Tseganesh and Tehout Selameab
Sisters Tseganesh and Tehout Selameab, only 18 months apart in age, treasure their Ethiopian identity because of the nostalgia and meaning it holds. They both describe their deep affection for their homeland. In Ethiopia, they say, “we weren’t exotic or different. We were known and loved. Our names are a blessing in Amharic. Tseganesh and Tehout mean ‘grace from God’ and ’humble’ respectively.”
Alongside their Ethiopian heritage, each sister has her own unique identity. Tehout identifies as a seeker. She is perpetually curious and wants to peel the layers of an issue or question to better understand varying perspectives and truths. Tseganesh’s core identity is that of a mother and she knows that in this American context she is seen as Black first, as a “Pan-African,” which she celebrates.
Their identities and experiences as Black women are potent sources of power and inspiration for both Tseganesh and Tehout. Tseganesh shares, “We love being women and leaders. Women leading is something we both are very hungry for and passionate about. It's time for women to lead in the ways that we experience the world - which is also complex! We're not all alike. Being a woman is a full continuum, and how we build power and how we show up is currently undervalued. It's our time. It’s time for anyone who can tap into the feminine divine—regardless of gender.”
Sisters Tseganesh and Tehout Selameab, only 18 months apart in age, treasure their Ethiopian identity because of the nostalgia and meaning it holds. They both describe their deep affection for their homeland. In Ethiopia, they say, “we weren’t exotic or different. We were known and loved. Our names are a blessing in Amharic. Tseganesh and Tehout mean ‘grace from God’ and ’humble’ respectively.”
Alongside their Ethiopian heritage, each sister has her own unique identity. Tehout identifies as a seeker. She is perpetually curious and wants to peel the layers of an issue or question to better understand varying perspectives and truths. Tseganesh’s core identity is that of a mother and she knows that in this American context she is seen as Black first, as a “Pan-African,” which she celebrates.
Their identities and experiences as Black women are potent sources of power and inspiration for both Tseganesh and Tehout. Tseganesh shares, “We love being women and leaders. Women leading is something we both are very hungry for and passionate about. It's time for women to lead in the ways that we experience the world - which is also complex! We're not all alike. Being a woman is a full continuum, and how we build power and how we show up is currently undervalued. It's our time. It’s time for anyone who can tap into the feminine divine—regardless of gender.”
The sisters grew up in Ethiopia until they were 11 and 12 years old. Ethiopia was the backdrop for their formative years. There, Tseganesh and Tehout’s family was affluent and comfortable. They agree they grew up wealthy and oblivious to money altogether. Even though their father grew up poor, he prioritized education and through a scholarship, left Ethiopia to study at the University of Wisconsin, Stout.
The sisters grew up in Ethiopia until they were 11 and 12 years old. Ethiopia was the backdrop for their formative years. There, Tseganesh and Tehout’s family was affluent and comfortable. They agree they grew up wealthy and oblivious to money altogether. Even though their father grew up poor, he prioritized education and through a scholarship, left Ethiopia to study at the University of Wisconsin, Stout.
After returning to Ethiopia, he sent his daughters to the United States to live in rural Wisconsin before he and their mom could join them 2 years later. Eventually he attended the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities to earn his Ph.D. and the whole family, along with a younger brother, moved to Minneapolis and lived in campus housing for immigrant students.
Tseganesh and Tehout Selameab
Photo by Drew Arrieta
After returning to Ethiopia, he sent his daughters to the United States to live in rural Wisconsin before he and their mom could join them 2 years later. Eventually he attended the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities to earn his Ph.D. and the whole family, along with a younger brother, moved to Minneapolis and lived in campus housing for immigrant students.
The sisters grew up in Ethiopia until they were 11 and 12 years old. Ethiopia was the backdrop for their formative years. There, Tseganesh and Tehout’s family was affluent and comfortable. They agree they grew up wealthy and oblivious to money altogether. Even though their father grew up poor, he prioritized education and through a scholarship, left Ethiopia to study at the University of Wisconsin, Stout.
After returning to Ethiopia, he sent his daughters to the United States to live in rural Wisconsin before he and their mom could join them 2 years later. Eventually he attended the University of Minnesota-Twin Cities to earn his Ph.D. and the whole family, along with a younger brother, moved to Minneapolis and lived in campus housing for immigrant students.
Tseganesh and Tehout recall fond memories of their time with other immigrant families during these years. But it was throughout their youth in rural Wisconsin and Minnesota in the 1990s that they developed a clear sense of race and class in an American context.
“Living in Wisconsin those first two years was our first introduction to American racism. It was bad, and we didn't know what it was.” Tseganesh reflects, “We were just these privileged kids from Ethiopia and then were thrust into rural Wisconsin. We were experiencing racism for the first time, and we didn't understand it.”
The sisters share that, as Ethiopian-Americans, they experienced the confounding double-edged sword of being considered “model minorities” in their new environment. Even when they were experiencing overt racism in rural Wisconsin, they were also featured in the local newspaper as exciting guests in the community. They were simultaneously subject to racist remarks from passing cars while also being told they were “exceptional Africans” with a reputation of being “good workers.”
“That was just the tip of the iceberg, in hindsight,” says Tehout “revealing the whole system of how racism works in this country.”
