covers the Kingdom of “Kaffa”. In this unit, there are many mistakes and misperceptions in non descriptive parts of Bulatovich’s text; the Kaffa are not Semitic and they never amalgamated with any Semitic tribes and peoples, who never inhabited Africa – with the exception of the Abyssinians. But the times of Bulatovich were characterized by a Pan-Semitic delusion of many Orientalists who acted not as free scholars dedicated to the search of Truth, but under full Freemasonic and Zionist guidance in order to deceive the global academic community and promote the political interests of the Freemasonic, Zionist, colonial powers, namely England and France.

23rd article
Russian Envoy Bulatovich, Oromos, Sidamas and the Revelation of Amhara Barbarism in Fake Ethiopia

http://www.americanchronicle.com/articles/view/176140

Fourth part from his second book titled “With the Armies of Menelik II”; this excerpt offers an in-depth presentation of Andrachi, the Kaffa capital, and a narration of Bulatovich’s sojourn there (January 8-22).

Despite many inaccuracies pertaining to the Sidamas and the Kaffas, this chapter reveals the barbarous nature of the criminal Amhara armies, their bellicose attitude, and their cruel behavior. This is revealed in the following excerpt that describes a scene of entertainment after a dinner:

“Having dined and drunk their portion of mead, they sat around the campfire and struck up songs. For the most part, these were military improvisations, and their contents amounted to praise of themselves and of their master. Liban sang in his clear, beautiful voice, and the chorus joined in the monotonous refrain, “Gedau! Berekhanyau!” (“Killer, killer, tramp of the desert!”). One of the ashkers, in a form of accompaniment, beat in time with his palms on an empty water tin. Women’s voices joined in the chorus”.

One has indeed to be as barbarous as an Amhara to praise (instead of denouncing and ridiculing) a “killer” and a “tramp of the desert”.

Such barbarism has never been attested anytime anywhere, even among the Nazi soldiers of Hitler’s Germany.

If the “killer” is to be praised collectively by the armed representatives of a society, one can quasi-automatically understand that this society is a barbarous entity that has to be isolated, deprived of any control over other nations, and put under international mandate in order to be re-educated and re-organized from scratch – with forceful imposition of civil and civilized nations’ manners and customs.

This is exactly what I demanded for the troublesome case of the barbarous rulers of Abyssinia and their incestuous society two years ago in an earlier article of mine that was published under the title “Nunca Mas: Two Spanish Words for Noble Somalis and Barbaric Abyssinians” (http://www.buzzle.com/articles/nunca-mas-spanish-words-for-noble-somalis-and-barbaric-abyssinians.html).

Ethiopia through Russian Eyes

An eye-witness account of the end of an era, 1896-98 consisting of two books by Alexander Bulatovich:

From Entotto to the River Baro (1897)

With the Armies of Menelik II (1900)

Translated by Richard Seltzer, seltzer@samizdat.com, www.samizdat.com

Copyright 1993 by Richard Seltzer

With the Armies of Menelik II

http://www.samizdat.com/armies.html

Journal of an expedition from Ethiopia to Lake Rudolf

By Alexander K. Bulatovich

With four diagrams, three maps, and 78 photographs by the author and Lieutenant Davydov; Saint Petersburg, “Artistic Press” Publishing House, 28 Angliyskiy St., 1900, 271 pages

Published with permission of the Military Science Committee of the Chief of Staff

Reissued in 1971 as part of the volume With the Armies of Menelik II, edited by I. S. Katsnelson of the Institute of Oriental Studies of the Academy of Sciences of the U.S.S.R. “Science” Publishing House Chief Editorial Staff of Oriental Literature Moscow 1971.

Translated by Richard Seltzer

V. Through Kaffa and Gimiro to the Abyssinian Border

January 22.

I spent the whole day in Bonga as a guest of Nagada-Ras Vandym-Agnaokh. Here I finally formed the caravan for our subsequent movement.63

The order of movement was as follows. We set out at about seven o’clock in the morning, when the dew had fallen and it became warmer. While the tents were being taken down and the mules loaded, Zelepukin and I ate our breakfast. Then the transport set out. First went two herdsmen with tarads (poles from the tents), measuring their pace with the full pace of the mules. After them went one or two mounted ashkers, and after the horses obediently went the herd of loaded mules, after which followed ashkers. At the end, rode Aboye, the head of the transport. And behind everyone went Zelepukin, his broad-shouldered bulky figure and sunburnt crimson-colored face making a complete contrast with the light, well-proportioned, black-skinned Abyssinians.

Some time after the transport set out, I sat on my regular mule and started, accompanied by weapon bearers, who carried my guns,64 a knapsack with writing implements, a theodolite, and photographic equipment. With me also went Gebra the Kaffa language interpreter and Katama-Guda my guide. We usually went very fast, but I often stopped along the road to observe the azimuth and to plot the location on a surveying plane-table. At noon, if the weather allowed, I made solar observations. In a day, we marched 20-30 versts [13-20 miles] and by 2 or 3 o’clock in the afternoon, we made camp for the night. On arriving at the bivouac, the mules were let out pasture; and in the evening, they were brought to tether. Quickly, the tents were broken out. Some of the ashkers set out for water, wood, and grass. The rest, together with my two cooks, prepared the food. For this part of our march, we ate excellently. The men each received each day a large cup of meal which they used to cook themselves very tasty flatcakes — kita — and ate them dipping them in crushed red pepper or pepper sauce. Each day they received mead, which they drank with water. And every two days, they got meat… Zelepukin and I, having meat and meal in abundance, all but feasted.

January 23.

In the morning, we left Bonga. The transport having set out first, I ascended Mount Bonga-Shambata, which in translation means “Holiday or Festival Bonga.” It was given this name because at its summit there once was located a temple to the god Dento or Deontos, where several times per year were held massive sacrifices. The summit of the mountain, which is overgrown with high grass and, along the sides, with thick forest, attains a height of 2,075 meters above sea level. I made azimuth observations from there. From there, we went down to the River Gicha, crossed it by a bridge made of the trunks of date-palm trees, and climbed the mountain ridge that stretched out to the west of us. Here the country is picturesque. It seemed as if we were going through a marvelous park. On both sides of the road were encountered beautiful groves of date palms, coffee and huge deciduous trees of various types, mixed sometimes with clearings overgrown with grass. In times gone by, all these clearings were inhabited, as evidenced by the plantations of banana trees which had escaped destruction.

We set up our bivouac at the foot of Mount Bonga-Beke (in translation “To see Bonga”), on the banks of a swift, shady stream.

