UPDATE: Friday, September 16, 2021 - On my way home after a long day at work, I spotted a church that had a bunch of people gathered around outside. At first, I thought there was a service taking place but there were a lot of folks smoking cigarettes. I notice ironies all the time so I was compelled to pull over realizing that people who were standing under a cross were bearing their cross by taking pulls from a product that claimed my father’s life.

I walked up and ran into an attendee who was on his way to his car. I asked him what the event was about and he told me that it was a Narcotic Anonymous meeting. The journalist started asking and the friendly stranger had no problem answering. He told me all about his tribulations and how he attends the NA meetings to keep from falling off the wagon.

He then said something that spoke to me, he said addiction is not about how frequently consume but about impulse. I shared with him that I can go months if not longer without taking a drink but if I do, I revert back to my college days by getting lit like fireworks on the Fourth of July. The hardest thing to admit is when one has a problem, one painful experience after another, truamas that begat more traumas including the one I shared below, have led me to seek the flesh over tending to my soul. I am intent on healing from within and it starts by acknowledging the parts that I played in my own downfall and holding others accountable. This is my attempt to do so.

I have a confession to make, I have been withholding a big part of my story ever since I decided to pursue journalism while I was in the midst of homelessness nearly six years ago. Though I made no secret of how I went from working at Booz Allen Hamilton to living in rescue missions, I held back from recounting significant parts of that story. My omission was not rooted in maliciousness; a big reason as to why I decided to hold back from telling the full scope of my journey is because I decided to give to God the most sublime part of my two-year odyssey through privation.

Once I realized that the hardships I was enduring had a purpose and that tribulation actually led me away from a life of debauchery as a shisha lounge owner, it was an easy call to stop seeking vindication and instead find gratitude in the midst of poverty. It was because I made a decision to stop being bitter that God saw it fit for me to do better. I know for a fact that I would still be in Colorado working minimum wage jobs and living a life of destitution had I remained steadfast in exacting revenge and proving that an injustice was committed against me.

This is where the story takes a turn; buckle up because I’m about to tell you the parts of how I became homeless that I concealed for six years that might bake your cookie a la Matrix-style. I frequently cite how I wrote a speech idea in 2008 that I forwarded on to my fraternity brother who used to live in the same neighborhood as the Obamas. Well six years later, I made the fateful decision of telling that story for the first time on social media. The minute I published the YouTube video rightfully claiming credit for the small part I played in crafting Obama’s speech, my life got turned upside down as my family was convinced by a litany of phone calls that I was a danger to myself.

Within short order, the police knocked on my door and I was held against my will for six days. If it was not for the bravery and morality of McLean PD Officer Taj Beaufort, I don’t think I would be here recounting my experience. I went from receiving an invitation to and attending the launching of Organizing for America in Chicago to being persona non-grata overnight. To this day, I have no idea how the wheels were set into motion and why an unknown would-be shisha club owner like me captured the attention of powerful people who decided to turn my life into a living hell. All I know is that I ended up flat on my back homeless in the same state that Barack Obama uttered my words as his closing line.

For the record, everything that I am stating is 100% verifiable, I have receipts for days. Valerie Jarrett was a recipient of the email my fraternity brother sent. Joy-Ann Reid, whom I met at the 2012 Democrat National Convention in Charlotte and exchanged phone numbers with, can also validate aspects of what I wrote given that I reached out to her as I was being railroaded and sent her reams of evidence only for her to pretend like she never knew me once she realized what was involved. Gone are the days of journalists protecting the powerless and exposing the excesses of the powerful, she chose silence to keep her posh position at MSNBC.

What I noted above is but the point of the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what happened to me between 2015-2017. In all honesty, I am still reticent to tell the rest of the story because it is almost impossible to believe. I feel like Jonah after escaping the belly of the beast only to wonder how to tell that whale of a story. Though I don’t necessarily believe that Jonah in the Bible was eaten by an actual whale—I think his ordeal was more of a parable of what happens to us when we ignore our conscience—if I stipulate it was an actual living whale that swallowed him up, imagine what his life becomes once he gets out of the belly of the beast.

Imagine that Jonah is walking back to his village after the great escape and he runs into his boys. When they ask “hey Jonah, where have you been homey”, how does he respond? How will he be judged if he tells them that he was swallowed up by a whale for three days? Would they believe him or would they judge him as being crazy? I think the answer is evident. There are certain things that happen to all of us that are so out of the norm and fantastical that it’s better to remain mum than try to convince others about what we have been through and instead celebrate life as I did in this video dedicated to my wife Bethlehem Bekele.

Well, let’s just say I have a whale of a story to tell about how I became homeless in 2015. Consider this article a preview, I am still in prayer hoping that I convey that story not for the sake of my ego but for a greater purpose. I feel compelled to recount my experiences six years after the fact because of the insanity of current events taking place before us. Considering what our government is proposing and the lengths they are going to strip away our rights and our liberties, what happened to me in 2015 is no longer far-fetched.

