Echoes of Exile: Prince Alemayehu Remembered in Verse and Vigil

By Endex, Ethiopian Tribune Chief Editor

On Friday 14 and Saturday 15 November 2025, over 200 participants gathered at Windsor Castle to mark Prince Alemayehu Remembrance Day, commemorating 146 years since the young Ethiopian royal died in exile on British soil. The date, poignantly aligned with his death in 1879, fell just a day after the birthday of poet Fahad Al-Amoudi, whose verses now carry the weight of ancestral grief and diasporic defiance. The Ethiopian Tribune was present to record this historic event.

Prince Alemayehu, son of Emperor Tewodros II, was taken from Ethiopia following the British expedition to Maqdala in 1868. After his father’s death, taking his life as last-act of defiance during the British assault, the orphaned prince was brought to England under the guardianship of Captain Tristram Speedy. Though presented as a gesture of protection, Alemayehu’s journey was one of displacement and spectacle. From the highlands of Ethiopia to the ports of India and finally to the manicured lawns of Windsor, his life became a tragic symbol of imperial possession. Queen Victoria took an interest in the boy, yet despite her patronage, Alemayehu suffered isolation, illness, and cultural estrangement. He died aged just 18, buried at St George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle, where his remains still lie despite repeated calls for repatriation.

On Friday 14 November, for the first time in 146 years, clergy from the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church (EOTC) led a remembrance prayer at Windsor Castle. Priest Alemayehu and Priest Dereje, joined by other EOTC members and the priest in charge of the chapel, conducted the solemn rite. The moment was historic, a spiritual reclamation of dignity long denied. The prayers echoed through the chapel, a liturgical balm for a wound that had never healed.

Among the participants on Saturday were three renowned writers whose presence lent the event a literary gravitas. Fahad Al-Amoudi, Lemn Sissay OBE, and Andrew Heavens each brought a distinct lens to the prince’s story, poetic, personal, and forensic.

Fahad Al-Amoudi, whose recent book When the Flies Come has been hailed as a masterwork of diasporic lament and resistance, read poems that braided personal memory with national mourning. His verses summoned the ghost of Alemayehu not as a relic, but as a living indictment of empire’s unfinished business. One poem, titled “unsent” imagined the prince’s final thoughts in Windsor Castle, his longing for the highlands, his mother’s voice, and the stolen dignity of a child paraded as a trophy. Al-Amoudi’s work, which blends lyrical satire with forensic historical detail, has become a touchstone for Ethiopian diaspora literature. His performance was met with ovation and quiet tears.

Lemn Sissay OBE, the celebrated British-Ethiopian poet and author of My Name Is Why, reflected on his own journey through the British care system, drawing parallels between his life and that of Prince Alemayehu. Both boys separated from their mothers, both raised in alien lands, both forced to perform gratitude while grieving. “Alemayehu was not just a prince,” Sissay declared. “He was a prisoner of spectacle. And so was I. We were both expected to smile for the empire’s camera.” Sissay’s presence was not ceremonial, it was confrontational, a poetic reckoning with Britain’s colonial amnesia. His words landed like thunderclaps, shaking the polite solemnity of the occasion into something rawer, more urgent.

Andrew Heavens, journalist and author of The Prince and the Plunder: How Britain Took One Small Boy and Hundreds of Treasures from Ethiopia, offered a visual and narrative retracing of Prince Alemayehu’s journey. His book, published in 2023 and now widely cited in discussions of imperial restitution, tells the full story of Alemayehu, from his early days in his father’s fortress on the roof of Africa to his new home across the seas, where he charmed Queen Victoria, chatted with Lord Tennyson, and travelled with his towering red-headed guardian Captain Speedy. During his presentation, Heavens showed slides of photographs documenting the prince’s journey globally, tracing his places of residency in the UK alongside school records and images of the young Black prince among his white schoolmates. The presentation laid bare the logistics of abduction disguised as rescue. “This is not just about bones,” he said. “It’s about the right to mourn properly. To bury our dead with dignity.” His research also traced the looted treasures of Maqdala, Ethiopia’s ‘Elgin Marbles’, to bank vaults, museum store cupboards, and a boarded-up cavity in Westminster Abbey.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Other participants included members of the Ethiopian diaspora, historians, clergy, students, and activists. Many shared stories, reflections, and calls for justice. Among them was Dr. Tamiru Mihiretu, a psychiatrist living in UK, who spoke on the cultural erasure embedded in imperial narratives. “Alemayehu’s story is not unique,” he said. “It is emblematic of a pattern children taken, cultures silenced, grief institutionalised.”