January 24.

The transport having set out on a straight road to the southwest, I climbed Mount Bonga-Beke. The chief of the region of Dake (Dake-rasha*)65, a handsome young Kaffa, accompanied me to these places. Lightly and elegantly, he sat on an excellent chestnut-colored horse and with ease, adroitly controlled it. His white cloak fell down in artistic folds. Short wide trousers left bare from the knees his lean, muscular legs. By the Semitic features of his face and his whole primeval figure, he resembled an ancient biblical warrior. Behind him ran several servants, one of whom, a typical Kaffa of enormous size, blew the whole time on a horn made of a small elephant tusk, to notify the populace that their leader was passing through.66

The road was gently sloping, rising amid dense forest. In intervals between huge trees, it was overgrown with dense thickets of bamboos and ferns. The ferns looked similar to small palms and attained a height of several arshins [arshin = 28 inches]. The summit of the mountain was densely populated. Small huts, constructed soon after the war, were hidden in groves of banana plantations and were surrounded by fences of intricately interlaced splintered bamboo stalks.

In one of those farmsteads, the wives of the imprisoned Kaffa king, Tato Chenito, lived under strict surveillance. I wanted to meet them and sent in advance to notify them of my coming. Past narrow gates which were protected by guards, we went into a small tidy courtyard. On a spread out oxhide in the shade of banana trees, a young, rather beautiful woman sat, and behind her stood the chief guard of the captive harem — a large beardless eunuch.

Having exchanged greetings, I began to converse with her through an interpreter. She answered my questions quite naturally, and behaved reservedly, and with extraordinary dignity.

She is the daughter of the king of Kusho 67, one of the former tributaries of Kaffa. She got married at the age of 12. She is now 25, and the 13 years of her marriage were for her, in her words, continuous happiness. The king loved her more than all his other wives and adorned her and dressed her more richly than them and more frequently than any of them summoned her to himself.68 She loved her king, was depressed without him, and asked me if I had seen him, if he was healthy, if he had already died in confinement…

She spoke with amazing simplicity, remembering her former life with regret. The whole time, there was an imprint of deep sadness on her face. Two other wives were with her, as well as four concubines of the king and his bold beautiful twelve-year-old sister. I asked that these others also come out, and I took their photograph. Among the concubines was one “rising star,” an amazingly good-looking Galla woman, who was remarkably cheerful. She was never bored anywhere, even in captivity, and at a time when all were sad, she smiled and even flirted.

Having taken leave, I set out for the summit of the mountain in order to take observations there. But the noon solar observation was unsuccessful since clouds obscured the sky. I just took azimuths on the surrounding mountains, and after long examinations finally determined their names. From Mount Bonga-Beke, all of Kaffa was visible — divided by natural boundaries into 12 regions. On the northwest rise Mountains Bacha-aki-Keli and Gaua-Gunga in the Kaffa region of Gauat, which borders Geroy. A bit further south, along spurs of the mountain ridge, is located the region of Gimbi, with the summits of Gida, Shonga, and Goli located there. And to the west of that, on the crest of the mountain ridge is the region of Geshe. To the southwest of Gimbi, along the courses of streams which flow into the Gumi River, are seen the forested regions of Bunta and Opa. Further south along the same crest of the main mountain ridge, heading to the southeast lies the region of Chana. To the northeast, along valleys of streams which flow into the Gojeb River are the regions of Shasha and Shara. South of those lies Kaffa itself, with the town of Andrachi. East of Kaffa lies the region of Buta, and the region of Adiya lies on the crest which serves as the watershed of the Gojeb and Gumi rivers. On the southwest appears the mountainous region of Goa. Mount Bonga-Beke itself is located in the region of Deche. From here, the system of the Gumi River is clearly delineated. Among mountainous ravines, it flows from the northeast of Mount Buty and at the foothills of the mountain at the town of Andrachi, it joins with the Gicha River. The Gicha River flows from Mount Bonga-Beke and skirts the mountain to the west. Having passed Bonga-Beke, the Gumi goes through a wide low plain. Here the realm of Kaffa itself ends and the Negro settlements of Shuro begin. To the northwest is seen the valley of the Gojeb River. From Mount Bacha-aki-Kela, a river that the natives call “Tira” flows into the Gojeb. On the northeast, the Adiya River flows from Mount Adiya into the Gojeb River. Waters of the southwest slopes of Gauata to the west from Opa form the Menu River, which flows into the Juba and the Sobat. From here is visible how the main maintain ridge from Gera stretches out to the southeast. The height of Mount Bonga-Beke is 2,615 meters above sea level, and the summits of Bacha-aki-Kela, Gaua-Guno, Gida and Shonga exceed 3,000 meters. On the east, on the crest which serves as the watershed between the Omo and Gumy Rivers, stands the pointed peak of Mount Wadibalo, likewise probably exceeding 3,000 meters above sea level. The mountain ridge gradually and significantly gets lower to the south.

Only at five o’clock in the afternoon did we arrive at our bivouac, which was laid out on the banks of the Wosha River in the region of Deche. A crowd of Kaffa were waiting for me, with the leader of the region at their head. By order ot the Ras, they brought provisions (durgo) for my detachment. I took a ram from the rasha and gave him five efimks. I refused the rest and returned the durgo brought by his half-starved Kaffa. In addition, I gave them several efimks to buy seed. The Kaffa were very touched by this and beat themselves in the chest and kissed the ground as a sign of gratitude.

January 25.

We set out after noon. Completely naked hungry Kaffa children wandered around our bivouac, picking up any garbage. It made you feel sorry to look at them. They had lost the appearance of humans and were terribly thin; more precisely, they were skeletons covered with skin. On their thin legs, which were almost devoid of meat, the joints at the knees were sharply delineated. The cheeks and eyes were sunken, and the stomachs were distended.

The morning was cool (10o Reaumur [54o F]). The grass was covered with abundant dew, and the unfortunate children, shivering from the cold, looked for bones in the grass, fought among themselves for the internal organs of a ram, and if they found its foot, then gnawed on its skin and flesh.

I had a confrontation with one of my elfin ashkers, Ambyrbyr, a young hot-tempered Tigrean. He got into an argument with Haile; and despite the fact that Haile invoked Bulatovich by his God — “Ba Bulata Amlak” — to leave him alone, Ambyrbyr started a fight with Haile. All this took place right in front of my eyes, and consequently it was an encroachment on the authority of my name. In view of this, I had to intervene personally in this matter. In spite of my command, Ambyrbyr did not stop. Then I struck him, but he got even more enraged from this and was ready to throw himself on me. I had to act decisively. I pushed him in the chest, and he fell down unconscious. After several minutes, he came to. With this, the incident ended. On the day after this unruly conduct, I dismissed Ambyrbyr from the elfin ashkers and replaced him with Aregau.

