Workineh Yemesgen was born on November 24, 1969 and departed this life on December 27, 2005, in Addis Ababa Ethiopia. His funeral was conducted on Saturday, December 30, 2005 at the Holy Trinity Church (Kidest Selassie) with his family, friends and co-workers in attendance.
Workineh is survived by his wife, Elsa, his two sons, Dagmawi (Dagi) and Girum (Gogo), his mother, W/zo Aberash Negussie, nine brothers and sisters, and many friends. He was preceeded in death by his father, Ato Yemesgen G/Egziabher.
To know Worke was a blessing. His love for his family and friends, his work ethic, wit, humor and laughter will all be missed.
Please share your memories of this incredible, God fearing young man. (Please email me any pictures you might have so I may post and share)
posted by Sayem Osman | 3:17 PM
4 Comments:
Worke, Workiye, nefse...there is a void in my life now. I love so much. You have been more than a brother to me...a father, mentor, best friend, and saint. You are the most beautiful person I've ever known, gentle and kind. You will live on, not only in memory but in the legacy that you have left behind; your two beautiful boys, my nephews, Daggi (a spitting image of you..the little Worke of our house) and Gogo, an amazing wife, Elsie, a loving mother, Aberu, brothers and sisters that treated you like a father, and countless friends. We miss you Worke. Woyene gude, how will I get over this sorrow? How will my heart ever heal? Yene abat, yene guadegna, yene negoose!!!
Your loving brother, Bemnet (mititi)
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My initial reaction to what happened to our dear friend was shock. I could not come to terms with what happened. It is beyond my control so I can’t do anything but to accept and feel sorry about not sending him a Christmas card or an email while he was still with us. I always expect everyone to be around, but that is not the case and that is a hard lesson to learn.
Workineh, was a very unique and outstanding person. Everything about him was understated. He was the type of person that you would admire more as you got to know him. He was a very kind person but you would not know that unless you were close enough to know what he did. He never advertised his deeds and only those that were close to him (family members and his close friends like Tesh and Sayem know what type of great person he was). I learned about what challenges he faced from his friends and I will forever admire him.
We must not forget him and we must work to remember him in anyway we can.
I'm currently in the college application process. I wanted to share an essay I wrote to whoever still visits this blog. I've since abandoned this essay and pursuit other essay themes; this essay will sadly only ever be seen by the few that will read it on this blog (beware of grammatical errors and other mistakes as it is only a first draft).
"My white Shadow
Sequels have always had a bad rap. Whether it be in films, novellas, or in art, the original piece always seems better than the second rendition, which almost always disappoints. I had always hoped to be the exception.
Three years after I was born my father was a victim of a car crash, and didn’t make it out
alive. After writing this sentence I realized that it was the first time I had ever written or spoken about his death. Maybe it’s because I don’t really think he’s dead.
My name is Dagmawi Workineh, and my father’s name was Workineh. Workineh means
“your made of gold” in Amharic, and Dagmawi interprets to ‘the second” or junior. Since
birth, I have always been an image of him. Every time I look in the mirror I’ve never really felt like I’m looking into a mirror, no, it had always seemed more like a window, and every time my father was on the other side of the window looking right back at me.
Workineh was an honourable man. He would drive his brothers and sisters to school every
day even though he was the same age as them, well below the legal age to drive; what
could he do? His father was tossed into prison by a corrupted government and his mother…
She wasn’t handling the situation very well. My father’s words was the only thing keeping
her afloat whilst the school he and his siblings attended - the same one I’m soon to graduate from – was taking everything she owned, splitting the value in half, and claiming it as “tuition”.
Every once in a while one of my father’s closest friend, Sayem, would call me: “Worke!” Then apologize and say that he just couldn’t help it, I remind him too much of Workineh. My uncle would tell me that I don’t remind him of Workineh merely because of my intelligence and gifts, it is my affection towards others, putting everyone else before myself, my humility along with my whimsical idiosyncrasies that paints me in the same light as my father. I always thought that this was the best compliment I could ever receive.
During one night where I sat typing on my desk, I heard with almost absolute certainty a soft whisper in my heart. In a strange way, I knew it was him, instructing me on what was the perfect last sentence to end my paper with. I remember running to the window and gazing
up into the dark abyss and, as Nietzsche put it, the abyss to gaze back at me. In fact, I am adamant that there are more than ten fingers at work on this keyboard as I am writing this.
Don’t get me wrong, I do not believe this to be some ethereal voice, nor do I believe it be a matter of a supernatural reincarnation. I am merely the same man he was. He lives through
me. Rolph Jacobsen’s ‘Guardian angel’ depicts our relationship perfectly:
“I am one you have loved long ago.
I walk alongside you by day and look intently at you
and put my mouth on your heart
but you don’t know it.
I am your third arm and your second
shadow, the white one,
whom you don’t have the heart for
and who cannot ever forget you.”
In every test, during every school game, and every time I walked up in assembly to receive
an award, my hand had always been held. The school did not cheer for me but for
Workineh. My past and future successes are not only a testament to him but will have been
the cause of his hand guiding mine. If you ever come to shake my hand, let me tell you,
you’re indeed shaking his. “Everything that you see is a shadow cast by which you do not
see.” (Martin Luther King, Jr)."
Eventhough I've scrapped this essay, the things I write about are a true reflection of my thoughts. These thoughts and memories will never leave me.
-Dagi
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