It?s back in the 1980s. Thursday afternoon. I?m sitting on the second to last stair of the back door undoing my braids. Through the curtain of frizzy hair on my face, I could see the maid baking Injera in the baking house (mead?bet). I could also see her saying something to me, but my mind was too occupied to process the noise I heard into something meaningful. I assumed she was calling for me and so started walking over to her bedemenefs. When I got to her, the word qimalam woke me up from whatever kind of sleep I was in. She was telling me not to get any closer to the injera while undoing my braids. I took a couple of steps back and stood still, with both my hands still tangled up in my hair and my eyes staring at the line of busy ants on the ground.

What was I thinking about? No, I wasn?t in love. In fact I was too young and that was a time for anything but being in love. We, the kids, were too scared to walk outside the gate because that time, you saw chiraq looking woyane soldiers on the streets, and if they looked at you, you instantly wet your pants. They looked like chiraq, because they had that untidy look and evil eyes which we only knew to be of the chiraq we were told in stories. They?ll knock at any door they pleased, walk in and take out whatever they wanted, be it food or clothing, valuables or even any persons they felt like accusing of things like robbing the local shops. But in reality, they were the ones who took almost all the sheqeT from our shop, and our neighbours and my uncles.

I don?t really know what I was thinking about, but I remember wishing I was one of the ants on the ground, and I don?t know why I wished that either. Once again, I woke up to a shouting voice and a tight grip on both of my upper arms. This time she was shaking me while telling me to go and get her a block of soap from our shop. She pushed me into the house, got a scarf out from mom?s dresser and wrapped it around my messy hair. I wanted to tell her I?ll be too scared to go, but I knew she wasn?t going to understand. What if I see the chiraqs? What if they shoot me? What if they eat me? She was the one who told me that chiraqs eat bad children. I slipped a picture of Virgin Mary into my pocket to protect me and walked out. Yes, I did come across them, and I walked faster, and then ran. One of them stopped me and asked me where I was going with a strange and hard to hear accent. ?Suq telke ne?w? was my fearful answer. Then he let me go just like that. I was surprised. They are not chiraqs after all! They are just soldiers. While thinking that and continued walking, I felt something wet in my shoes. It was blood. My new shoes had been eating into my feet while I ran. I took them off and started to walk with bloody feet. The ground was so burning hot it almost cooked my feet. As soon as I got to the shop, my cousin?s question was ?Gashe meTa??

My dad had been gone for almost a week, and we had no idea where he went. Everyone in the family was worried, mom cried everyday and nobody ever smiled. I told my cousin that it was only me and the maid in the house. His next question was delivered with a shocked tone of voice and facial expression. ?Etye?s?!? Despite not being paid for three months, mom was at work and unusually late to get home. Then it hit me. Why is she late? Will she come home at all? My tears started to fight their way out, but I kept them in. I got the block of soap and a desta keremila and head back home. Before I was half way, it started to rain with grey clouds murdering the evening sparkle of light that usually made our neighbourhood look like heaven with the shadows of the tall trees and the smell of flowers and fruits from people?s gardens and back yards. All of a sudden, it was dark, my feet were hurting real bad, I was cold, wet, and I was worried about mom. I couldn?t help it but cry my eyes out. It felt like the tears were streaming right out of my heart making my chest hurt. So much for the ?desta? keremila in my mouth! I threw it out and continued crying out loud. The road was deserted. The rain got heavier and heavier. The ground was getting slippery and hard to walk on with bare feet.

As I got to the gate and started banging it hard, I could hear my baby brother crying. The maid ran out with an umbrella, opened the door, took the wet news-paper-wrapped block of soap off my hand and handed me the umbrella and some money. I was trying to get into the house, but she pushed me back and told me to go buy some candles from the kiosk in the next street, because there was a power cut. I wanted to just bite her hand! I?m freezing as hell with the dirt burning my blistered feet and she tells me to go back out there?! She didn?t take no for an answer, that woman. She told me the baby is scared of the darkness and won?t stop crying, and if I refused to go get the candles and mom got home with the baby crying I would be in deep trouble. So I took the umbrella and money off her hand and turned around with no further argument.

Once again, I?m out on the road in the rain and still crying. She didn?t even ask me why I was crying! Oh wait? I was soaking wet head to toe. How could she tell? When I got the candles and got back, I met my cousin at the gate. He shut the shop and came home because he was worried about mom and dad. He saw me crying and didn?t even ask why. He just knew. He wiped the tears off my eyes without saying a word. Something told me he was crying inside too. The maid opened the gate for us, and burst out crying when she saw my cousin. ?Ante etye eko almeTachim eskahun!? she said, shivering with fear. We went into the house and the baby was still crying. Everybody was crying. In fact, the whole world was crying. It was dark and raining. We lit some candles and sat together, anticipating the return of the light.