We made a short march and stopped in the land of Bunta. Along the road, they showed me the burial vault of the Kaffa kings. The graves were completely level with the earth and were not marked in any way.

January 26.

We entered the region of Chana. Going along the road which led past Kaffa settlements along the crest of the mountain ridge, and having passed an outpost, we went over the boundaries of Shuro. The boundary is separated from Kaffa by a wide uninhabited strip, which on the west was adjacent to land reserved for elephant hunts of the Kaffa kings. Along the road we now and then came upon signs of elephants. The Shuro, knowing that a campaign was being launched against their side, guarded their borders with reinforcements and watched this road. In the dense grass and on the edges fo the forest, here and there, their black figures appeared in passing.

Having proceeded through this area, we passed an outpost and again entered the rather well inhabited region of Chana. We set up our bivouac right beside the detachment of the newly named head of the border Kaffa regions — Ato Kassem. He soon came to greet me and brought as a gift several pitchers of mead. Ato Kassem, a 60-year-old man, frail and smooth-tongued, was formerly a judge in Kulo. He received these regions which were under his leadership as a pension for long service.

The house of a well-known priest (bale) of Chana was located not far from our bivouac. I ordered someone to send for him. The bale soon came and sat at the entrance of my tent, deciding not to go in so as not to defile himself by being present in a dwelling of a man who uses the meat of unclean animals as food, which is what he took Europeans for. The bale was a young, very handsome Kaffa, who by appearance did not differ at all from his other fellow-tribesmen. He is from the Gossa clan, and all his ancestors as far back as he remembers were also priests. I asked him about many matters, but got very little information from him.

January 27.

We went down from the mountain ridge to the Uka River (from a height of 2,400 meters to 1,700 meters above sea level) by way of a road that is skillfully built along the crest of a spur. The road went through dense forest in which the trees attained dimensions the like of which I had never seen before. Even the kolkuala cactus contended with the most colossal trees in height. In the forest, we came across many monkeys, but almost no birds. We cross the Uka River by an extremely well constructed bridge. The Uka constitutes the southern boundary of Kaffa itself, and beyond it begin the lands of tribes that are subject to Kaffa.

We stopped with a bivouac near the river and on the following day again climbed the mountain ridge. I went up to a summit located near Mount Boka or Bokan, from which, at a height of 2,714 meters, a distant horizon opened to the south and southeast. From here it could be distinctly seen how the crest of the main mountain range stretches to the east and then turns south. Far in the haze are seen its southern summits, which I later became familiar with and got to know by name — Kastit, Say, Uyta, Shashi, and others. Still farther to the east rises the pointed pyramidal summit of Mount Dime, which Donaldson Smith gave the name “M.I. Smith.” To the north of it appeared another, even larger mountain, having the shape of an obliquely truncated sugar loaf. We called this mountain Ya-Menelik-Saganeyt.69 These two mountains were located on the other side of the River Omo. The evident direction of the crest of the main mountain range gave rise to my first suspicion of the possibility that the river might skirt it from the south and turn west. (The further journey finally confirmed that this newly discovered mountain range deflects the Omo to the south, forcing it to flow into Lake Rudolf and that it constitutes the watershed of the Nile and Omo Rivers). The crest of the mountain range is covered in several parts by forest, and its gently sloping western inclines and the valleys of many westward flowing tributaries of the Menu70 River were densely populated. Here dwelt the Gimiro tribe, which is divided into small principalities dependent on Kaffa: Kaba, Shevo, Isheno, Yayno, Duka, Benesho, Shyaro, and Shyako.

This people differs in type from the Kaffa. The skin of the Girmiro is darker, and the facial features are more coarse. The language is completely different from the Kaffa and very difficult to pronounce. It abounds in whistling and dental consonants. Its syllables are pronounced as if swallowed. It also differs from the language of the Sidamo tribes: Kula, Konta, and others; but the mode of speech of these languages is similar, and you encounter common roots in them. The Gimiro believe in God, calling him by a name taken from the Kaffa — Iero or Ierochi. However, there exists another deity — Kiy — to whom they offer sacrifices. The Gimiro do not recognize the rite of circumcision. The culture of this people is the same as that of the Kaffa in both weaponry and clothing. In character, they are peaceful and hardworking rather than warlike. Their houses are built very skillfully and simply. Their household utensils include washtubs — the first that I had encountered in Abyssinia. These tubs are made from trunks of kolkuala cactus. The Gimiro dig their fields deeply with pickaxes and sow them with bread grain of all kinds, depending on the altitude of the location. Cattle breeding flourishes. Their cattle are very good. There are no horses. They hold bees in large quantities. The rich vegetation and moist climate favor beekeeping.

On the summit of Bokana, I conducted the noon solar observation and took azimuths on the surrounding mountains. A crowd of natives who gathered around me examined me and my instrument with curiosity. I asked them about the names of the surrounding mountains, but they knew only the nearest area and couldn’t tell me anything about the mountains visible in the south, except that Shuro, i.e. blacks, live there. When I asked them for water, they brought it in an enormous bamboo stalk.

Having gone down into the valley of the Wayna River, which lies at an altitude of 2,000 meters above sea level, we entered the densely inhabited region of Shevo. The Wayna River, which flows in marshy banks, we crossed by an extremely well-made bridge, covered with palm branches. Along the other side of the river, the inhabitants had cleared the road for the passage of the Ras. Catching sight of us, some hid in a thicket; the rest, bowing low, greeted me with the words “Saro, saro!”71

We stopped on the bank of one of the tributaries of the Wayna River, on the site of the future bivouac of the Ras. A whole palace was built for him on the bank of the stream. It consisted of several houses built in the form of enormous cabins, surrounded by an intricate fence. In the palace, active preparations are being made for the reception of the Ras. The Gimiro are bringing meal wrapped up in banana leaves and honey; and soldiers of Ato Kassema are making tej from it. Some of them chop gesho leaves into fine pieces (a stupefying remedy added to tej). Others add honey to water in huge pitchers and tubs, separating wax from it.

