In August 2017, the Orthodox congregation had 91 members. There were 18 unmarried teenagers as well as 42 married women and 31 married men. Of these 91 members, only 20 had converted on their own initiative. These were all men, most of them above fifty years of age and considered ‘galta’ (elders). The remainder of the congregation had become Orthodox in the 20 elders' wake: There were eleven younger, married men who had followed their fathers into the church. The 42 women, in turn, had all converted when their husbands had become Orthodox. (The higher number of women is due to polygyny.) And the teenagers had converted in the wake of their parents. The reason for this ripple effect of the 20 elders’ conversion is simple: all of those who today form the Orthodox congregation had prior to their conversion followed karta. In the local understanding, however, it is not possible to participate in karta if your husband or father does not do so either. Hence, when the elders left karta, their dependents had to follow suit.33 This does not mean that the latter have no genuine interest in being Orthodox. It does mean, however, that to explain the rise of Orthodoxy in Dell, the main task is to explain why the elders converted. In the following, I show that most conversions were triggered by conflicts with lineage heads, but that concerns about ‘name’ were what really motivated these elders’ engagement with Orthodoxy.
Toidi-Troubles
As a way into this analysis, consider the following account of an episode which occurred around 2008, two years prior to the foundation of the Orthodox church in Dell. The speaker
33 By contrast, where the wives or children of a man had been amain prior to the man’s conversion to Orthodoxy, they commonly remained so. In Kalibab’s case, for instance, his first wife, three of his married sons, and three of his unmarried children had been amain prior to Kalibab’s conversion to Orthodoxy, and they did not follow him into Orthodoxy. His second and third wife, as well as his first son, and four of his unmarried children, by contrast, had participated in karta and became Orthodox when Kalibab converted. (His second wife has since stopped following Orthodoxy. She now considers herself as being ‘on her own’
is Geshabab, the first convert from Dell, who at the time of our interview in 2017 was in his mid-70s.
After I had finished paying bridewealth for my new wife, we spent three days in a hut, as is our custom. When we left the hut, I asked my toidi (lineage head) when we could come to do the anza-kash (ritual through which the bride becomes part of her husband's lineage). At first he said he was too busy. So I begged him and begged him, and finally he told me a day. But the next morning he sent a messenger to tell me that the anza-kash had to be postponed because he had to go elsewhere. This happened several times. It was very bad! I wanted to plant wheat in my field in Gedir [located to the west of Dell, beyond a stream], but in our karta it’s taboo to cross a stream until the anza-kash has been done. Also, the bride is not allowed to work. Finally, Askalbab [the toidi] said we should come the following Friday. So we prepared beer and on that Friday went to the
kashi (the lineage's ritual site). But when we got there, it was said that Askalbab had gone
to town. I was very angry. How was I going to sow if we didn't do the anza-kash?! I said, “that’s enough for me, I'll become Gamma Kristian”. So I took the beer and went home. Some days later, there was an Orthodox holiday at Bako, and I went there and became Orthodox.
In brief, Geshabab's problem was this: His toidi repeatedly postponed – and thus effectively refused – to carry out a ritual for him. As a consequence, Geshabab was unable to sow his field. For if he crossed a stream prior to the ritual, he or a member of his household would be harmed by gomma. Conversion to Orthodoxy solved this problem for Geshabab. As in the case of conversion to Evangelicalism, conversion to Orthodoxy means no longer being subject to the rules of karta. The ritual of anza-kash, however, only is a part of karta but not of Orthodoxy. Hence, if one is Orthodox, harm cannot arise if one does not carry out this ritual (cf. Donham 1999: 116 for similar understandings in Maale).
Geshabab’s case is exemplary, since almost all of the other elders reported similar problems. Kalibab, for instance, recounted how his toidi, Gamibab, had refused to carry out the first milk ritual for him. One evening, Kalibab had placed a calabash with milk in the lineage’s ritual site, for Gamibab to bless it the next morning. But when Kalibab stepped out of his house the next day to go to attend the ritual, he saw that Gamibab had returned the calabash. This meant that he was not going to bless the milk. On another occasion, Gamibab
of the toidi, and to castrate on one's own would mean gomma. When Kalibab desperately asked how he was going to drink his milk or fatten his cattle if Gamibab refused to carry out the necessary rituals, Gamibab allegedly barked at him to, ‘Go away from me, become
amain or Orthodox!’ And this was what Kalibab did indeed do before long. Following
Geshabab’s example – and together with other elders who had been rejected by their lineage heads – Kalibab turned to Orthodoxy as a new source of blessings.
To explain conversion to Orthodoxy, then, two questions need to be answered: Why did these elders’ lineage heads refuse to carry out rituals for them? And why did the elders not use traditional means to deal with this problem, but instead converted to Orthodoxy, which was unestablished in Dell at that time?
