Mahmoud Ahmed: The Life Story Behind Ethiopia's Soul Legend
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Mahmoud Ahmed is a singer whose voice seems to come from another time. When he sings, you can hear the Addis Ababa of the 1960s and 1970s, the smoky clubs, the brass bands, the nights when Ethiopian soul music was at its peak. His voice is deep, warm, and full of ache, and it has a way of making a simple melody feel like a whole life. He is widely called one of the greatest Ethiopian singers of all time, and for listeners who love the golden age of Ethiopian music, his name stands beside the very best.
He was born in Addis Ababa in 1941, and his rise was not easy. As a young man he worked as a shoeshiner on the streets of the capital, and he sang for anyone who would listen. There was no rich family behind him, no music school, no easy road. He learned to sing by listening to the radio and by watching the bands that played in the clubs. He was discovered almost by accident, when a band leader heard him singing and invited him to try out. That chance changed his life, and it changed Ethiopian music too.
His most famous songs, like “Ere Mela Mela” and his versions of the old tezeta songs, are now classics. They have been heard by millions of people around the world, thanks in part to the Ethiopiques series of records that brought Ethiopian music to listeners in Europe and America. Mahmoud Ahmed’s story is the story of a poor boy who became a legend, of a voice that survived revolution and hardship, and of a singer who is still honoured today as the soul of a golden age.
A Shoeshiner’s Boy in Addis Ababa
Mahmoud Ahmed was born on 8 May 1941 in Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia. He grew up in a poor family, and as a boy he had to work to help himself. He became a shoeshiner, cleaning the shoes of passers-by on the streets of the city. It was hard, humble work, and it meant long days outdoors in the dust and the sun. But the streets were also a school. He heard music everywhere, from the radios in shops, from the bands in clubs, and from the singers who performed in the evenings. He listened, and he sang along in his head.
He was from the Gurage people, one of the many peoples of Ethiopia, and he grew up speaking Amharic and hearing the music of his community. The songs he loved were the songs of love and longing, the tezeta songs that speak of a home far away and a lover who has gone. He sang those songs to himself as he worked, and his voice grew stronger. People who passed by began to notice. A shoeshiner who could sing like that was not an ordinary sight, and some of them stopped to listen.
Music was not a career he could plan for. In the Addis Ababa of the 1950s, a poor boy had few choices. He could work, he could try to learn a trade, or he could hope for a lucky break. Mahmoud hoped, and he kept singing. He sang at small gatherings, he sang for friends, and he dreamed of the day when he might sing on a real stage with a real band. That dream must have seemed far away on the days when he was shining shoes, but he did not give it up. He believed in his voice, even when no one else had yet heard it properly.
The city around him was changing. Ethiopia under Emperor Haile Selassie was a place of great contrasts, with palaces and poverty side by side, and with a music scene that was growing fast. American soul, jazz, and funk were reaching Addis Ababa through records and radio, and Ethiopian musicians were mixing those sounds with their own melodies. It was an exciting time to be a young singer, if you could find a way in. Mahmoud was looking for that way in, and he would find it in a club, on an ordinary night, when someone finally stopped to listen.
Discovered in a Club and the Imperial Bodyguard Band
The story of Mahmoud Ahmed’s discovery is one of the best-known tales in Ethiopian music. He was singing in a club, as he often did, when he was heard by members of the Imperial Bodyguard Band, the great band that played for the emperor and was one of the finest musical groups in the country. The band’s leaders were impressed by his voice, and they invited him to join them. For a young shoeshiner, it was an extraordinary chance, a door opening into a world he had only dreamed about.
Joining the Imperial Bodyguard Band meant learning to sing with a large, professional group. The band had brass, saxophones, guitars, and drums, and it played a mix of Ethiopian music and Western soul and jazz. Mahmoud had to learn how to sing with that sound, how to fit his voice into the arrangements, and how to perform for important audiences. He learned fast. His voice was natural, deep, and full of feeling, and it suited the band’s music perfectly. He began to make a name for himself in Addis Ababa, and people started to talk about the new singer with the remarkable voice.
