By Andi Murphy

SIOUX FALLS, S.D. — Once he wanted to help his fellow countrymen and women by flying as part of the Ethiopian Air Force. Now in Sioux Falls he dices beef to help others, who have a story like his, feel at home.

Ojulu Oballa was born and raised in Ethiopia. At the time Ethiopia was involved in a war against Eritrea. Oballa enlisted in the Air Force because he wanted to help his country and make a difference, he said. So he took flight classes and flew helicopters to help people in the rural parts of Ethiopia and those involved in the war.

He became a refugee when the government he served was overthrown, and he fled his country to Sudan via political asylum. From Sudan, Oballa arrived in Washington, D.C., in May 1991.

He earned a pilot’s license and flies privately now. In 1996 he moved to Sioux Falls after visiting an old Air Force friend, who is here.

“I found this place is better than Washington,” Oballa said. “Life is easy.”

In 2003, Oballa got the idea from a friend, who owned an Ethiopian restaurant in Washington, to start his own restaurant.

“I think it’s really good for the community,” Oballa said.

He sat at one of the four small tables in his restaurant, Ethiopian Food and Carry Out. His tall frame seemed too big for the space. Ethiopian Food is a small red-and-white building on the corner of West Avenue and Burnside Street.

An ATM and computer sit lifeless in the corner of the room and a small air conditioner squeaks. A smell of vegetables and cooked meat is strong in the air.

A customer comes in and a bunch of tin chimes makes a loud crash against the glass door. Oballa turns and says something in Amharic, Ethiopia’s national language. It seems this customer is making an order when he gestures with his hands the size of the item and how many. Five.

Oballa turns to the counter and shouts something else to his wife, Almaz, who is busy in the back of the kitchen.

The customer and Oballa speak in Amharic when Almaz comes and smiles and joins in the conversation. They talk for a long while until the new person gets his five large pieces of spongy bread, called “injera.”

Regular customers know Oballa and his wife. They know the menu at Ethiopian Food, too. In fact, there is no menu to be seen. But for new customers, they have a tattered piece of paper that lists the items under, “Almaz Specialties.” Beef Tibs, Lamb Tibs, Gored-Gored, Alcha-FitFet, and the favorite, Doro Wot are about $7 served on a giant piece of injera.

When Oballa eats the food he serves, his mind wanders all the way back home, he said. Although they don’t import or order anything especially from Ethiopia, they make it as if they were at home.

Oballa slices vegetables and meat and prepares it for Almaz, who does the real cooking.

“I want to make sure that we let other people know what we eat.” Oballa said. “The good thing is that Americans like any food, and they try everything.”

The locals, who are refugees, make up a majority of the surrounding community. They come to Ethiopian Food and sometimes hang out for hours until midnight, said one local, Cham Abela.

“I like the food, and the people, too,” Abela said.

Abela is also from Ethiopia and came to the United States in 1996. He likes Ethiopian Food because it gives him a sense of comfort and brings back memories of home, where he left his sister and mother.

He sat at a table and waited for his order. The TV overhead was so quiet the newsmen for CNN were only background noise.

He remembers when he first saw snow. “This was very terrible, I was like, ‘What is this?’” he said.
Snow is not the only thing refugees have to get used to. They have to get used to not seeing some of the animals that they would see everyday in their country.

“I try to shoot the lion,” John Kanyny said. “If it’s a tiger, it can eat you; if it’s a lion, they know you’re scared and it will leave you alone.”

Kanyny’s face is decorated with long scars across his forehead into his scalp and dots on his cheeks. A mark, he said, you can even see on the skulls of the dead.

Kanyny and his friend Mataew Stanslous are both very tall like Oballa and seem cramped in this small diner.

Their large hands pinched off pieces of injera and scooped up beef tibs, a spicy ground beef and salad.
After they finished their combination platter, Kanyny and Stanslous joined some younger boys, one of whom is Oballa’s son, outside. The boys soared through the air in the strong arms of Kanyny.

Oballa watched his son, Mike, play in the parking lot around the sign that says, “Ethiopian Food and Carry Out.”

“He’s an American boy,” Oballa said.