The Story

As I glanced at the woman in the seat next to me, I noticed she was wrapped in a beautiful white Gabi. Her only uncovered body part, were her hands, gracefully folded in her lap. Her gentle face gave me a warm sense of belonging, as if I was also just arriving home. I began to imagine scenes of my Ethiopian grandmother indulging in town gossip during weekly coffee ceremonies. I imagined, how at the end of the day, my family would make a little fire, sit down on the comfort of a mat wrapped in a Gabi, as neighbors joined. I wondered if the woman next to me could have possibly known my grandparents.

This made me realize how much had gone astray by growing up so far from the land of my ancestors. And yet, at the same time, I felt a sense of hope, of possibility. For if this woman could make me feel so connected, so alive, then surely there was still a chance for me to reclaim my heritage, and to rediscover the richness of part of my cultural identity.

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The vibrant spirit of Addis Ababa awaited me as the plane touched down. The city was alive with warm spices, the aroma of burning wood, and honest craftmanship. Small shops and cafes overflowed with life, and amidst the crowds, camaraderie flourished.

I knew I would never forget the woman I met on the plane, who had reminded me of my grandmother. She had given me a gift, a sense of belonging, a reminder of my connection to Ethiopia and the strong women who had come before me, whose stories were woven into the very fabric of the Gabi.

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Throughout our lifetime, the Gabi, beloved and considered generous enough to wrap a child in at birth, serves as an anchor to keep us close to the stories of the lives that shaped us. In the woman on the plane, I saw the contours of what shaped me. But I also knew that I would have to forge a new aesthetic vocabulary for the Gabi brand that would preserve my connection to the past in a way that resonates with modern sensibility.

- R.R.