In the 1960s and early 1970s, the Imperial Bodyguard Band was at the heart of Ethiopian popular music. The bands of that era, including the Bodyguard Band, the Police Band, and the Army Band, were where the best musicians worked, and where the new sound of Ethiopia was being made. Mahmoud sang with some of the finest players of his generation, and he learned from them. He learned how to hold a note, how to shape a phrase, and how to make a song feel alive. Those years were his training, and they turned a talented street singer into a professional artist.
He also began to record during this period. His early records showed a singer who could move between styles, from a slow tezeta song to a fast, funky number, and make both sound natural. His voice had a grain to it, a roughness that made it feel real, and listeners responded to that honesty. He was not a polished pop singer. He was a soul singer, and his songs sounded like they came from a life that had known hardship. That was true, and it was part of his power.
Ere Mela Mela and the Golden Age
The 1970s were the golden age of Ethiopian music, and Mahmoud Ahmed was one of its brightest stars. His song “Ere Mela Mela”, which means something like “I beg you” or “please”, became one of the most famous Ethiopian songs of all time. It is a song of love and pleading, sung with a depth of feeling that makes it unforgettable. When Mahmoud sings it, you can hear the ache in every line, and you can feel the longing that is at the heart of Ethiopian song. It remains his signature work, and it is the song that new listeners discover first.
During those years, he recorded many songs that are now regarded as classics. He sang tezeta songs that spoke of memory and loss, and he sang love songs that spoke of joy and pain. His albums from that period, including the record that later became known as Ere Mela Mela, are treasured by collectors and by ordinary listeners alike. The music was made with live bands, with real brass and real drums, and it has a warmth that modern recordings often lack. Mahmoud’s voice sits at the centre of it all, deep and sure.
But the golden age was also a time of great change in Ethiopia. In 1974, the emperor was overthrown, and a military government took power. The new rulers were suspicious of musicians, and many artists left the country. The clubs closed, the bands broke up, and the music scene that had flourished in the 1960s and 1970s fell silent. Mahmoud stayed in Ethiopia, and like many singers he found it hard to work in the new climate. The records stopped, the concerts became rare, and a great voice was heard far less often than it should have been.
Those hard years are an important part of his story. He did not leave, and he did not stop singing, but the world around him had changed. He sang when he could, and he waited. His old records were still played in homes across Ethiopia, and people still remembered his voice. They did not forget him, even when the new government made it hard for him to perform. That memory would matter greatly when the world finally rediscovered his music.
Ethiopiques and the World Discovers His Voice
In the late 1990s, something remarkable happened. A French record producer named Francis Falceto began to reissue the classic Ethiopian recordings of the 1960s and 1970s in a series called Ethiopiques. The series brought the music of Mahmoud Ahmed, Mulatu Astatke, Tilahun Gessesse, and others to listeners in Europe and America who had never heard it before. For many of those listeners, Mahmoud’s voice was a revelation. They had never heard a singer like him, and they wanted to hear more.
The Ethiopiques albums made Mahmoud Ahmed famous outside Ethiopia for the first time in his life. His songs were played on radio stations in Paris and London, they were written about in newspapers, and they were sampled by other musicians. The album Ere Mela Mela, reissued as part of the series, became a cult classic. Listeners who knew nothing about Ethiopia fell in love with the sound, and they began to seek out more of his music. It was a second career, arriving when he was already in his late fifties.
He began to travel and perform abroad, singing for audiences in Europe and America who had discovered him through the records. Those concerts were emotional occasions. For Ethiopian listeners living abroad, hearing Mahmoud live was like hearing home. For foreign listeners, it was a chance to see a legend in person. He sang the old songs, and the audiences sang along, even when they did not know the words. His voice needed no translation.
The rediscovery also brought him new respect in Ethiopia. Younger Ethiopians who had grown up hearing his name began to understand why their parents loved his music. They bought the reissued albums, they came to his concerts, and they learned the songs. Mahmoud Ahmed had gone from being a star of a past era to being a living legend, a singer whose work was recognised as one of the great treasures of African music. It was a remarkable turnaround, and it came after years of silence.
The Later Years and a Voice That Endures
In the years since the Ethiopiques rediscovery, Mahmoud Ahmed has continued to perform, and he has been honoured as a national treasure. He has sung at festivals in Ethiopia and abroad, and he has worked with younger musicians who want to learn from him. His concerts are often quiet, respectful affairs, with audiences who listen carefully to every note. He does not need a big show. He stands, he sings, and the room listens. That is enough, because his voice carries the weight of a whole era.