Ato Kassem and Prince Shevo came to my bivouac and brought me a ram and honey and meal. The honey was remarkably fragrant and completely white, but to eat it in the afternoon seemed impossible. As soon as they brought the honey into the tent, the tent filled with bees, which clung to the plate and spoon and flew at my mouth. The bees here are very good compared to ours, and you can brush them away from you. Nevertheless one of them, having sat under the spoon at the very moment when I put it in my mouth, stung my tongue and made me put off eating dessert until evening. My tongue swelled up, and for two days I could talk only with difficulty.

January 29 and 30.

We stayed in this place for two days. I made solar observations, determined the latitude, checked the chronometer, determined the declination of the magnetic meridian, and entered on the map the recent stages of my journey. The rest period was very opportune for me, since the rheumatism in my legs had not yet gone away, and after two climbs on Mounts Bonga-Beke and Bokan, the pain had increased significantly, furthered by the damp and cold weather in the mornings. On January 29, I rode out to photograph two hanged men I had seen the day before. They had hung already for more than a year on an enormous sycamore and had completely dried out.

In our bivouac, great excitement reigned. In the afternoon, the ashkers practiced throwing javelins at a target. As a sign of victory, he who hit the mark the greatest number of times walked to the target on the backs of his player-comrades who were lying face-downwards on the ground. In the evening, songs and dances were organized, during which the Kaffa showed us their war dance — a very beautiful dance reminiscent of the lezginka [Caucasian dance]. They dance in twos, armed with spears and shields. One of the dancers, wildly calling out in time to the song, attacks. Having aimed his spear at the chest of his opponent, he advances at him and shakes the spear the whole time. The opponent backs up and parries the blows with his shield, and then, in turn advances. The motions of the dancers were very smooth and graceful. They described circles, as in the lezginka. When the dance was in full swing, they accomplished amazing steps, jumping high, throwing themselves against one another, sometimes squatting as in the Russian prisyadka.

January 30.

An incident occurred which showed how far the spirit of comradeship had grown among my ashkers. One of them, Damye, suffered from syphilis, and his legs were covered with sores. He hid his illness from me from fear that I would exclude him from the campaign; and, suffering silently, he was doing the same 11-hour marches on foot as the others and did not do any less than his comrades. Here the opportunity presented itself to buy a horse from one of the soldiers of Ato Kassem. Since Damye did not have the money, his comrades formed a pool and collected the 30 efimks necessary for this.

January 31.

We entered the land of Isheno, which on the east and south borders on domains of Shuro Negroes who still do not recognize the authority of Abyssinia. The western boundary from here is ten versts [seven miles] in all, and the eastern is twenty versts [thirteen miles]. This place is just as rich in vegetation and abounds in water as much as the land we had just passed through. The road stretches along the western slopes of the mountain range, crossing many streams with excellent bridges built across them.

We laid out our bivouac beside the house which was built for the Ras; and soon after our arrival, Prince Isheno appeared. A typical Gimiro of enormous stature, he brought me meal, honey, and a ram as gifts.

February 1.

My detachment spent the following day resting, and I climbed the mountain ridge which constitutes the western border of Isheno. A whole detachment of Gimiro accompanied me — a hundred men under the command of a prince. Of my servants, I brought only the gun bearers, to the great chagrin of the other ashkers who probably supposed that we were undertaking a raid on neighbors.

From the altitude of the crest, there appeared the low-lying valley of the Uka River, which flows to the east, and which joins in the distance with another river (according to the natives, the Gumi).

Many settlements were scattered along the slopes of the crest. My fellow travellers were seized by a passionate desire to go down there to enemy land and finally give vent to their warlike aspirations. With difficulty, I succeeded in holding them back. Having looked around the place, I returned.

On the return trip, we went past a market at which a mass of people crowded — men and women — who, at our appearance, rushed to run away. Prince Isheno with difficulty succeeded in stopping and calming his subjects, and they continued their interrupted commerce. Here bread, beer, hens, rams, and various kinds of cloth were sold. The merchants and buyers seem to be mainly women. For the men, the market serves as a club. They thronged here with long pipes in their teeth, chatting and exchanging news. I bought a large wooden pipe from a Kaffa nobleman and ordered him to come to my bivouac for the money. At the designated time, he appeared. I invited him into my tent, served him honey, and conversed iwth him. My interlocutor seemed to be pagan. Formerly, he was very rich, and owned many cattle. He had two wives, seven slaves, and three children. But they all died during the war. He spoke of this with genuine sadness. “I asked God for death,” he said, “but he didn’t give me it.”

“Who is God?” I asked him.

“Iero!” he answered me. (He knew about the other Kaffa deity — Deontos — but could not explain to me what the difference was between them. He also knew about the devil — Saytana.)

I asked him if he had heard about Christ. He answered no.

“And about the Mother of God?”

“I have heard about Mary.”

“What do you think will become of you after your death?”

This question evidently touched one of the most sensitive and lively places of his soul, and he decided to share with me what had for a long time burdened him.

“It is the absolute truth,” he began enthusiastically. “What I say is the absolute truth! We have heard that good people will be in a state of bliss after death, and the evil will be racked with pain. We have heard that to get the first, we should fast: meat is tasty, butter is tasty, but we do not eat them. There are many beautiful women; we are attracted to them, but we restrain ourselves. I heard all this as hearsay, and for a long time this has hurt my soul (literally, “my stomach hurts”). But what all of this means and how it happens, I do not know.”

I briefly told him the foundations of Christian teaching. He listened with great attention, striking himself on his chest with his fist from time to time. In conclusion, he asked, “What must I do?”

“Be baptized!”

“And who will teach me fasts and rites? And can I be baptized when my ancestors were not baptized? Will I do well?”

I again advised him to be baptized, after which he thanked me; and, evidently sincerely agitated by our conversation, he went away…

In the evening, a courier arrived at a gallop with a letter from the Ras. He informed me that he would arrive in Shevo on the following day, and asked about my health and about how successful my work was. “Did you see many lands?” he asked in the letter. I answered him that, thanks to God, I was healthy; I had seen many lands; and that on the following day I would come to visit him in Shevo.

February 2.

In the morning, I took a short stroll in the land of Yayno, to the southern Gimiro border. After dinner I set out to the Ras on horseback, accompanied by two ashkers, also on horseback. His camp was spread out wide. For several versts from the headquarters of the Ras, the road was studded with tents on both sides. Soldiers, soldiers’ wives, children, mules — all were mixed together here in disorder. Only where the terrain allowed, I rode with a wide gallop. At the sight of me, some of the Abyssinians we met respectfully made way for us. Others looked around contemptuously, crying “Ali.” That’s what the Abyssinians called Italians and, together with them, all white men. This name is insulting in the highest degree, and Menelik forbade calling Europeans that, under threat of punishment with the jiraf. But this time I did not pay attention to the offensive calls, not wanting to begin my acquaintance with future comrades on the campaign with reprisals. However, I also heard approving exclamations relating to my horse and my riding, as for example “Ay faras! Ay faras! Frenj farasenye!” (“There’s a horse! There’s a horse! The foreigner is a cavalryman!”).

