Where Time and Space are Not Rationalized

In an ear­lier post, I made a fum­bling attempt to describe local con­cep­tions of time that can leave for­eign­ers like me con­founded and frus­trated here in Ethiopia. Soci­ol­o­gist Don­ald Levine does an amaz­ing job describ­ing this and many other aspects of Amhara soci­ety in his 1965 book Wax and Gold. The fol­low­ing pas­sage had me laugh­ing hys­ter­i­cally for all the foiled attempts as mak­ing plans or solic­it­ing infor­ma­tion about past events that it brought to mind. Levine’s work on the Amhara peas­ant of 40 years ago remains rel­e­vant for under­stand­ing the urban Ethiopian of today.

In the Abyssin­ian world view, time is not ratio­nal­ized for sec­u­lar pur­poses.  Some peas­ants cal­cu­late the hour by the shad­ows on the moun­tains, but the effort is not taken very seri­ously. Units of time are of lit­tle con­cern in the work­day world.  When a man says he is going on a trip ‘tomor­row,’ every­one assumes that he means he may be leav­ing a few days later. Many appoint­ments are made, but few are kept lit­er­ally; so that the phrase habe­sha qataro (“Abyssin­ian appoint­ment”) has come to sig­nify an appoint­ment to which one comes quite late or not at all. There is lit­tle sense of time in the abstract.  When an Amhara peas­ant is asked how long a cer­tain trip takes, he does not reply ‘ten hours,’ but rather; ‘If you leave here at dawn you will arrive there before it turns dark’; and his esti­mate of the arrival time tends to vary accord­ing to whether or not he wants to ques­tioner to make the trip.

His­tor­i­cal time is still more vaguely con­ceived than local time. The Amhara peas­ant has lit­tle sense of knowl­edge of his­tory. He con­sid­ers all that hap­pened before Menelik’s day as ‘ancient times,’ and more or less as an undif­fer­en­ti­ated period. He knows very few of the ear­lier emper­ors, no his­tor­i­cal dates, and often not even the exact year, let alone date, of his own birth.  He has no idea when the church in his area was built and no inter­est in pre­serv­ing such his­tor­i­cal mon­u­ments or memen­tos as may exist in his country…

Space, like time, is not regarded as an amoral and homo­ge­neous con­tin­uum to be sub­mit­ted to sys­tem­atic mea­sure­ment… The reluc­tance to ratio­nal­ize space is con­spic­u­ous even in the cap­i­tal of Ethiopia, where to this day there are no street num­bers, so that places can only be iden­ti­fied roughly as near a cer­tain police sta­tion or past a cer­tain hos­pi­tal. Direc­tions are indi­cated with dif­fi­culty.  The points of the com­pass are almost never used, though there are words for the four direc­tions.  Instead, the vague terms for ‘up’ and ‘down’ serve to answer almost every ques­tion about location.

You can prob­a­bly see how this way of look­ing at time and space would throw a Type A New Yorker like me for a loop. It also helps explain why so many peo­ple I talked to about Ethiopia before I arrived spoke with bit­ter frus­tra­tion about the time they spent here.

Another fac­tor con­tribut­ing to this frus­tra­tion is the wax and gold poetic tra­di­tion that is the main sub­ject of Levine’s book. Wax and gold is a poetic style char­ac­ter­ized by dou­ble enten­dres.  The wax is what the words osten­si­bly mean and the gold is the hid­den mean­ing.  In day-to-day com­mu­ni­ca­tion, this tra­di­tion can man­i­fest as active deceit that is praised as clev­er­ness in tra­di­tional Amhara cul­ture.  By no means do all Ethiopi­ans espouse double-handedness, but the impli­ca­tions of this cul­tural tra­di­tion is a topic of con­cern for orga­ni­za­tions like the Ethiopian Insti­tute for Non­vi­o­lent Edu­ca­tion and Peace Stud­ies.  When he wrote his book, Levine was hope­ful that the wax and gold tra­di­tion could facil­i­tate mod­ern Ethiopian diplo­macy.  Unam­bigu­ous com­mu­ni­ca­tion is only part of main­tain­ing bureau­cratic, ratio­nal sys­tems.  The most effec­tive admin­is­tra­tors though have a high tol­er­ance for ambi­gu­ity both in prac­tices and in com­mu­ni­ca­tion in the effort to main­tain har­mony and min­i­mize inter­per­sonal tensions.