He has also seen his music reach new generations through film and through the work of other artists. His songs have appeared in films, and they have been covered and sampled by musicians from many countries. Each time a new listener discovers “Ere Mela Mela”, the song gains a new life. Mahmoud has watched that happen with a calm that comes from a long life in music. He knows that a great song does not belong to one time. It belongs to everyone who hears it.
His health and his age have meant that he performs less often now, but his place is secure. In Ethiopia, he is spoken of with a reverence that few singers receive. He is not just a popular singer. He is a link to a golden age, a man who was there when Ethiopian music was at its most creative, and who helped to make it great. Young singers study his records, and they try to learn the feeling in his voice. It is not easy to copy, because it comes from a life that was lived, not from a technique that can be taught.
Today, when people talk about the greatest Ethiopian singers, Mahmoud Ahmed’s name is always near the top of the list. His story, from shoeshiner to soul legend, is one of the most inspiring in African music. It shows that talent can come from anywhere, that a voice can survive hardship, and that great music can wait for years to be heard by the world. His voice has waited, and it has been heard, and it will be heard for many years to come.
A Soul Singer Among Giants
Mahmoud Ahmed did not work alone. He was part of a generation of great Ethiopian musicians, and his story is linked to theirs. He sang with the Imperial Bodyguard Band when Tilahun Gessesse was also a star, and he shared the stage with many of the finest players of his time. He knew Mulatu Astatke, and he sang over the jazz arrangements that made Ethiopian music famous. Those connections matter, because the golden age was not the work of one man. It was the work of many musicians, each bringing something different to the sound.
What set Mahmoud apart was the depth of his feeling. Other singers had smoother voices. Other singers had more range. But few could make a listener feel a song the way Mahmoud could. When he sang about love, you believed him. When he sang about loss, you felt it. That emotional honesty is what made him a soul singer in the truest sense. Soul music is not about technique. It is about truth, and Mahmoud sang the truth as he felt it.
His influence can be heard in the work of younger Ethiopian singers, many of whom have tried to recapture the sound of the golden age. They listen to his records, they learn his phrasing, and they try to bring the same feeling to their own songs. Some succeed, and some do not, but they all start from the same place: the voice of Mahmoud Ahmed. He set a standard for what Ethiopian singing could be, and that standard still stands.
He also helped to show the world that Ethiopian music was not a curiosity. It was a great tradition, with its own scales, its own rhythms, and its own soul. When foreign listeners heard Mahmoud, they did not hear something strange. They heard something beautiful, something they recognised as great music even if they did not understand the words. That recognition changed how the world thought about Ethiopian music, and Mahmoud Ahmed was at the centre of that change.
What His Songs Still Say Today
If you listen to Mahmoud Ahmed today, you will hear songs that are more than fifty years old, and yet they do not sound old. They sound timeless, because the feelings in them are timeless. Love, longing, hope, and the ache of memory do not go out of fashion. A young person hearing “Ere Mela Mela” for the first time today can feel what a listener felt in Addis Ababa in the 1970s. That is the mark of a great song, and it is the mark of a great singer.
His songs are also a record of a time and a place. They carry the sound of Addis Ababa in its golden age, the brass, the drums, the clubs, and the voices. For Ethiopians, they are a link to a past that is gone but not forgotten. For listeners elsewhere, they are a window into a world they may never visit. Mahmoud’s voice is the guide through that world, and it is a generous guide, welcoming everyone who wants to listen.
His legacy is therefore not just a set of records. It is a living tradition, carried on by the singers who learned from him and by the listeners who still play his songs every day. In homes across Ethiopia, in taxis, in cafes, and in the houses of Ethiopians living abroad, his voice is still heard. It is a voice that has survived poverty, revolution, silence, and rediscovery, and it still sings with the same warmth it had when a young shoeshiner first opened his mouth in a club in Addis Ababa.
The Man Behind the Voice
People who have met Mahmoud Ahmed often describe him as a quiet and humble man, and that description fits the voice. He does not seek the spotlight for its own sake. He sings, and he lets the music speak. He has lived a long life, and he has seen Ethiopia change in many ways, from the days of the emperor to the revolution to the present. Through all of it, he has kept a simple approach to his work: sing well, sing honestly, and respect the audience. That approach has served him for more than sixty years.