The atmosphere was reverent but charged, a blend of mourning and mobilisation. The event was not merely a memorial, it was a reckoning. It asked Britain to confront its imperial past not with platitudes but with restitution. It asked the diaspora to remember not only with sorrow but with strategy.

Yet even as the event resonated with many, it was not without controversy. Some members of the Ethiopian community questioned the timing of the remembrance, arguing that it coincided with a period of acute suffering particularly among Amhara and Orthodox Christian communities affected by ongoing conflict in Ethiopia. For these critics, the solemnity of the occasion risked being overshadowed by the urgency of present-day atrocities.

Others raised concerns about inclusivity and transparency. Lij Mulugeta Asrate Kassa, a long-time advocate for the repatriation of looted Maqdala artefacts and a vocal campaigner for Prince Alemayehu’s return, expressed disappointment at not being formally or informally invited. “I have worked tirelessly on this cause for years,” he said. “To be excluded from such a pivotal moment is deeply disheartening.” The sting of exclusion was compounded by the fact that his older brother, a respected historian and scholar, was officially invited to attend and contribute to the event. This disparity created a moral vacuum, raising uncomfortable questions about recognition, legacy, and the politics of invitation.

Ato Tezera Asegu, who had initially been involved in early discussions around the event, stated that he removed himself from active service when he saw the call to cancel the event, issued by groups such as London Fano, was overruled by the majority. He took offence at the organisers’ decision to recognise a descendant of Atse Tewodros II as a dignitary and honoured guest. For Asegu, this gesture symbolised a selective reverence that ignored broader community sensitivities and historical complexities. His withdrawal underscored the emotional and political fault lines that continue to shape diaspora engagement.

The London Fano group, representing a segment of the diaspora aligned with Amhara resistance, issued a call to cancel the event altogether, citing the ongoing war and the perceived insensitivity of holding a remembrance at such a time. Their appeal, however, was not acknowledged by the organisers, further fuelling discontent.

These tensions underscore a broader challenge facing diaspora organising: how to honour historical memory without erasing present pain; how to build inclusive platforms that reflect the diversity of voices, experiences, and political positions within the community.

In light of these concerns, several suggestions have emerged:

• Establish a transparent organising framework for future events, with open calls for participation and clear criteria for speaker and guest selection.
• Create a community advisory council representing diverse regions, faiths, and political perspectives within the Ethiopian diaspora to guide commemorative planning.
• Acknowledge current crises in Ethiopia during historical events, ensuring that remembrance does not become detachment.
• Facilitate post-event forums where grievances can be aired constructively, and lessons learned can inform future initiatives.
• Promote a culture of invitation and recognition, especially for those who have laboured behind the scenes for years on issues of restitution, repatriation, and historical justice.

The Prince Alemayehu Remembrance Day was a powerful act of poetic and spiritual reclamation. But its legacy will depend not only on what was said and sung, but on how the community responds to the fractures it revealed. Healing, like remembrance, requires intention, humility, and the courage to listen.

The Ethiopian Tribune remains committed to documenting these moments, not only in celebration, but in critique, reflection, and hope for a more united diaspora future.

As the final poem echoed through the hall “Return Me to the Mountain” a silence fell. Not the silence of closure, but of awakening. Prince Alemayehu, the boy who died in exile, had spoken again. Through poets. Through witnesses. Through the unyielding memory of a people who refuse to forget.

The Ethiopian Tribune will continue to follow developments around the repatriation of Prince Alemayehu’s remains and the broader movement for cultural restitution. This article is part of the Diaspora Reckonings series, exploring the intersections of memory, empire, and cultural resistance.