I’m conveying this message through the prism of self-reflection, observations rooted in faith and a deconstruction of the veiled agendas that are being implemented in plain sight while too many of us are distracted by our differences. I also lean on my lineage and the courage of my forefather Atse Tewodros II nee Kassa Haile who was one of Ethiopia’s greatest kings. I don’t mention this fact to brag, I learned the hard way through a nearly one-year bout of depression when I stopped writing last year, the dangers of using the gift that God gives all of us to stroke one’s ego. I bring up my lineage not to boast but to make a point about true servants who give to the people and serpents who use their status to bleed humanity.

I write this article for everyone who believes in justice and that the only way to overcome evil is through love. I especially reach out to the three major faiths that are rooted in the God of Abraham. For too long, we have been fighting over our differences instead of listening to the teachings of prophets and messengers sent by Our Creator who beseech us to act with less ego and instead submit to God so He can bless us. A time is fast approaching to make a decision, on one side is God’s chosen people and on the other side is the devil’s minion. The choice is simple but the decision and its implications are crucial!

I also write this article for my fellow Ethiopians back home who are in the process of destroying a biblical land because they have been infected with the spirit of callous indifference and vengeance that are not of God but of Satan. A country that was once united and unbowed has swallowed the toxic identity politics of America only to lose our souls for it. Psalm 68:31 reads “Ethiopia shall quickly turn her hand to God, shall denotes something to be done in the future so who do you think we have given our hand to at this moment?

I reiterate this same message of unity above individual grievances in my new home America. The poisonous tribalism that led to “Africa’s” enslavement has been unleashed in the United States and throughout the world. If we do not wake up soon, if we don’t set aside our differences and come together to defend our common interests, we shall be made equal through hardships and mass graves. I do not say this for effect, the freedoms that we take for granted and the safety provided by two oceans are about to be inverted into horrors unprecedented in the history of this blessed land. Wake up or face a collective wake.

Let me just state this given a question that someone asked me on Twitter because he was concerned about me given that I am writing about topics that can upset a lot of powerful people who commit atrocities as a hobby. For the record, even though I lost my mom last year to Covid-19 and the stresses of living through a pandemic are at times unbearable, I am nonetheless blessed and grateful. After enduring nearly two years of destitution, I am gainfully employed, married and have a son who is the light of our world.

Though I get censored all the time, though I at times get anxious about losing my job because of my outspokenness, what I will not do is remain silent out of fear of what others will do to me. I am the son of an Ethiopian naval officer who apparently had a lot more to his story than he ever told me. Both of my grandfathers fought against Mussolini during WWII as military officers and so did my maternal grandmother. My forefather and namesake likewise ate a bullet instead of submitting to fascist invaders. Inspired by Atse Tewodros, Ethiopians defeated a would-be colonial power.

I too could have followed my family’s legacy of warriors had I not committed foolish mistakes that prevented me from attending West Point.

Where I did not serve with soldiers whom it would have been an honor to call brothers and sisters, I nonetheless served military personnel in both a professional and an impoverished capacity. I learned more from veterans over the years, especially when I was sleeping on donated mattresses and occasionally concrete pillows, far exceed the indoctrination I received while pursuing an MBA at Johns Hopkins University. I am forever in awe of men and women who put on the uniform, where I cannot salute you out of respect, I will forever admire your grit and tenacity in service of a cause greater than yourselves. This dispatch is dedicated to you, I trust you know what to do with it.

My forefather Atse Tewodros II stood up to the British crown and refused to cower at the might of their military. These colors do not run; I do not fear Biden nor the globalist snakes he salutes. There are some who get so drunk off their perceived power that they start committing irrational acts that can light a fuse and lead to drastic actions. We are witnessing their irrationality now as they push people into corners, they keep bullying the suffering masses at their peril. Just like Paris during the French Revolution, one second the aristocracy are comfortable, the next they became basket cases.

I do not write this story and relive the traumas of 2015 for the sake of spotlights, I learned the hard way just how hot things can get when you get some people’s attention. I’ve arrived at the decision to finally release what I have been keeping bottled up because I see how the same unaccountable agencies who destroy countless people’s lives, including mine, are now training their guns on all of us. If we do not wake up and mount an effective resistance to Biden and our government’s fascist and global campaign they are supposedly waging against a virus they funded and helped to create, the tribulations I endured in 2015 could very well be our final chapter.

“Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.” ~ Martin Niemöller

This is part one of a three-part write-up, the next iteration will be published on Saturday, August 14th, I will go into further detail. Stay tuned.

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Teodrose Fikremariam

Writer at Ghion Journal

Teodrose Fikremariam is the co-founder and editor of the Ghion Journal. Prior to launching the Ghion Journal, he was a political organizer who once wrote a speech idea in 2008 that was incorporated into Barack Obama's South Carolina primary victory speech. He is originally from Ethiopia and a direct descendent, seven generations removed, of one of Ethiopia's greatest Emperors Tewodros II.

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Latest posts by Teodrose Fikremariam (see all)

• I Rise in Defense of Masculinity #WeToo - September 15, 2021
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