Reflections of My Father

My father was a simple man who, though he never saw himself as an artist, was one in my eyes. He owned an Ethiopian coffee shop on DC's H Street corridor, where he was often known as "The Mayor of H Street." To him, coffee wasn't merely the pick-me-up it's often seen as in the U.S. Coming from Ethiopia, he understood coffee as something sacred.

Hours of my life were filled with stories of coffee's powerful role in Ethiopian culture. From picking to roasting, grinding to brewing, every step demanded expertise. He seldom let his customers leave without sharing these stories. The aroma of roasted coffee that danced through the H Street corridor was his invitation to the local community to gather. And gather they did.

People from all walks of life came for coffee, but they especially came for my dad. The coffee shop became a safe space where curiosities, passions, and heavy conversations could always be resolved with coffee and a chat. To me, he was a man of deep complexities and mysteries. He was also my champion. He gave me my first camera—the very one he had used to document many Ethiopian immigrant families in the U.S. When I purchased a camera with my first paycheck, I knew the photos had to be of my father. In this series, I try to capture his duality and wisdom in his coffee shop, his artistic studio..