He has kept his private life out of the public eye, and he rarely gives long interviews. When he does speak, he talks about music, about the old days in Addis Ababa, and about the singers and musicians he worked with. He speaks with respect for his colleagues, and he does not claim to be better than anyone. That humility is part of why he is loved. In a world where many stars demand attention, Mahmoud simply sings, and the attention comes to him because the singing is so good.
He has also been a mentor to younger musicians, even if he does not make a show of it. Young singers who want to learn the old style come to him, they listen to his records, and they try to understand how he shapes a phrase. He has shown them that a great voice is not about volume or speed. It is about feeling, about timing, and about telling the truth in a song. Those are lessons that cannot be learned quickly, and Mahmoud has spent a lifetime learning them. His example is a school for any singer who wants to understand Ethiopian soul.
His life outside music has been simple. He lives in Addis Ababa, and he is part of the city’s musical life. He is recognised on the street, and people greet him with respect. He has seen his music travel around the world, and he has seen foreign audiences fall in love with songs he recorded decades ago. That must be a strange and wonderful feeling, to know that a song you sang in a small studio in Addis Ababa is now loved in Paris, in London, and in New York. He carries that knowledge with a quiet pride, and he continues to sing when he is able.
My Take:
When I hear Mahmoud Ahmed sing, I feel like I am hearing a voice from a world that has almost disappeared. His voice is deep and rough in the best way, like an old photograph that has been handled many times but still shows the face clearly. I do not understand every word he sings, but I understand the feeling, and the feeling is enough. It is the feeling of a man who has known hard times and who has turned those hard times into beauty. That is a rare thing, and it is why I keep coming back to his music.
What moves me most about his story is where he started. He was a shoeshiner. He cleaned shoes on the street for a living, and he sang while he worked. I think about that image a lot, because it tells me something true about talent. Talent does not care where you are born. It does not care how much money your family has. It lives in a person, and it waits for a chance to be heard. Mahmoud’s chance came in a club, when someone stopped and listened. I wonder how many other great voices never get that chance, how many shoeshiners and labourers and street sellers have a gift that no one ever hears. His story makes me hopeful, but it also makes me sad, because for every Mahmoud who was discovered, there must be many who were not.
I admire the way he sang with the Imperial Bodyguard Band, and the way he learned his craft in that hard school of live music. He did not go to a music college. He learned by singing night after night with great musicians, by listening, by making mistakes, and by getting better. That kind of learning is real learning. It is not about passing an exam. It is about standing on a stage and making people feel something. Mahmoud learned that, and he learned it well. His voice has a confidence that comes from years of doing the work, not from a certificate on a wall.
The song “Ere Mela Mela” is one of those songs that I think about long after it ends. It is a song of pleading, of asking someone to stay, of begging for love. When Mahmoud sings it, I do not hear a performance. I hear a man who means it. That honesty is what separates a good singer from a great one. A good singer can hit the notes. A great singer can make you believe the words. Mahmoud makes me believe them, even when I do not know the language. His voice carries the meaning, and that is a kind of magic that cannot be taught.
I also think about the hard years, the revolution, the closing of the clubs, the silence. It must have been painful for a singer at the peak of his powers to find that the world no longer wanted his music, or that the new rulers did not trust musicians. I do not know exactly what he felt, and I will not pretend that I do. But I can imagine the frustration of having a gift and not being able to use it, of hearing your own records played in homes while you cannot perform them live. That is a hard life, and I respect him for enduring it. He did not give up. He waited. He sang when he could. And when the world finally came back to his music, he was ready.
The Ethiopiques story is one of my favourite parts of his life, because it is a story about second chances. A French producer listened to old Ethiopian records, loved them, and decided that the world should hear them. That decision changed Mahmoud’s life when he was already in his late fifties. Most singers would have given up hope of fame abroad by that age. Mahmoud did not have to give up hope, because his music was so good that it found a new audience on its own. I think that teaches a lesson about the value of great work. If you make something truly good, it can wait. It can sit on a shelf for twenty years, and when someone finally plays it, it will still be good. That is a hopeful thought for any artist.
