The Time-Traveling Teacher

Addis Ababa, Ethiopia- 1:30 PM
The sun hung high in the sky. Its scorching heat and blinding light beat down on the brows of the city’s residents. The main roads, usually bustling with vendors and heavy traffic, had been clear for hours as numerous motorcades crept through the concrete jungle of downtown Addis Ababa, making their way towards the headquarters of the African Union.

Here, within the confines of the gleaming, circular conference hall sat fifty-four heads of state, arranged in circular rows that lined courtroom-like hall. In the center of the hall stood Yani Boni, president of Benin and the current chairman of the Assembly, desperately trying to restore some order and civility in the room as the African leaders argued amongst themselves. Any commoner could distinguish the democratically-elected leaders, sadly few in number, from the dictators. The latter were dressed in obnoxiously flamboyant attire, and their voices boomed throughout the entire building. The dominant voice in the hall was that of Moammar Gaddafi.

“I am King of African Kings, the longest serving leader in African history. I created this organization. I am the one paying you fools. I want the headquarters of the Union moved to Tripoli!” Gaddafi barked.

“Nonsense! Nigeria is the most populous nation in Africa. We are the biggest oil producer on the continent. If the headquarters of the African Union should be moved anywhere, it is to Abuja!” President Goodluck Jonathan shot back.

“Nigeria? Ha!” Gaddafi scoffed. “We relocate there and those Boko Haram thugs will bring down the building down within days.”

“If I’m not mistaken, Brother Leader, isn’t Tripoli currently under siege by rebel forces? I daresay that Tripoli would hardly be any safer than Abuja,” said Jacob Zuma, President of South Africa. “I suggest that we move the headquarters to Cape Town, or maybe Johannesburg.”

“Are you mad? Cape Town? So you expect all of us to travel down to edge of the Earth every year for this useless meeting?” John Atta Mills spat, pointing an accusatory finger at Zuma.

Zuma shrugged. “My country is the most hospitable. It is not like any of your countries are worth the annual trip.”

The entire room erupted in another round of debate.

“Excuse me…excuse me…I said quiet!” Yani Boni yelled. The entire room fell silent. “This debate is pointless. We already have a headquarters right here in Addis Ababa. I don’t see why we need to move.”

“We move because Colonel Gaddafi demands it!” Gaddafi shot back.

“No.” All heads in the room turned to the source of the new voice. It was Girma Wolde-Giorgis , President of Ethiopia. “We are not moving. Ethiopia deserves to be the headquarters for the Union. We have done too much for this continent, we have contributed too much.”

To everyone’s shock, Gaddafi erupted in raucous laughter. “What is Ethiopia? This dry spit of land in the middle of nowhere. What has Ethiopia contributed to the history books? Who outside of Africa can say they’ve heard of Ethiopia?”

The entire room maintained the heavy silence. Enraged, Girma Wolde-Giorgis looked like he was about to say something to Gaddafi, but he merely nodded to one of his subordinates standing towards the side of the hall and said, “Get Ashenafi.”

The official stepped out of the hall. Within minutes he returned with another person. The new guest was fairly young and had an inscrutable look on his face. He was garbed in snow-white robes. Golden earrings hung from his earlobes, and his arms and ankles were adorned in gold cuffs. He wore sandals, and a trail of sand traced his journey into the room. However, the most intriguing item in his possession was the tall wooden staff he gripped between both hands, on top of which lay a dark purple orb.

Confused, Gaddafi stared at the boy for a while, and then turned to Wolde-Giorgis. “What is this?”

“That boy… well, let’s just say he’s going to be our teacher for the day. It is time for your history lesson, Brother Leader.”

Suddenly, the entire room went dark. The heads of state stirred in the seats, unsettled by the suffocating darkness, but remained quiet. Nothing was visible save for Ashenafi, whose white robes and gold jewelry glowed with an eerie radiance in the hall. As if he were summoning something, the boy raised both arms in the air.

“Do not move,” said the strange boy, his voice terribly soft and high-pitched, almost inhuman.

As quickly as the darkness descended, it was immediately lifted. Sunlight flooded the room, blinding the fifty-four men in their seats. They were still sitting down, but the chairs underneath them had vanished. Rather, they were floating in midair. The sound of gunfire surrounded them on all sides. The pungent stench of gunpowder and blood flooded their nostrils. Frightened, several of the men looked like they were about to have a heart attack. They were floating over a mountainous landscape, and there seemed to be heavy fighting going on below. There were militants posted on the hills overlooking the valley below, ferociously firing their artillery guns at enemy forces who were much greater in number and lighter in complexion.

“What is this?” shrieked Macky Sall, President of Senegal. He pulled out a cross and began to say the Hail Mary, staring at Ashenafi as if he were the Devil.

