What brings you peace?

“Writing is the painting of the voice.” — Voltaire

Strep throat is an incredibly unpleasant experience—and a misdiagnosed throat infection is even worse. Antibiotics can be a lifesaver, but only if they actually work. When they don’t, the worry sets in. The pain fuels a desperate need for answers, and endless scrolling replaces the rest you really need.

Scrolling didn’t exist in a previous lifetime. Back then, self-diagnosis meant nothing more than a long, hard look in the mirror—mouth wide open, tongue out, trying to spot a tonsil hiding shyly behind it. Not exactly used to close inspection.

Eventually, it would come into view—red, slightly swollen, but still within the realm of “nothing to panic about.” The treatment? A time-honored remedy passed down through generations: the good old hot water and salt gargle. Administered hourly, of course, as if frequency alone could scare the infection away.

A few days later: back in front of the mirror, mouth wide open. Red, swollen… white spots! Time to gargle more frequently. And keep the Damakessie handy. That’s Ocimum lamiifolium—Ethiopian basil—a potent anti-inflammatory some swear by. Others turn to ginger, honey, and rue tea, sipping it slowly like a sacred ritual, saving the Damakessie for last. Hoping, praying, that the ginger-rue combo will do the trick. And it often did. Until…

Back to the mirror. Mouth wide open. The tonsil is now buried in an angry red throat, marked by a whitish smear that looks completely out of place. This is when the cooks gather, and the mums start calling out to one another. A network of healers suddenly assembles—taking stock of every herb that’s accessible, available, within reach.

Then comes the fetto—watercress seed (Nasturtium officinale). A scoop is quickly roasted on a hot iron plate, ground into a fine powder, and mixed with water to form a thick, smooth paste. Using a cotton pad, it’s swiftly swathed onto both sides of the patient’s throat, triggering the sensation of fire and rolling heatwaves that last only a few minutes.

But the pain? It fades almost instantly. And soon enough—it’s gone.

Sigh. So glad that’s done and dusted—safely in the past. Back then, there was no emergency hospital service. In fact, if someone was taken to the hospital, onlookers would click their tongues and shake their heads, convinced it was a one-way trip.

A few decades on, the world is a different place. Hospitals are packed with emergency visitors—cases ranging from strep throat to broken bones, splintered fingernails, a screaming baby, a retching senior, and an adolescent who’d overdosed on alcoholic drinks.

One patient, after hitting his head in an accident, calmly agreed to wait five hours for an MRI scan. Four others sat in a single row—scrolling, texting, and waiting their turn.

Feto and Damakessie seem forgotten now—hard to find with just a scroll. And yet, here I am, in a hospital emergency ward, having written this whole piece.

It feels good to put the contrast into words. Yes—writing brings me peace.

Curious about the science behind Damakessie? Here’s a study on its pharmacological potential:
The Pharmacological Effects of Ocimum lamiifolium (Ethiopian Basil)

For those interested in the scientific aspects of watercress, particularly its role in traditional remedies, you can explore more here: ScienceDirect: Watercress Overview.

For a deeper dive into Ethiopian herbal traditions and their applications, explore Botanica Ethiopia’s Herb Directory.