From Chapter 1 we know that in karta seniors often remind juniors of their dependence and push them to show respect by withholding from them what juniors are in need of – land, permissions, blessings and so on. Lineage heads, in particular, are known to act in this way. It is very common for a toidi to give his juniors the runaround, and to only agree to carry out a ritual after having been ‘begged’ for a while. As Geshabab tells us above, ‘at first [the toidi] said he was too busy. So I begged him and begged him, and finally he told me a day [to do the ritual].’ However, sometimes the toidi sticks to his refusal. This usually happens when there is a conflict between him and the supplicant and, particularly, when the toidi feels that the other has not been showing him proper respect. Indeed, a closer look at the Orthodox elders’ cases reveals entrenched conflicts with lineage heads. While each case has its specificities, it is possible to distinguish two main types of conflicts. These are exemplified by the cases of Kalibab and Geshabab respectively.
To understand the conflict between Kalibab and his toidi Gamibab, one has to understand that, in Dell, Kalibab is widely thought to have a much greater name than Gamibab (who is his older brother; same father, different mother). For one thing, this is because Kalibab is wealthier. While Gamibab owns almost three times more land, Kalibab is more hard-working and less prone to squander money on drinks. He therefore owns more cattle than Gamibab and has more wives, children and affines. He also owns a ‘townhouse’ in the main village, from which he collects rent; and his own house is equipped with cushioned chairs, a solar light and a mattress. Gamibab, by contrast, only has one house, which is equipped with no more than a couple of stools and a self-made wooden bedstead. Beyond his wealth, Kalibab is also highly respected for his public virtue. He is renowned as
a skilful conflict mediator, and many remember him as an excellent leader of mol’a work groups, an office which he held for twelve years. He also worked as a judge on the local social court for two years, and he was one of the first from Dell to send a child to secondary school. All this makes Kalibab one of the most highly respected elders in Dell – a ‘great man’ (gaeshabab) much greater than Gamibab, who is mainly known for his fiery temper which frequently brings him into conflict with others.
That Kalibab should be ‘greater’ than him, clearly wounds Gamibab’s pride. This became particularly evident in moments of drunkenness when Gamibab often ranted about Kalibab being ‘balaft’ – a derogatory term derived from the Amharic word for ‘rich person’. Gamibab also repeatedly complained to me that people only ever called on Kalibab when they needed a mediator, but not on him. All this gave Gamibab a sense of being dwarfed by his younger brother. I suggest that it was this sense of being dwarfed which motivated Gamibab’s refusal to carry out rituals for Kalibab. As lineage head, Gamibab expects to be the greatest from among his kin. When his junior is publicly recognized as greater, this for Gamibab feels like a form of disrespect. He reacts in the way toidis commonly react to disrespect: by withholding their blessing.
Similar dynamics are apparent in many of the other cases. Several of the Orthodox elders belong to the richest people in Dell, whereas their lineage heads are much less well off. Others have served in leading positions in the kebele, or have distinguished themselves in karta offices, e.g. as Dell’s envoys to meetings with the ritual king. In brief, the Orthodox church appears as a meeting ground of parts of the local meritocratic elite (the other part being rich amain men). The achieved status of these people rubs uneasily against their
toidis’ claims to (descent-based) superiority. This, I suggest, is what in many cases accounts
for conflicts and lineage heads’ eventual refusal to serve as a source of blessings.
A second type of conflict is exemplified by the case of Geshabab and his toidi Askalbab. To understand their case, one has to know something about their kinship relation. Askalbab and Geshabab are both first sons. Their fathers, Wulako and Eri, were brothers and Wulako was the elder brother. Until his untimely death in the early 1970s, Wulako was
toidi of Oni lineage. After his death, Eri became toidi. Eri died in the early 1990s. At this
point only one of Eri’s younger brothers, Soyta, was still alive. This man served as toidi for some years. When he died, the lineage headship passed down one generation and Wulako’s
easy one since both were rich and competed for who was ‘greater’. These tensions were intensified when Askalbab became Geshabab’s toidi, since Geshabab now had to bow to Askalbab’s authority. Geshabab did so and relied on Askalbab to carry out rituals for him. At the same time, however, Geshabab also started to challenge Askalbab’s authority. Geshabab claimed that, on his deathbed, Eri had told him that once Soyta had died, the Oni lineage should segment. In that case, Askalbab would be the toidi of the descendants of Wulako, and Geshabab would become toidi for the descendants of Eri. Indeed, while Soyta was lineage head, Geshabab obtained from him a particular knife. After Soyta’s death, when Askalbab had become toidi, Geshabab used this knife to sacrifice sheep for his father, Eri. He also started to carry out for his own sons certain minor rituals, which would usually have been the prerogative of Askalbab. This clearly angered Askalbab and was perceived by him as a grave sign of disrespect. Against this background, the logic behind his above-mentioned refusal to carry out the anza-kash for Geshabab becomes clear. It could be paraphrased like this: ‘If you slaughter sheep for your father and perform rituals for your descendants, then why do you need me to do anza-kash for you? Do you not purport to be toidi yourself?’
