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. Continue reading ‘Anticipating the return of the light.’