I found the Ras in the little courtyard of his headquarters, surrounded by officers. He sat cross-legged, on a carpet in the shade of a branchy tree and light-heartedly cleaned his teeth72 with a little stick. The old warrior, hardened in battle, apparently felt fortunate to find himself once again at the head of his army, in a campaign, under the open sky, on the border of enemy land, on the eve of crossing into it. To this feeling of pleasure must have been mixed some nervous alarm before a new fight, such as a fast horse feels at the start of spring after having passed a peaceful winter.

The Ras and I met heartily, and I stayed with him until sunset. In the evening, I returned to my bivouac.

February 3.

From eight o’clock in the morning, the continuous file of the Ras’s soldiers began to arrive. About ten o’clock, the clear sound of flutes was heard from afar, signaling his arrival. In front, drummers in little red fezzes rode, sitting on the sacrum of mules, loaded in the front with the drums. Swinging their sticks high, they beat the drums in a beautiful joyous rhythm. Behind the drums, two mules carried the enormous tent of the Ras; and bearers carried the long bamboo posts for it. Then his horses in silver gear and his mules were led. The stable-man of the favorite war horse of the Ras carried two spears — silver and copper. Then a long file of pages and bearers followed with property of the Ras: a well-made wooden armchair in a red calico cover, a medicine chest, two small water-skins, a library, a telescope, etc. The Ras takes these things with him during his journeys and his campaigns. Behind the bearers walked the flutists and, finally, surrounded by all the officers and soldiers of his guard, rode the commander-in-chief. Immediately behind him followed weapons bearers, carrying ten guns of the Ras in red woolen covers and so many ammunition belts, thrown around their necks. The mule of the Ras in a heavy silver collar had an Abyssinian saddle, covered with velvet trappings, embroidered with silk.

The Ras wore a thin white shirt and trousers. A black silk burnoose was worn over the thinnest shamma, thrown over the shoulder. With the free end of the shamma, he covered his face up to the eyes. The Ras’s feet were bare, and his head was covered with a wide felt hat. His armaments consisted of a small revolver and a saber mounted in gold (a military distinction, received from Emperor Menelik).

The Ras settled down and waited for dinner in one of the houses, where his camp-bed was set up and carpets were spread out. Deputations greeted the Ras by bowing to the ground; and, as a sign of joy at beholding their lord with their own eyes, they kissed the ground and beat on their chests with their palms. Prince Isheno brought several marvellous bulls as a gift, one of which the Ras gave to me.

Prince Isheno and his subjects, as inhabitants, were invited to take part in the campaign; and they with joy accepted this offer. A special detachment from them was formed under the command of Gebra, who had until then had served as my interpreter.

It was decided to cross the Shuro border the following day. The Shuro lands were separated from the Gimiro by a dense border forest, through which only difficult foot paths led. The Ras issued orders to quickly dispatch workers to clear a road ahead and designated a combined detachment of a hundred soldiers as a guard.

I wanted to set out with the advanced detachment, and after a big dinner with the Ras to which all the officers, the most senior soldiers, and his whole guard were invited, I crossed the border.

At five o’clock in the evening, we reached the edge of the frontier forest and set up our bivouac in a small clearing. I rode ahead to acquaint myself with the neighborhood. Going several versts along a scarcely discernible trail in a very dense forest, we ran up against Shuro scouts, who hid themselves as we approached; and, finally, we climbed to the crest of the mountain spur, which went down by a precipice to an unknown river. As far as the eye see, the valley and hills were densely settled. Smoke arose from the houses. Evidently, food was being prepared there. Cattle were returning from the pasture, and the sight marvelous white cows aroused the appetite of my travelling companions, who exclaimed the whole time, “Look how many cows! So white! And Cows! Those are such cows!…” The field around was cultivated. The quiet hardworking life of a peaceful people was evident in all, and it was sad to think that tomorrow all this would be destroyed… The picture will change: the inhabitants will flee, driving their livestock and carrying their goods and children. They will, most probably be killed, wounded, and captured. Their houses will go up in a blaze, and all that will remain of them will be the hearths. Didn’t the Shuro foresee this? Ras Wolda Giyorgis more than once passed on to them through their Gimiro neighbors the advice to voluntarily submit. They know that the Abyssinians are close: scouts watch over all trails leading into their country. Disaster draws near. Evidently, sorrow is close by and unavoidable. But despite this, on the eve of disaster, they prepare their food without a care.

It had already gotten dark when I returned to our bivouac. Along the road, we came upon my ashkers who had set out for food. On their own initiative they took all military precautions, and the two who were carrying water were convoyed by two others armed with rifles.72

In the evening, we slaughtered the bull which had been given to me by the Ras, and I treated the combined detachment to dinner. I invited 14 officers into my tent, and we ate raw meat, dipping it in red pepper. My guests appeared with their own knives or daggars. (Some had little knives inserted in the scabbards of sabers.)

During dinner, we established the procedures for the night watch, in view of the probability of an attack by the Shuro. Campfires were set at the four corners of the bivouac, and eight guards lay down in front of each of them. They were strictly instructed to shoot only in extremity and never inside the bivouac. In case of alarm, they were ordered to muster at my large tent. Our precautions, however, were not justified, and the night passed peacefully…

Footnotes to Armies
B: = Bulatovich, author
K: = Katsnelson, editor of Russian reprint
S: = Seltzer, translator

63 B: The 30 ashkers were distributed as follows: the most senior — Wolda Tadik; his assistant and chief of the transport — Aboye; two of elfin ashkers (household servants) of mine — Tekla Giyorgis and Ambyrbyr; two cooks Adera and Inasu; the chief stable-man — Ordofa and his assistant — Ababa; 14 ashker-bearers; two herdsmen who during the march carried sticks from the tents — tarads; and six weapon bearers — Faisa, Aulale, Haile, Ambyrbyr, Abto Selassie and Wolda Maryam. There were four horses and 19 mules. One of the stable-men led my personal horse in front of me and in case of need I sat on it; and the three senior servants — Wolda Tadik, Aboye, and Abto Maryam — rode the other three horses. Three mules were saddled for me, and I rode on them in order. One mule was Zelepukin’s. And on the remaining 15 mules was found our load of transport, with a weight in general at the beginning of the march of about 70-80 poods [2520-2880 pounds]. This consists of 50 poods [1800 pounds] of meal, cartidges, one large and three small tents, medicine chests, supplies of clothing, underclothing, cooking and dining equipment, salt, wax for candles, some bottles of liqueur, several boxes of dry broth (Magi) and wineskins with oil.

