His Story
April 26, 2025
Ermias (Fika) came into this world on a quiet Saturday morning around 4:30 AM, at St. Paul’s Hospital in the suburbs of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. A place alive with rhythm, laughter, and culture. Addis is a city where the scent of fresh coffee mingles with the sound of children playing in the streets, where neighbors are more like extended family, and where music, tradition, and storytelling flow through daily life like a heartbeat. It’s a city that dances between the old and the new, where ancient customs live alongside modern hopes, and warmth isn’t just felt, it’s offered freely. In this rich, vibrant world, Fika was right at home. His spirit matched the energy of the place, bold, expressive, curious, and full of light.
If Fika Could Hear Us…
For My Best Friend, My Brother
Ermi,
I still don’t know how to carry this.
It doesn’t feel real, maybe because my heart refuses to accept a world without you in it.
You were more than just my friend, you were my brother. You were the one person who could make me laugh when I didn’t want to, who knew when to just sit in silence, who gave and gave without expecting anything in return.
You were joy in motion. You were light in dark rooms. You had this bold presence that made everyone breathe easier, including me.
My mom, Tati, loved you like her own. She really did. You made her laugh in a way few people could. You had this way of making her feel seen and safe, even when life around her felt heavy. She keeps breaking down now. Sometimes when I come home, I see her rushing to the back room to hide, because she doesn’t want me to see her cry. But I hear her, Ermi. I hear her crying for you. We both are.
And Kunana… Rahel… they still keep saying this has to be some twisted joke. Like maybe you’ll just walk in one day and say “April Fools” with that grin of yours. But the days keep going, and you’re still not here.
Even our cousins, all of them, they’re devastated. Nobody understands. Nobody can make sense of it. You touched everyone who met you. You brought comfort, humor, gentleness… you brought peace in ways you probably never realized.
Me? I’m just trying to breathe. This grief is brutal. It’s not just the loss, it’s the distance that came before it. All the things I never got to say. The time we lost, not by choice. The silence that was never ours.
I hope you know how loved you were, Ermi. I hope you feel it now, wherever you are. Because we all loved you. Still do. And we always will.
Your generosity? It was endless. You gave even when you had little. Not just things, you gave time, attention, kindness, your whole self. You always knew when someone needed to be seen, and you never looked away. You never looked away from me.
Even when life got complicated and things between us shifted, I never stopped carrying you with me. I never stopped hoping for more time, more memories, more chances to sit beside you in the same peace you always gave so freely. Not having that chance still aches in places I don’t know how to name.
I’m breaking in ways I didn’t know were possible. This grief doesn’t just ache, it shatters. It lives in my bones. It steals my breath. It’s not only that you’re gone, Ermi… it’s that so much was left undone, unsaid, unheard. The distance that was forced between us still haunts me. I carry so many words I never got to say, and now they just echo into silence. You meant more to me than I think even you knew. And the hardest part is wondering if you ever truly felt how deeply you were loved , not just by the world, but by me.
You weren’t just the light in the room, you were the reason some of us made it through the darkest parts of our lives. You carried us without ever making it feel like a burden. And now that you’re gone, the silence you left behind is louder than anything we’ve ever known.
You mattered, Ermi. To me. To my family. To everyone lucky enough to know you. And this world feels colder without you in it.
I miss you. I miss you so much.
— Berita
For Ermi, My Brother-in-Law, My Brother
Ermi,
You were the best brother-in-law anyone could ever ask for. But calling you that never felt right because from the very beginning, you treated me like your own brother. You didn’t just welcome me into the family, you embraced me with open arms, with kindness in your heart and laughter in your voice.
Your jokes, your warm conversations, they were my medicine. In your quiet way, you always knew how to bring comfort without forcing it. You made space for people, you listened without judgment, and you carried so much more than you ever let on.
And Ezra… Ermi, you were the best uncle. The kind of uncle every child deserves. You loved Ezra like your own, with patience, joy, and an unspoken protectiveness that never went unnoticed. You were his safe place.
I’ve been replaying the last time I saw you over and over in my mind. You looked… distant. Distraught. And I felt it, something in me knew something wasn’t right. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t ask. I didn’t stop and really see you the way I should have. And that’s a weight I’ll carry with me forever.
I feel like I failed you, my dear brother. I should have spoken, should have reached out, should have let you know how much you mattered, how much I valued you, not just as family, but as a friend and a brother.
My worries became reality, and it hurts in ways I can’t put into words. You were one of the best humans I have ever known. A rare soul. Kind. Generous. Gentle.
Rest now, Ermi. I hope you finally feel the peace you gave so freely to others.
I will carry your memory always.
— Danny
Fikaye,
I still don’t have the words for this pain. You weren’t just my best friend’s brother, you were my brother too.
I only have sisters, but God gave me you.