Tseganesh and Tehout Selameab
Photo by Drew Arrieta
In contrast to their life in Ethiopia, in this context they had very little—little power, access, or money. When they observed others around them, they saw the way that money was often connected to opportunity. So, they got jobs in high school, determined to start earning money. Even though they didn’t gain citizenship until 20-years later, they figured out how to get paid under the table in cash for the work they did in retail and service.
These early experiences with work and money shaped each sister’s relationship to money in their lives today.
“Money is a tool for me,” says Tseganesh. “And security is in my ability to make money. I paid my own way through college by always working in addition to my studies. I also learned that credit cards can get you through tough times. I continued to take extra jobs—always with a side hustle—and within a few years, while in residency, I paid off my debt and saved $10,000 which allowed me to secure a loan for a house and car, even without a job.”
Tehout disagrees about money as a tool, sharing, “I’m more of a survivalist. Money is security for me—but I have a scarcity mentality because I know it can all be taken away. The flow of money in this economy is fraught and there are real barriers to growing wealth in America. That’s clear when you look at poverty statistics by race or ethnicity. Even if you're an educated Black person, you're still going to make less than a white person who's likely less educated than you. Money is fickle, but it can make the difference in whether you truly live or die in this economy. For many families, if you fall, you fall, and no one's is going to catch you. So, while I have what I have, I’m conscious that it could be taken away, so I want to build safety nets for myself and others. It’s our responsibility.”
Tseganesh and Tehout agree that their parents taught them the importance of family and caring for other people, and this guides their commitment to working for justice in their communities. For them, being hospitable, generous, and going out of their way to support others is paramount. Aligning with other communities, they say, means they’re never alone in struggle.
Tehout, for example, has dedicated her to life to creating access and opportunities for others impacted by systems that were built to “keep as many people at the bottom as possible.”
“It’s important that more of us get into leadership positions with organizations and in government to disrupt that,” she says. “That’s another place where power lies. Not just in the streets, but in policy, law, and tax codes!”
Being part of the Headwaters donor community means their desire to build power and leadership go beyond what they can do alone. Tehout shares “In this time when we’re grieving so much loss—personally and collectively–Headwaters keeps us tied to purpose and liberation.”
Tseganesh Selameab
Photo by Drew Arrieta
The Headwaters community is also a place where the Selameab sisters feel a deep sense of belonging and ease unique to their experience as immigrants. Tehout shares: “As an immigrant in Minnesota, I often find myself a little outside of the culture. I have learned about lefse, potlucks, hot dogs and all of that. I've learned to assimilate and adjust and code switch and understand white culture better than it understands me and my culture.”
As an immigrant, she says, this experience of assimilation started to strain her connection to herself, her culture, and her heart. A recent trip to Ethiopia reconnected her to her feelings and herself.
She shares, “That trip taught me about the healing power of love and the healing power of being with people that love me, that accept me, where I didn't have to explain or code switch. I could just show up as I was. And that was such a healing experience for me. It evoked a deep connection for me.”
This, she said, reminded her of the joy and belonging she experiences as a Headwaters donor, sharing, “This is what Headwaters represents to a lot of people: it’s the place where we can just be ourselves. We don't have to be scripted. We can express ourselves in all the beautiful ways that our community does, and that type of space is precious. Headwaters holds itself to the values of advancing equity, demanding inclusion, transforming power and trust in the community. And through those values, Headwaters makes space for people who really need it. That’s something to celebrate and marvel at.”
Tseganesh and Tehout agree that their parents taught them the importance of family and caring for other people, and this guides their commitment to working for justice in their communities. For them, being hospitable, generous, and going out of their way to support others is paramount. Aligning with other communities, they say, means they’re never alone in struggle.
Tehout, for example, has dedicated her to life to creating access and opportunities for others impacted by systems that were built to “keep as many people at the bottom as possible.”
“It’s important that more of us get into leadership positions with organizations and in government to disrupt that,” she says. “That’s another place where power lies. Not just in the streets, but in policy, law, and tax codes!”
Being part of the Headwaters donor community means their desire to build power and leadership go beyond what they can do alone. Tehout shares “In this time when we’re grieving so much loss—personally and collectively–Headwaters keeps us tied to purpose and liberation.”
Tehout Selameab
Photo by Drew Arrieta
The Headwaters community is also a place where the Selameab sisters feel a deep sense of belonging and ease unique to their experience as immigrants. Tehout shares: “As an immigrant in Minnesota, I often find myself a little outside of the culture. I have learned about lefse, potlucks, hot dogs and all of that. I've learned to assimilate and adjust and code switch and understand white culture better than it understands me and my culture.”
As an immigrant, she says, this experience of assimilation started to strain her connection to herself, her culture, and her heart. A recent trip to Ethiopia reconnected her to her feelings and herself.
She shares, “That trip taught me about the healing power of love and the healing power of being with people that love me, that accept me, where I didn't have to explain or code switch. I could just show up as I was. And that was such a healing experience for me. It evoked a deep connection for me.”
This, she said, reminded her of the joy and belonging she experiences as a Headwaters donor, sharing, “This is what Headwaters represents to a lot of people: it’s the place where we can just be ourselves. We don't have to be scripted. We can express ourselves in all the beautiful ways that our community does, and that type of space is precious. Headwaters holds itself to the values of advancing equity, demanding inclusion, transforming power and trust in the community. And through those values, Headwaters makes space for people who really need it. That’s something to celebrate and marvel at.”