The chance to serve is a blessing

Archdeacon Dawit Gebreyohannes Woldetsadik on moving from Ethiopia to a new life in London

My name is Archdeacon Dawit Gebreyohannes Woldetsadik. I was born in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, and my parents and family were devoted and strict adherents to the Ethiopian Orthodox church.

In Ethiopia the Menber Sebhate Holy Trinity Church of Shermodea, was my main church and very close to my home - less than five minutes by foot. As a result, I spent most of my life serving and learning in my local church.

By the Grace of God, in 1990 I arrived in London and made immediate contact with the head administrator of the church, Archimandrite Abba Aregawi Wolde Gabriel, the late Archbishop of Europe. From the beginning until he sadly departed from us, he was very kind in offering fatherly advice and support. He would go beyond the usual requirement in order to reassure myself and others, especially as he knew I was young, away from home and in a new environment. He opened the door of the church, allowing me to work closely with himself, members of the clergy, the church council and the congregation.

From then on, my service to the church grew rapidly. I was appointed to serve as archdeacon and elected as a member of the parishes council, taking charge of the church's Sunday School programmes. These new responsibilities gave me greater happiness, spiritual satisfaction and many experiences that I will always treasure.

The influence of Archimandrite Abba Aregawi Wolde Gabriel, also known as Abbune Yohannes, did not only stop in the UK. With him I was fortunate to travel to the Holy Land, Jerusalem, Europe, the USA and the Caribbean. I also moved around, helping to establish parishes in Holland, Belgium, France and USA.

There are a few events in my career with the church that stand out. The first was when Like Tiguhan Teklemariam - the previous administrator of the St. Mary of Tserha Tsion – and I tried to get a tablet (Ark of the Covenant), or Tabot, returned to Ethiopia.

The Tablet had been stolen from Ethiopia in 1848, brought to Edinburgh and kept in an episcopal church for more than 130 years. By the grace of God, in February 2002 myself, Like Tighuan, His Excellency Fissha Aduga, the former Ambassador of the Ethiopian Embassy in London, and others helped in negotiating its return.

Part of my role was accompanying the Ark on its journey from the UK to Addis Ababa. Since then Like and I have continued to seek ways to assist the return of many other church artefacts.

Another important event has been the issue of our church building. In 2005 I was assigned with responsibility for arranging various events, along with other current and past committee members, to raise funds. Now, finally, we've managed to raise the money to buy both the church and a vicarage. We still have a long way to go to clear the substantial outstanding balance but with prayer and by the Grace of God we may be able to accomplish our dream in the near future.

For Ethiopian Orthodox believers, prayer is the most sublime experience of the human soul, and worship is the most profound activity of the people of God. "There is no life without prayer. Without prayer there is only madness and horror. The soul of Orthodoxy consists in the gift of prayer."

I owe my life, praise, thanks, glories and everything to God for granting me the opportunities to grow up in the church and to serve it. Both in Ethiopia and abroad, this has indeed been a great blessing.

Arch Deacon Dawit Gebreyohannes Woldetsadik, moved to London from Ethiopia as a young man. He writes in the faith column about the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church.
Getty
Show Hide image

What David Hockney has to tell us about football

Why the sudden glut of blond footballers? A conversation I had with the artist back in 1966 gave me a clue. . .

In 1966, I went to interview David Hockney at a rather run-down flat in Bayswater, central London. He was 28 and had just won a gold medal at the Royal College of Art.

In his lavatory, I noticed a cut-out photograph from a newspaper of Denis Law scoring a goal. I asked if he was a football fan. He said no, he just liked Denis Law’s thighs.

The sub-editors cut that remark out of the story, to save any gossip or legal problems. In 1966 homosexual activity could still be an offence.

Hockney and a friend had recently been in the United States and had been watching an advert on TV that said “Blondes have more fun”. At two o’clock in the morning, slightly drunk, they both went out, bought some hair dye and became blond. Hockney decided to remain blond from then on, though he has naturally dark hair.

Is it true that blonds have more fun? Lionel Messi presumably thinks so, otherwise why has he greeted this brand-new season with that weird blond hair? We look at his face, his figure, his posture and we know it’s him – then we blink, thinking what the heck, does he realise some joker has been pouring stuff on his head?

He has always been such a staid, old-fashioned-looking lad, never messing around with his hair till now. Neymar, beside him, has gone even blonder, but somehow we expect it of him. He had foony hair even before he left Brazil.

Over here, blonds are popping up all over the shop. Most teams now have a born-again blondie. It must take a fortune for Marouane Fellaini of Man United to brighten up his hair, as he has so much. But it’s already fading. Cheapskate.

Mesut Özil of Arsenal held back, not going the full head, just bits of it, which I suspect is a clue to his wavering, hesitant personality. His colleague Aaron Ramsey has almost the full blond monty. Paul Pogba of Man United has a sort of blond streak, more like a marker pen than a makeover. His colleague Phil Jones has appeared blond, but he seems to have disappeared from the team sheet. Samir Nasri of Man City went startlingly blond, but is on loan to Seville, so we’re not able to enjoy his locks. And Didier Ndong of Sunderland is a striking blond, thanks to gallons of bleach.

Remember the Romanians in the 1998 World Cup? They suddenly appeared blond, every one of them. God, that was brilliant. One of my all-time best World Cup moments, and I was at Wembley in 1966.

So, why do they do it? Well, Hockney was right, in a sense. Not to have more fun – meaning more sex – because top footballers are more than well supplied, but because their normal working lives are on the whole devoid of fun.

They can’t stuff their faces with fast food, drink themselves stupid, stay up all night, take a few silly pills – which is what many of our healthy 25-year-old lads consider a reasonably fun evening. Nor can they spend all their millions on fun hols, such as skiing in the winter, a safari in the spring, or hang-gliding at the weekend. Prem players have to be so boringly sensible these days, or their foreign managers will be screaming at them in their funny foreign accents.

While not on the pitch, or training, which takes up only a few hours a day, the boredom is appalling, endlessly on planes or coaches or in some hotel that could be anywhere.

The only bright spot in the long days is to look in the mirror and think: “Hmm, I wonder what highlights would look like? I’ve done the beard and the tattoos. Now let’s go for blond. Wow, gorgeous.”

They influence each other, being simple souls, so when one dyes his hair, depending on where he is in the macho pecking order, others follow. They put in the day by looking at themselves. Harmless fun. Bless ’em.

But I expect all the faux blonds to have gone by Christmas. Along with Mourinho. I said that to myself the moment he arrived in Manchester, smirking away. Pep will see him off. OK then, let’s say Easter at the latest . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times