64 B: Express rifle, 500 mm caliber rifle, two 3/8″ caliber rifles, Winchester and shot-gun.

65 B: Dake-rasha in translation means “chief of the Dake region.” He comes from the Uka clan and up until the subjugation of Kaffa was a member of the “council of seven.”

66 B: The right of such a ceremonial passage belongs only to rashes within the limits of their regions.

67 K: Kusho, or more accurately Kucha, is one of the tribes of western Sidamo. The region which they inhabit is the right bank of the middle course of the River Omo.

68 B: The residents of the harem led a life which was quite closed, never seeing anyone except the guard eunuchs. The king never visited their lodging. On his command, they were brought to the palace. Tato Chenito was generous. He surrounded his wives with luxury, gave them gold and silver ornaments, and dressed them in long silk shirts trimmed with gold chains.

69 B: The astronomical position of both of these mountains was subsequently accurately calculated by me. Mount Dime was determined to be several minutes further south than Donaldson determined it, not to speak of the difference in longitude, which amounted to about six minutes both for this mountain and for the mouth of the River Omo.

70 B: The Menu River flows into the Sobat.

71 B: Up until recently, this greeting, used by the Kulo tribe, was completely unknown to the Gimiro, who copied it from their conqueror Abyssinians who came from the land of Kulo. Not knowing one another’s languages, the Abyssinians used for conversation with the Gimiro a third language which was the least well-known for they themselves, thinking that it must probably be better known to the Gimiro. I noticed this kind of behavior more than once in other circumstances: this tendency to express oneself with foreigners in any language which is the least understandable for the speaker. For instance, our solider-medical orderlies who were with the Red Cross in Abyssinia, in conversation with the natives used French words such as “march,” “mange,” etc. Likewise, when Abyssinians encountered a European who was unknown to them, they talked to him in Galla.

72 B: For this they use a damp twig of a special, very flexible tree. Before use, they lightly chew the end of the stick, which does not have a core inside. When it splinters from the chewing, they clean their teeth with it, as a toothbrush. The sap of this tree stimulates much saliva.

Note
Picture: Belemusa (woman found in Sebelimu River, who became a guide for the army of Wolda Giyorgis)
From: http://www.samizdat.com/bulatovichphotos/illustrations/Belemusa.jpg

It isn’t such a silly idea in America. Editors’ organizations and journalism professors are talking about putting investigative work into some separate, non-commercial box and finding a benign foundation or company to foot its bills. There’s a growing, if slightly ad hoc, belief that newspapers need extra help to do good Pulitzer Prize-winning work and that the failing chains are never going to be able to supply it.

That is the American way. The high arts there survive courtesy of private benefactors. Public Service Broadcasting floats on a choppy sea of quasi-charitable subscription. Why should an ailing press be treated so differently?

Now, in equally battered Britain, there is top-slicing, which may turn out to be the broadcasting refrain of the decade. On the one hand, as the idea has developed, it’s broadcaster-only fodder for the autumn’s media conference round. Should the BBC keep all of the license fee billions? Will Channel Four get a £100m sliver of the action? Can ITV be allowed off its obligations to regional news, kids’ programs and other worthy commitments?

This pits the BBC Trust against Ofcom in a scrabble of sanctity and necessity. Ofcom wants a new Public Service Authority to divide up the license loot (rather like the Arts Council). It’s an idea bound to find some favor in Whitehall (where sticky fingers feeling BBC collars are always welcome) and David Cameron, whose only real spell of work outside politics was wheeling and dealing for Carlton TV, is not exactly going to be the Beeb’s arbiter of choice.

By those standards, the corporation has just had a difficult week after an opinion poll for the Guardian showed support for the license fee slipping badly, particularly in Scotland and the North of England. Is £139.50 a year ‘good value for money’? Some 47 per cent of those polled think not. Neither, by a clear 11 points majority, does Joe Public reckon the BBC lives up to its claims on ‘distinctive programming’. These are muddy, swirling waters, presaging pain and vulnerability.

But where’s the logic in ring-fencing broadcasting (or, at least, BBC areas of influence)? The BBC and the Newspaper Society, the umbrella body for regional newspapers, are already at daggers drawn over corporation plans for a string of very local websites. The BBC and national newspaper groups are similarly at odds over worldwide internet competition, with the corporation taking advertising outside Britain.

What the BBC does on the net is often public service, too. Why, then, should it use license fee resources to bring news to your town, frequently based – nay, dependent on – the news in your local paper? And why, equally, should Channel Four secure a slice of this action to mount a Dispatches series based on original Fleet Street work? What is so special about broadcasting that, whether taking ads or not, its producers have to rely on a levy denied to those it competes with and who provide much original research?

Of course, there is silliness here. Think of the Daily Mail taking a topping portion of beneficence via Ofcom for doing its civic duty. But logic and practicality aren’t always blood brothers. If the rules for top-slicing are arbitrary – handing millions to TV editors for covering the news and current affairs but excluding other editors doing an equivalent job of reporting and analysis – you’re bound to ask what’s special about broadcasting in an era where one website covers all functions? And if that seems a daft question, perhaps the whole idea of top-slicing is pretty silly, too.

Bring on 2012 as media gold delivers viewers and sales

How do you feel this morning, you triumphant gold medal consumer, you? Oh! Amazing, surprised, awesome, tearful, stunned, very happy for my mum – and liable to swear in all the wrong places.

But now the agony and the ecstasy of Beijing begins to die and a few medals to Media Team GB would seem in order.

Personal presenting and commentating gongs for Hazel Irvine, who mixes relaxed humour with a steely attention to detail, and of course to Michael Johnson, simply the best at everything. Plus at least a silver for Team BBC who spent your money widely, but pretty well – and gave BBC1 its best consistent audience ratings for two long years.

That boost washed over to the press as well, as circulation departments reported an overall hardening of demand in the second half of what had been a disheartening August, with thousands of extra copies sold following Britain’s bursts of gold. There are obvious lessons and connections here.

One is that no mass medium is an island unto itself. Momentum comes from interlinking and cross-feeding. TV coverage boosts newspaper sales: punters want to read about what they’ve seen. Equally, press coverage heightens excitement and blessedly explains unfamiliar things – yachting, say – in terms you can understand.

