My very first encounter with classic Russian literature came in 1995, when I bought a book from the then Kuraz Publishing House for 14 birr. It was an anthology of short stories by the much-beloved Russian writer Anton Chekhov.

The book came wrapped in glossy paper, with a sturdy hardcover and that fresh scent of paper and ink — a smell that, even now, triggers a wave of nostalgia for times long past. The binding was of high quality, presumably shipped directly from the defunct Soviet Union.

In those days, it was common to find works translated into both Amharic and English, thanks to the close relationship Socialist Ethiopia had with the Soviet Union. It was an era of rich cultural, literary, and artistic exchange, one that shaped the worldview of many of us who grew up then — myself included.

I remember my father taking us on Sunday mornings to watch Soviet children’s movies at the National Theatre. The air was filled with the magic of cinema and the hum of anticipation. I can still picture the famous actor Wogayehu Negatu, his silhouette framed against the flickering light of the projector, wearing his signature Afro and large woollen scarves draped around his neck.

I rushed home and opened the pages of Chekhov’s short story anthology with the voracity and hunger of an avid reader yearning for a fascinating tale. And boy, fascinating it was indeed!

The very first story was a novella called The Steppe — the story of a young child being transported across the vast expanse of the Russian steppe toward Kiev. The love-lorn boy was leaving his village and his mother behind for the big city, travelling with his uncle and a few kind men on a horse-drawn cart for a journey of a thousand kilometres.

Chekhov painted a vivid portrait of the troubled, sickly child against the immense tapestry of the steppe, while bringing to life the travellers on the cart, the inhabitants of the towns they passed, and the plants and landscapes along the way. It was unlike anything I had read before. I soon delved into the other short stories in the anthology, without realising that The Steppe was my first step into the wonderful, enchanting, and enlightening world of Russian literature.

The collection also contained The Grasshopper, The Black Frair, An Anonymous Story, The Lady with the Dog, and more — each no less fascinating than the other. By the end of the book, I found myself wondering: Who is Anton Chekhov? Who are these Russians with such an unparalleled knack for storytelling?

Not long after, I encountered more of Chekhov’s works through a friend’s father, who kept a private library filled with his books. The more I learned about Chekhov, the more intrigued I became. I even read two volumes of his biography. A medical doctor by profession and a prolific, celebrated writer and playwright, Chekhov once famously said: “Medicine is my lawful wife, and literature is my mistress. When I get fed up with one, I spend the night with the other.”

Bereket Balcha holds a Bachelor of Arts in Sociology and Social Anthropology from Addis Ababa University (AAU) and a Diploma in Purchasing and Supply Chain Management from Addis Ababa Commercial College/AAU. His extensive professional background encompasses decades of experience in the aviation industry in diverse roles, complemented by a two-year engagement at the Ethiopia Insurance Corporation. He can be reached at bbalcha5@yahoo.com)

Contributed by Bereket Balcha