I also think about what his rediscovery meant for Ethiopian music as a whole. Before Ethiopiques, many people outside Ethiopia had never heard Ethiopian music at all. They did not know about the golden age, about the great bands, about the singers who had made Addis Ababa a musical capital. Mahmoud’s voice helped to open that door. When people heard him, they wanted to hear more, and they discovered Mulatu, Tilahun, Aster, and the rest. He was not the only great singer of that era, but he was one of the voices that carried the whole tradition to the world. That is a great service, and it is one that should be remembered.
If I am honest, I sometimes feel a sadness when I think about the golden age itself. It was a brief time, from the 1960s to the early 1970s, when Ethiopian music was at its most creative. Then came revolution, war, and hardship, and the music suffered. I wish that era had lasted longer. I wish more of those singers had been able to record more, to tour more, to be heard more. But I am also grateful that the records exist, and that we can still hear them today. Mahmoud’s voice is a reminder of what was lost, and also a reminder of what survived. It survived because it was too good to be forgotten.
What I learn from Mahmoud Ahmed is that a voice can be a kind of home. For Ethiopians living abroad, his songs are a home they can carry with them. For listeners like me, who have never been to Ethiopia, his songs are an invitation to visit a world through music. That is a powerful thing for a singer to do. He does not just entertain. He carries a place and a time inside his voice, and he shares it with anyone who will listen. I think that is the highest work a singer can do.
I also admire his humility. He does not seem like a man who chases fame. He sings, he performs, and he lets the music speak. He has been called a legend, a national treasure, and one of the greatest singers in African music, and he carries those titles with a quiet dignity. I like that. In a world where many stars demand attention, Mahmoud simply sings, and the attention comes to him. That is a different kind of strength, and it is one that I respect deeply.
When I think about young singers today, I hope they listen to Mahmoud Ahmed. Not to copy him, because his voice cannot be copied, but to learn from him. Learn how to sing with feeling. Learn how to be patient. Learn how to make a song that will still be beautiful in fifty years. Those are the lessons that matter, and they are lessons that cannot be learned from a quick hit or a viral video. They can only be learned from a lifetime of singing, and Mahmoud has lived that lifetime.
In the end, I come back to the image of a young shoeshiner singing on the streets of Addis Ababa. That image stays with me because it is so simple and so powerful. A boy with no money and no connections, with only a voice, singing because he loved to sing. That boy became a legend, not because he was lucky, but because his voice was true. I think that is a story that should give hope to anyone who has a gift and no clear path. Sing anyway. Sing where you are. Someone may be listening, and your voice may travel further than you ever imagined.
I also think about the way his voice sounds on a quiet night, when there is nothing else to distract you. If you put on “Ere Mela Mela” late at night, with the lights low, you can hear every breath, every small change in his voice, every moment where he holds a note just a little longer than you expect. That is the sound of a singer who is fully present in the song, who is not thinking about the audience or the recording, but about the feeling itself. I think that presence is what makes his music so powerful. He is not performing a song. He is living it, for the length of the song, and the listener lives it with him.
Another thought that stays with me is about the value of waiting. Mahmoud waited for many years before the world rediscovered his music. He waited through the revolution, through the silence, through the years when his records were hard to find. Most people would have given up hope. He did not. He kept singing, he kept his voice alive, and when the chance came, he was ready. That patience is a lesson for anyone who makes art. You cannot control when the world will notice your work. You can only control whether the work is good, and whether you keep doing it. Mahmoud kept doing it, and the world noticed in the end. That is a hopeful story, and it is one I think about often.
I also want to be honest about what his story does not tell us. We do not know everything about his life, because he is a private man. We do not know all the details of his hard years, or all the choices he made. That is fine. A singer does not owe us his whole life. He owes us his songs, and he has given us those generously. I respect his privacy, and I think it is part of his dignity. He lets the music speak, and he keeps the rest for himself. In a time when many famous people share everything, that reserve feels like a kind of strength.
When I think about the future of Ethiopian music, I hope that Mahmoud’s example is remembered. I hope young singers listen to his records and learn that a voice can be deep without being loud, that a song can be simple without being plain, and that honesty matters more than fashion. Those are old lessons, but they are still true. The music world changes fast, and new sounds come and go. The sound of a true voice, singing a true song, does not go out of fashion. Mahmoud Ahmed proved that, and his voice will keep proving it for many years to come.