Second, good news can be very good for circulation. That’s not old Fleet Street wisdom. Look at the Daily Mail’s split front page on the morning after Christine Ohuruogu’s 400 meters win, where her ‘Best of British’ was weirdly counterbalanced by ‘Worst of British’ (otherwise the Gary who shows that all that glisters is not gold). Could the Mail simply rejoice? Sadly not: it couldn’t get by without three pages of Ohuruogu drug-testing witter inside, either. But maybe we’ll have to get used to feeling over the moon/delighted/fantastic as editors realize that London in 2012 might be something to look forward to, not just another long whinge about costs, waste and incompetence.

Losing battle of Fort Dunlop

There’s no point in being horrid to Ms Sly Bailey or her Trinity Mirror colleagues. They wanted to sell their Midlands newspapers, but they couldn’t get a decent price. They lived on the crest of their share price, then saw four-fifths of it go bump in a trice. Cut and cut and cut again.

But taking away the jobs of their 300 Midlands journalists, axing 65 and telling the 235 who remain to apply for different roles and conditions in some great, consolidated Fort Dunlop news factory? Less is less is less, and never more. Long ago, when I was a boy, you could walk down Swan Street in Loughborough and see Chubby Deakin, the truly local editor of the truly local Loughborough Echo, sitting in his office front window, typing away. You knew he cared because he – and the paper around him – were there in the midst of things.

And henceforth, as the pages flow from Fort Dunlop far away? Birmingham is West Midlands, Loughborough is East. You might as well try to produce a Lancashire paper from Yorkshire. Or you might as well give up.

Rise and fall on the internet

The race to be British journalism’s top news website – a marathon of fluctuating fortunes – would be more serious if the number of unique users didn’t keep bobbing around each month. A million here, two million there, a sudden spurt in American usage because Matt Drudge or some US celebrity blogger got a few links going? It’s all a little too febrile to pin great faith on.

But British unique users tell a rather different story, and there the Guardian (leader at home and abroad) has an increasingly good tale to tell. The theory is that print sales ought to bear some relation to net usage, but just look at the July ABC report: 5.5 million users for the Mail online, 5.5 million for the Sun – and 8.5 million for the Guardian and Observer site, a full two million ahead of the Telegraph’s silver medal. Sites have a life, and purpose, of their own.

The Yuck Factor

No doubt the Channel Four decision to bring back Celebrity Big Brother next year was taken before Jade Goody found she had cancer live on the Indian version. But, for teeth-grinding intrusiveness and grotesque tastelessness, Mumbai has suddenly seized a world-beating lead. Can C4 find the Yuck Factor and hit new depths? It’s all down to chief executive Andy Duncan and, maybe, his last ever high jump…

I do believe that love is special enough to be expressed everyday. I completely agree with the viewpoint that why should we restrain ourselves to showing overwhelming emotions to just one day. But here’s a thing, we have several other days which we tend to celebrate, dedicated to special people and things such as Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Bosses’ day and even Chocolate Day. In some countries even ‘fast food day’ is lionized. So, if we can celebrate something as trivial as junk food, which actually harms us, why can’t we dedicate just one day to the purest and most unconditional sentiment ever?

Valentine’s day does not stand for expressing our passion for only 24 hours and neglecting our partners for the other 364 days. But rather it is that one day where our efforts are given the opportunity to stand out in the eyes of our lovers. That one day which is all for loving, for dusting away all the cobwebs of worldly worries and allowing only unadulterated and illogical emotions to shine through. Now there’s nothing wrong with that! So, whether Valentine’s day came into existence due to a Roman priest called St. Valentine truly sent a note to his beloved on 14th February, 269 AD, before being beheaded, signing off as “From Your Valentine”, or like the Saint Valentine’s day history story which says that its a dedication to the Gnostic priest, Valentinius of Alexandria, who advocated the sanctity of marriage or an exaggerated figment of Geoffrey Chaucer’s imagination presented in the “Parliament of Foules”, Valentine’s day gives us a whole day to celebrate the glories of love! Now that’s what I feel. But if you are not totally in agreement with me then you can read some of the most famous Valentine’s day quotes, to see what the great minds in history have to say about it. Enjoy!

Best Valentine’s Day Quotes

Cute Valentine’s Day Quotes
Truly touching, read them to understand why they make for the best Valentine’s Day quotes ever! You can find some other beautiful utterings about love in French love quotes.

“I just love to do special things for my wife on Valentine’s day. Like open the door for her when she puts all the laundry in the washing machine, or plug and unplug the vacuum as she moves from room to room cleaning. Guys, it’s these little thoughtful things you can do to have a marriage such as mine.” ~ Anonymous.

“The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of.” ~ Blaise Pascal in Pensées.

“How on earth are you ever going to explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love?” ~ Albert Einstein.

“A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.” ~ Ingrid Bergman.

“Must, bid the Morn awake!
Sad Winter now declines,
Each bird doth choose a mate;
This day’s Saint Valentine’s.
For that good bishop’s sake
Get up and let us see
What beauty it shall be
That Fortune us assigns.” ~ A Valentine’s Day poem by Michael Drayton.

“Love is the thing that enables a woman to sing while she mops up the floor after her husband has walked across it in his barn boots.” ~ Hoosier Farmer.

Funny Valentine’s Day Quotes
Here are some hilarious quotes for Valentine’s day, which double as good love quotes as well, uttered by the wittiest cynics of the world.

“I don’t understand why Cupid was chosen to represent Valentine’s Day. When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon.” ~ Anonymous.

“You have to walk carefully in the beginning of love; the running across fields into your lover’s arms can only come later when you’re sure they won’t laugh if you trip.” ~Jonathan Carroll in “Outside the Dog Museum”.

“Valentine’s Day is when a lot of married men are reminded what a poor shot Cupid really is.” ~ Anonymous.

“Today is Valentine’s Day. Or, as men like to call it, Extortion day.” ~ Jay Leno.

“Love – a wildly misunderstood although highly desirable malfunction of the heart which weakens the brain, causes eyes to sparkle, cheeks to glow, blood pressure to rise and the lips to pucker.” ~ Anonymous.

“I wanted to make it really special on Valentine’s Day, so I tied my boyfriend up. And for three solid hours I watched whatever I wanted on TV.” ~ Tracy Smith.

“True love is like ghosts, which everybody talks about and few have seen.” ~ La Rochefoucauld.

“One should always be in love. That is the reason one should never marry.” ~ Oscar Wilde.