I keep going back to that day the day I came to you, completely undone. Broken, overwhelmed, unsure of what to do. And you didn’t just sit with me, you stood up for me. You took on my burden like it was your own. You ran around, you made calls, you fixed things. You held me when I couldn’t hold myself. You wrapped me in calm, and your presence said everything I needed to hear: “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
That moment plays over and over in my heart. Because I had never felt that protected. That seen. That loved, by someone who didn’t have to care, but did anyway. I never forgot that. I never will. That’s the kind of man you were.
You always made space for people. You listened. You made us laugh when we needed it most. Even when life got harder and you grew quieter in recent years, I always felt your kindness tucked in the silence. And even when we didn’t talk as often, you never stopped asking about me through Nama. You still remembered. You still cared.
I keep thinking of the time you were in the hospital many years ago. How I made you that meal, how I fed you with my own hands, like family. Because you were family. You still are.
It breaks me that you’re gone. I still can’t believe someone so full of warmth could disappear like this. And it hurts beyond words that I’ll never hear your voice again.
But Fikaye… I love you. More than you ever knew.
I hope you’ve found the peace you gave to so many of us, especially me. I’ll carry your memory like a compass.
Always your little sister,
— Amy
Fikaye,
The moment I heard about your passing, I began questioning life itself. I’ve been drowning in confusion ever since, unable to think, unable to work, just trying to breathe through the weight of it all.
— Mekdi (UK)
Fikaye,
I cried and cried, the tears won’t stop. How do I begin to believe this nightmare is real? The only comfort I have is knowing you’re in a better place now, finally at peace. We love you so much, Fikaye. More than words could ever say.
— Bizu (UK)
Fikaye,
You were more than family to me, you were my heart. My favorite. The one who made me laugh no matter what I was going through. The one I called when I was lost, because your advice always brought peace. You had a way of making everything feel a little lighter, even when the world felt too heavy.
I still can’t function. I cry every day. I keep waiting to wake up from this nightmare. You were there for me through thick and thin, holding my hand, literally and emotionally. I’ll never forget how it was you who placed my hand into my husband’s. You were a part of every major moment in my life, and now it hurts beyond words to face the ones you won’t be there for.
I love you so, so much, Fika. I always have. And I always will.
— Chuchu
Tribute from Uncle
Fikaye, my beloved nephew, my friend in every way that matters.
I will never forget that day we were traveling together, your aunt and I in the car as you drove with that signature smile of yours. We were circling around Imperial Square, the air light with conversation and laughter, when a traffic officer suddenly stopped us. With your usual charm, you smiled and said, “I think you want to give me a ticket.” The officer asked for your license, and when you handed it over, we all discovered it had expired something you hadn’t even realized.
But instead of getting upset, the officer laughed, handed the license back, and simply said, “Go and renew it.” No ticket. No scolding. Just a moment of shared humor and kindness, the kind of moment you had a way of creating everywhere you went.
That was your magic, Fika. Your presence disarmed people. Your warmth, your charm, your humility, they wrapped around others like a familiar hug. Everyone who met you felt it. You weren’t just my nephew, you were my brother, my friend.
My heart is shattered in a way I cannot fully express. It doesn’t feel real that you’re no longer with us. The ache is deep, and the silence you’ve left behind is louder than anything we’ve ever known.
But in this grief, we find one sliver of peace: knowing that you are now with your everlasting Father. Resting. At peace. Surrounded by joy that no pain can touch.
I love you so much, Fikaye. You will always live in our hearts. Always.
— Mezmur
Fika,
I still can’t believe you’re gone. Writing this feels like trying to speak into a silence that should have never come. You weren’t just my cousin, you were my big brother.
I miss you more than words can ever express. I miss your laugh, your jokes, your kind heart, and bold personality. Even though we grew up in different places, you were always my big brother, the one who protected me and stood by my side. Now there’s this empty space in my life that nothing will ever truly fill. I still carry so much inside me when I think of you and everything that happened.
There are things I wish I’d said to you. Warnings I wish I could’ve given. I saw the change in you. I felt it. The last time I saw you, something in my heart whispered that this day might come. And I hate that I was right.
You were one of the most trusting souls I’ve ever known. You gave your heart freely, even to those who didn’t deserve it. And somewhere along the way, lies and distance crept in. I was fed stories that confused me, and before I realized what was happening, I’d been pushed away from you. We both were. And I regret that silence every single day.
If I had the chance again, I would’ve fought harder to reach you. I would’ve broken through whatever stood between us. I would’ve reminded you of who you were, of the strength, the love you gave to all of us.
The pain of losing you, and the way we lost you, will never leave me. I hope somehow, you know how much I love you. How deeply I miss you. How sorry I am that we lost the chance to truly talk, one more time.
Until we meet again, keep watching over us, big brother.
Forever yours,
Your cousin, the one who will always love you.
— Mesi
ኤርሚ ወንድሜ ተጫዋች ያኛው ጊዜ ክፋ የነበረው አልፎ ዛሬ ምን አገኘህ ምን ከበደህ ፡ አምላክ አዋቂ ነው ::
ምን ልበል ከበደኝ ፎቶህን ሳየው የሚያወራው ሌላ ነው ግን አንተ ተሸነፍክ፡፡
— Emu