In the end, I come back to the shoeshiner on the streets of Addis Ababa, singing while he worked. That boy had nothing except a voice and a love for music. He became a legend. I think that is one of the most hopeful stories in all of music, because it says that talent can come from anywhere, that a poor boy can become a great artist, and that a song can travel from a street in Addis Ababa to the whole world. Mahmoud Ahmed’s life is proof of that, and his voice is the proof that we can still hear today.
I also think about the musicians who played with Mahmoud, the brass players, the guitarists, and the drummers of the Imperial Bodyguard Band. They were part of his sound, and they deserve to be remembered too. A singer does not make a record alone. He makes it with a band, with arrangers, with engineers, and with friends who believe in the music. Mahmoud worked with some of the finest players in Ethiopia, and their playing gave his voice a home. When I hear his records, I hear the band as well as the voice, and I am grateful for both. That teamwork is a large part of what made the golden age golden, and Mahmoud was at its centre.
Another thought that stays with me is about the way his songs are used today, in films, in cafes, in the homes of Ethiopians living abroad. A song that was recorded in a small studio in Addis Ababa in the 1970s can now be heard in a cinema in Paris or a kitchen in Toronto. That journey is remarkable, and it shows that great music does not stay in one place. It travels, it finds new listeners, and it makes new friends. Mahmoud’s songs have travelled further than he ever imagined, and they are still travelling. I think that is a beautiful thing, and it is a sign of how true his music is.
I also want to say something about the word soul, because it is used often and not always with care. Soul music is not just a style. It is a feeling, a way of singing that comes from the heart and that speaks to the heart. Mahmoud is a soul singer in that true sense. He does not sing to impress. He sings to express, and his songs carry the weight of a life that has known both joy and sorrow. When I hear him, I hear a man who has lived, and who has turned his living into song. That is soul, and it is rare.
When I think about young Ethiopian singers today, I hope they listen to Mahmoud not to copy him but to learn from him. Learn how to sing with feeling. Learn how to be patient. Learn how to make a song that will still be beautiful in fifty years. Those lessons are not easy, and they cannot be learned in a day. They take a lifetime, and Mahmoud has spent that lifetime learning them. His records are a school, and any singer who listens carefully will come away wiser. I hope many young singers enrol in that school, because Ethiopian music needs voices like his, and it needs them to keep coming.
In the end, I think Mahmoud Ahmed matters because he proves that a voice can outlast a regime, a fashion, and a silence. His voice survived the revolution, it survived the quiet years, and it survived long enough to be heard by the world. That survival is not an accident. It is the result of a voice that was too good to forget, and of a man who kept singing even when the world was not listening. I am glad the world is listening now, and I hope it keeps listening for many years to come.
Frequently Asked Questions
When and where was Mahmoud Ahmed born?
Mahmoud Ahmed was born on 8 May 1941 in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. He grew up in the capital and worked as a shoeshiner as a young man before he was discovered as a singer.
How was Mahmoud Ahmed discovered?
He was heard singing in a club in Addis Ababa by members of the Imperial Bodyguard Band, who invited him to join them. Singing with that great band gave him professional training and brought his voice to a wide audience.
What is Mahmoud Ahmed’s most famous song?
His most famous song is “Ere Mela Mela”, a song of love and pleading that became one of the most loved Ethiopian songs of all time. It is also the title of the album that introduced him to many listeners abroad.
What is the Ethiopiques series and how did it help Mahmoud Ahmed?
Ethiopiques is a series of reissued Ethiopian recordings from the 1960s and 1970s, put together by French producer Francis Falceto. It brought Mahmoud Ahmed’s music to listeners in Europe and America and gave him a second career in his late fifties.
Did Mahmoud Ahmed stay in Ethiopia during the hard years?
Yes, he stayed in Ethiopia through the revolution and the difficult years that followed, when clubs closed and performing became hard. His old records kept his voice alive, and he returned to performing widely after his music was rediscovered.
Why is Mahmoud Ahmed called a soul legend?
He is called a soul legend because his deep, emotional voice and his songs of love and longing are at the heart of Ethiopian soul music. Listeners regard him as one of the greatest singers of the golden age of Ethiopian music.
Is Mahmoud Ahmed still performing?
He performs less often now because of his age, but he is still honoured as a national treasure in Ethiopia and he has performed at festivals in Ethiopia and abroad in the years since his rediscovery.