Next to Geshabab, there are four other elders in the Orthodox Church who are heads of their respective lineage’s highest-ranking junior segment. This means that while there is not a single lineage head in the Orthodox church, five out of twenty elders could have
become toidi, had they pushed for lineage segmentation. There is a real question, then, as to
why these people chose to become Orthodox rather than to become toidi. A similar question applies for the other elders: Traditionally, men who could not come to terms with their lineage heads, were assigned what could be called an ‘ersatz toidi’: an elder from a lineage in the same moiety, who would carry out rituals for them as if he were their toidi. Sometimes, such relations lasted for years, until the formerly rejected could return to his original toidi because the latter had changed his mind, or because he had died and been succeeded by a more cooperative person. So why did these elders not make use of an ‘ersatz
toidi’, a step which would have allowed them to continue following karta? The fact that
they preferred to convert to Orthodoxy suggests that there was more at issue for them than just a concern with blessings – for blessings they could also have secured through traditional means.
The Shame of Being Alem
One or two years prior to his conversion, Kalibab found himself in an awkward situation. As in previous years, he had gone down to Jinka when Easter approached, taking along eggs, butter and two chickens. These gifts were for a man called Tesfay, who had once shown great kindness to Kalibab’s son, Esias. Around 2002, Esias had moved to Jinka, to attend secondary school. At the time, this was a novel and daunting thing to do. Jinka was not only expensive. It was also deemed a Gamma place, where – in the absence of relatives and required to speak Amharic – it was hard for an Aari to live. Therefore, Kalibab and his family were relieved and grateful when the parents of one of Esias's new schoolmates (both of them Gamma) offered Esias to live with them for free. Since that time, Kalibab has worked to reciprocate Tesfay’s hospitality through annual gifts. On one such occasion, Kalibab told me, Tesfay invited him to a bar:
‘We sat there for a while, drinking beer. Then a priest came in. All the men went up to him and kissed his cross. It was very nice to see! [admiringly] But then they asked me, “what about you? You are an elder, you are a father of children – what about you?” What was I going to do?! I didn't wear a cross around my neck [as the Orthodox do]. So I said, “I'm amain”. Later, when we had left the bar, Tesfay scolded me. “You should become Orthodox. Don't remain Aari!” he said.’
To understand this passage, you have to know that Kalibab in reality was alem at that time, not amain (Evangelical). Tesfay knew this, but kept quiet while they were in the bar. Afterwards, however, he urged Kalibab to not ‘remain Aari’ (which here stands as a synonym for ‘alem’). When I asked Kalibab why he had lied to the men in the bar, he replied as follows:
‘You have to be either amain or Orthodox. If you are alem, they laugh at you, they laugh out loud! They don't like it when you are alem. “That one eats dead animals; that one eats dirty things”, they say. They belittle you (am naxnaxdek).’
Kalibab’s lie, then, grew out of an acute awareness of Gamma people’s disdain for the ‘heathen’ Aari, in general, and their Orthodox disgust at practices like eating the meat of animals that had not been slaughtered, in particular. Indeed, to tell a white lie was all the more necessary for Kalibab since, by addressing him as ‘elder’ and ‘father of children’, the other men had already imputed a certain respectability to him. His humiliation would have
Kalibab’s move to present himself as an Evangelical points us to what has become an ever more pressing issue for alem people in Dell: a sense of shame at not having a ‘religion’. To be sure, the sentiment itself is an old one. Ever since the time of conquest, Christian Northerners have demeaned locals for the ‘backwardness’ of their material culture as much as for being ‘heathens’. However, in recent years, two factors have led to an increase in the shame that alem people experience.
First, more people now entertain personal relations with Gamma. This is especially true of wealthier people (and remember that the Orthodox converts are predominantly wealthy). Some own houses in Jinka, and this has made them neighbours to Gamma people. Others have established relationships with Gamma to trade livestock or grain. Yet others, like Kalibab, have come into personal relation with Gamma due to the educational pursuits of their children. The case of Kalibab illustrates how such relations can matter with regard to shame. Kalibab may have long been aware that Gamma look down on non-Christian Aari. But there is a difference between being critiqued by relatively remote others and being critiqued by people whose opinion one cares about. To be told by Tesfay to ‘not remain Aari’, certainly had a deep effect on Kalibab, who looks up to Tesfay and, indeed, feels himself indebted to him. More generally, increased personal interaction with Gamma means that people come to see themselves more frequently through Gamma eyes. This, I suggest, is one factor that leads to a heightened sense that to be alem means to lack in respectability.
A second, yet more important factor relates to the rise of evangelical Christianity.
Karta has been an object of critique ever since the first local church was founded in 1991.
To this day, sermons delivered at funerals, weddings or other events attended by Evangelicals and non-Evangelicals alike, commonly involve statements about alem people ‘living in the dark’ or having been ‘fooled by Satan’. However, while alem people were once able to shrug off this critique as the misguided view of a minority, they have now become the minority themselves. This makes it more difficult to ignore the suggestion that
karta is fundamentally flawed and nothing more than a relict of the ‘old days’ (enna sets)
when people just did not know any better. It is true that, in light of their ethos of respect, Dell Evangelicals hardly ever openly sneer at others for being alem. Nonetheless, alem people are keenly aware that Evangelicals ultimately look down on them. As several of the Orthodox elders recalled, in the years prior to their conversion, their own children – amain
as well as alem – had urged them to give up karta by arguing that to be alem was