Walaloo — Mana Barumsaa Koo

Of course! Here’s an interesting, heartfelt story about Walaloo Mana Barumsaa Koo (a nostalgic, poetic reflection on my school). The Echoes of Walaloo Mana Barumsaa Koo

“ Mana barumsaa koo, Ati qabda ija koo fi abjuu koo. Yeroo addunyaan natti dadhabde, Ati natti jette: ‘Bareeduma.’ ” (My school, You hold my eye and my dream. When the world tired of me, You said: ‘You are beautiful.’)

Years passed. I grew taller, the benches grew shorter. Barsiisaa Girma retired. The odaa tree lost a branch in a storm. But the school remained — stubborn, poor, but alive .

One memory haunts me sweetly: The last day of 8th grade. We had no graduation party, no cake. Instead, we gathered under the odaa tree, and Barsiisaa Girma — now old, using a stick — asked us each to sing our own walaloo about the school. walaloo mana barumsaa koo

“ Barsiisaa Girma’s class. 1999–2007. Walaloo hin du'u. ” (Teacher Girma’s class. 1999–2007. The song does not die.)

Last month, I drove six hours to visit Arabsa Primary School. The blue paint had faded to grey. The well was dry. The odaa tree had fallen completely.

Every Thursday, we had Yeroo Walaloo (Poetry Hour). We’d sit in a circle under the giant odaa tree whose roots had cracked the school’s back courtyard. Barsiisaa Girma, with his patched jacket and eyes like embers, would begin: “ Mana barumsaa, mana ifaa — School, house of light.” Then he’d point to a student. You had to finish the verse. Of course

I froze. The other kids giggled. But Barsiisaa Girma nodded gently. “Continue,” he whispered.

But on the wall of my old classroom, someone had scribbled new words in Oromo:

“ Mana barumsaa koo, Si hin irraanfatani. Walaloon kee nannanaa jira. ” (My school, You are not forgotten. Your song still echoes.) Barsiisaa Girma retired

But oh, the walaloo — the poetry — that lived in those walls.

One day, he pointed at me. My face burned. I stood slowly.