“What you are witnessing down below is the Battle of Adwa,” said Ashenafi.

“The Battle of Adwa…but that’s impossible, that was over 100 years ago!” said Goodluck Jonathan.

“I know,” replied Ashenafi. “For those of you that do not know, the Battle of Adwa was the climactic battle of the First Italo-Ethiopian War that secured Ethiopian sovereignty from the Kingdom of Italy. Not only did Ethiopia become an example of African valour and pride, but it also became a symbol of hope for all of Africa after this battle. The defeat of a colonial power became a rallying point and a source of inspiration for future independence and Pan-African movements.”

The heads of state could not take their eyes off of the gruesome battle unfolding below. The Italian forces were no match for the Ethiopians. Only Gaddafi seemed uninterested in the events happening down below.

“He sent us back in time! That boy, he’s a demon, he practices witchcraft!” Gaddafi screamed.

“Calm yourself, Gaddafi,” Wolde-Giorgis said, smirking. “Good work, Ashenafi. Get us out of here.”

Ashenafi raised his arms and the world around them blurred out of focus. There was darkness again, and then the sunlight was back. Only this time the heads of state were hovering over a city. Below them, throngs of people paraded down the streets, headed downtown in pursuit of a royal carriage. Thousands of army troops and beautiful maidens surrounded the carriage, which was pulled along by two stallions. Red confetti flew through the air, and brass bands provided the music for the festivities.

“Now where are we?” Gaddafi said, irritated.

“What you are witnessing down below us is the coronation of Emperor Haile Selassie I of Ethiopia,” said Ashenafi. “Selassie was the heir to a dynasty that extends back to King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. He was instrumental in the creation of the Organization of Africa Unity, which paved the way for our own organization to exist today. He abolished slavery throughout the Ethiopian Empire, contributed troops to the Congo Crisis, and did much more. Some even think he was a divine being, the second coming of the Messiah.”

“Really? What crazy people believe that?” asked Yani Boni.

The darkness descended again. Suddenly they were at what appeared to be a concert. Bob Marley was on stage, strumming his guitar as the masses in attendance swayed from side to side, waving green, red, and gold flags high in the air and singing along to the chorus of “Iron Lion Zion.”

“Haile Selassie I had quite the impact on the Jamaican people. These people are Rastafarians, part of a spiritual movement that sees the Ethiopian emperor as God incarnate and Ethiopia as Zion. It was Bob Marley who popularized this movement through his music. So as you can see, Ethiopia exerts not just a political but a cultural influence over the world as well,” said Ashenafi. “Come. We have several more places to go.”

The Assembly of the African Union watched in amazement and fear as Ashenafi took them back through time to watch Ethiopia’s history unfold in reverse chronology. They watched Emperor Menelik II bring all comprising modern Ethiopia together with his army. They encountered the various kings of the Zagwe and Solomonic dynasties. They passed through the great cities of the Kingdom of Aksum, the first major empire to convert to Christianity. They followed the legendary Queen of Sheba as her caravan made its way down a dusty road with gifts of spices, gold, precious stones and beautiful wood. They witnessed her bombard King Solomon with questions, and shared her awe at the great wisdom he displayed in his answers.

Gaddafi had remained silent throughout most of the journey, but now said, “Yes, yes, yes, all of this is very impressive. But Ethiopia is not so great. It does not compare to the majesty of Libya, and it does not wield the power of America or the influence of Britain.”
Wolde-Giorgis could not suppress his anger. “YOU ARROGANT LITTLE-”

“Wait, sir!” said Ashenafi, interrupting the President’s outburst. “There is one more thing I must show the Assembly, something I think even Mr. Gaddafi will appreciate.”

Once more, the world around them turned dark. When the darkness was lifted, the Assembly found themselves hovering over a valley once more. The sky was cloudy, but it was warm and humid. A long, winding river flowed through the valley. On both sides of the river, several bands of what looked like gorillas were gathered along the banks. They were drinking from the river and bathing in it.

“Monkeys?” said Gaddafi, laughing hysterically. “You brought us here to stare at monkeys?”

“Those monkeys are your ancestors, Mr. Gaddafi,” Ashenafi replied. “What you are looking at are the ancestors of modern humans. Scientists believe that Homo sapiens first set out from what is now Ethiopia to populate the rest of the globe.”

Wolde-Giorgis grinned. “Meaning, Brother Leader, that my country is the cradle of humanity.”

Gaddafi was dumbstruck. After a minute, he said, “The headquarters…will stay in Addis Ababa.”

Wolde-Giorgis’s grin stretched even further. “Glad to hear it, Colonel. Take us home, Ashenafi.”