“(Note to her gardener)Basement smells bad. Look for cat poops, change litter. Happy Valentines Day.” ~ Martha Stewart.

Whatever be it, love is wonderful and a day for it is most deliciously awesome! These Valentine’s day quotes vouch for it. Bless the soul of the saint who paved the path for lovers to fill their partners up with overwhelming passion on Valentine’s day. And I also agree with Ogden Nash where he says,

“I claim there ain’t
Another Saint
As great as Valentine.”

Babies, beyond everything, are the cutest bundles of joy ever experienced by mankind! It is no wonder that a smiling bald toddler is always your attention seeking fancy, despite the torturous chores that is managing one accompanies. Often women have to deal with this delightful ordeal all by themselves, as men either don’t think have their sensibilities in place or are just not ‘naturally trained’ enough. And despite the number of siblings that you might have taken care of, every baby along with their similarities of being living angels, are always equipped to come along with a new set of troubles.

So the task is to comprehend their unimaginable dialect and fathom to the newer adjustment cycles, with the passage of time. As enjoyable as it may seem at first, it could get a bit annoying with time to be faced with even more innovative troubles that some babies face. Young mothers therefore need to possess truckloads of patience and an even overpowering adrenalin levels to cope with the sleep cycles of the baby.

Babies on the other hand help you by looking their bounciest best with hues of pink wrapped up neatly in the cutest clothes. It’s no wonder that on observing baby clothes, that are generally the cutest of the lot of apparel; the task of handling a baby is less tiresome as it may seem. And more so if you have a pair of them! So what might ideally be a solitary notion for each mother is doubled in time when she has twins. Often mothers of twin children have remarked that although the workload for each baby is doubled, it’s always a pleasure to do it for them, and after a while it becomes more practiced an effort as you’ve been completing your tasks twice over; always!

The Stark Realities

Babies accompany a string of realities along with them! Besides being an additional joyful member in the house, they also bring in a great deal of cash flow, literally flowing in for all their dutiful needs! Whether it’s clothes or booties, or vaccinations, the fact that they mean the world to us, also at times intends that they cost us as much too! It is believed in most parts of the world that a family should be started in a household that might both understands and lives within that lavish lifestyle. I say lavish simply because babies are that way.

Whether it’s the large spoon of cereal that they are trying to stuff in or the large amount of affection that they tuck in within their rounded red cheeks, it’s important to understand their life long responsibilities, before they choose to be parents of a cherub! In addition to our responsibilities, the other most responsible being are the paediatricians! They are perhaps the most patient of all according to me! After all who else would try o hard to understand that feeble grumble was actually the growling sound little tummies make for the want of food!

So if you intend to start a family, my advise to newly weds is to think, plan, invest and then indulge, because the joys that babies bring to the world in simply unmatched to any other in this Universe! And o course if you need to bring him or her into this world it would only make sense that you’d provide them with the best!

“Jack?” I whispered. The cat bowed his head in a solem nod. I slowly made my way to the floor on my knees. The cat cocked his head to the side watching me, puzzled. I held my hands out in a motion for him to come to me. Slowly the panther patted his way to me. His claws making a soft clink noise on the wood floor. He layes his soft head in my out stretched hands, his eyes glowed. I stroked his head and he rubbed his cheek against my palm. I petted him, amazed.
I kissed his fur covered head, “I love you jack no matter what.” I whispered.

With in seconds that panther was now Jack again, my lips on his forehead. “That’s why I hurt you, I was trying not to transform into this thing in front of you. I’m so so sorry.” He whispered.
“I’m over it Jack. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be.” he whispered, and with that he brought his lips to mine. Slowly he unclothed me and slid his tongue through my lips and down my throat. I moaned against his lips as he slid into me. We started to make love, and it was my first time. I screamed as he went in deeper.
“Nixie are you a …virgin?” he whispered. I nodded and his eyes widened. “Don’t worry, ill be gentle.” and he was.

********
I woke up laying in Jack’s arms. His naked body pressed against mine. Slowly I saw him stir and his eyes fluttered open. “Morning sweetheart.” he whispered.
“Morning.”
“Did, did I hurt you?” he asked quietly.
“Only a little, but it won’t be as bad next time.”

Whenever I’m in America and I hear that runaway garble, “discuss this with your doctor, may cause dizziness, retching, despair, etc” I am reminded of how profoundly different are our attitudes to healthcare professionals, not to mention their attitudes to us. Can you imagine what would happen if you marched into a GP, demanding a drug you’d seen on the telly? They’d be livid. They’d put a tyre round your neck and set fire to it, shouting: “medicate that, pipsqueak!”

For the obvious reason that we don’t pay for it, the health system seems to us to be largely outside commerce, totally uncoupled from the rules of the market that govern every other decision of our lives. It seems perfectly reasonable to delay having children pending some financial security, and perfectly unreasonable to delay an operation for said child on the same grounds.

It’s warped thinking, but straightening it out would mean dragging the NHS into the unsentimental market, where any one of our lives might turn out to be worth less than money, so let’s warp away. Some of the contradictions are interesting. (You would think that an unshakeable commitment to free healthcare would keep us shackled to a nominal degree of redistributive taxation, but not necessarily.) A YouGov poll in 2004 put high taxes as the principal threat students perceived from government, while only a slightly smaller majority put the NHS as its primary concern (above education).

The inconsistencies in our attitude to healthcare are rarely interrogated – to do so would run against the orthodoxy that these universally free services are a good thing. But the flipside to this reverence is that we aren’t forced to square the pride we take in the health service with the now rather quaint principles of pooling our resources to pay for it. Paradoxically, it will probably be our exaggerated sense of the NHS’s spiritual purity – its noble higher purpose of tending to us, while we scramble around selling things to one another – that will finally be the undoing of it.

The National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence bears the brunt of a lot of our delusion. It has much to do with choosing the name Nice, but also with being maybe the only institution whose remit includes assessing treatments for cost effectiveness, and making public its findings. Most of the time, those findings are simple arithmetic: if we want this, we can’t afford that. That might be true, but it’s just so grubby.

In its total lack of foundation, its passion, and its unshakeable grip on the political and moral consensus, our faith in the NHS resembles nothing so much as our one-time faith in God. People always talk about celebrity worship being the new religion, but that is characterised by its scepticism and caprice. NHS-love catches us at our most sentimental. The core difference is that if there’s one helpful thing religion does, it brings us to an accommodation with death, whereas a blind faith in the health service brings the vague notion that if everyone were to try a bit harder, no one would ever die. That’s not helpful. You’re almost better off putting your faith in Paris Hilton.