Two days ago, I read with great curiosity and attention, as I always do, the wonderful articles of my cherished writers “Understanding Reconciliation” By Ismail Omer Ali and “He Waved and She Cried” By Sara Zere. It was a breathtaking coincidence that the two articles complemented each other and offered deep insight into the same predicament. Read together, the two articles portray the map of the grim and gloomy road towards reconciliation, peace and democracy that is pending in our country and people due to the mischievous arrogant PIA. Ismail compelled me to contemplate on how complex reconciliation could be, with whom to reconcile and what is the forgivable and forgettable that can be compromised and what is not. While Sara`s narration of the irreconcilable and unforgivable stories of Aradom and Abe compelled me to wipe my eyeglasses more than a few times. Sara actually was reading the map of reconciliation and about that, who has excluded himself from it. She was precisely putting the X mark on those who committed the unacceptable and the irreconcilable.
Dear Sara,
There was an American lady who was married to a Sudanese. They lived together with his family in the Sudan for a short time until her father in law died. The Sudanese women, as they always do in such occasions, mourned their dead by singing and expressions their sorrow and grief. “ Wooooubb aleya ya yumma, el sajam welramad allela ya wad umme wabuy, khaletni le mien yaba, ……and so on ”. The American lady was deeply touched and wanted to express her grief in a Sudanese way similar to the other ladies. Incapable of such a language of Sudanese women’s bereavement, putting her hands on her chest, she approached each women saying “ana Keman! ana Keman walahi! ana keman kida”- me too, me too.
Although suffering the disability and lack of proper words, similar to the American lady, yet, I could not resist the urge of sharing with you, my dear Sara, equally unforgivable story of Suleiman and his mother Yegena Amet who were our neighbours and distant relatives.
Suleiman started to walk at about the age of five and talked at seven. People say that when he was about nine months old he had fallen from a bed into a concrete floor and there on, he was never like the other children. Physically, he looked perfectly healthy but his reasoning and the way he talked were apparently well below his real age. He was always close to Yegena Amet, very unassuming, obedient and calm. He never resisted the role of a daughter Amet never had. Suleiman grew to adulthood but always depended on his brother for his lively hood. Yegena Amet lost her sight and Suleiman was her company, guide and servant.
Beloved Sara, Aradom and Abe
Last month I was lucky to have some time to spend with Yumma and the rest of my family. One night when the Namosiyas (Mosquito nets) were erected on the open air (In the Sudan because of hot weather people usually spend the night in the open air in their compounds), I dragged my Angareb (a small wooden bed) close to where Yumma slept and erected my Namosiya over it, adjacent to hers. “I have visited all the people you had told me to visit and congratulated and condoled all those you listed for me Yumma, is there any thing else I should do? ” I asked. Happy and content, “God bless you son, it is wajeb - an obligation, a Muslim should be nice to all relatives and neighbors and must visit them, it is our culture….” answered Yumma. My father who was in the other corner interrupted her: “People are suffering from poverty and your son’s visits is meaningless to them unless they get something from it, did you visit them empty handed son?” he exclaimed. Bothered with the remarks of my father, she replied in a protective manner, “Don’t make him feel guilty, Allah only is able to provide for all his creatures, he has done the little he could”. To avoid further argument on the issue and to himself rather than to her, he repeated “lahawla wala qoweta illa billah! lahawla wala qoweta illa billah!” and ordered me to fill water in his Abrieq (a small kettle-like container used for wadou - abolition) for the morning prayer.
When I came back to my bed after carrying out my father’s instruction, Yumma asked if I remembered Yegena Amet, and without waiting for my answer she went on “She is in Keren ya oukhti habibti! She cries day and night, she pleads to any one in uniforms, even to those kids who come from Sawa, to help her find Suleiman”. Laughing in apprehension I interrupted my mother: “Even Suleiman was not spared from going to the front! But it may be good for him, he might learn something”. Surprised by my lack of information she lowered her voice and whispered “Bareeeee! Baree! Ya Allah! (Baree - word of pity and sympathy in Tigre- usually used by women) what front! Suleiman! He was taken at night by the evil visitors, you don’t know that!” I could not swallow it and both of us were quiet for a long while. My father’s voice came from the distant corner to break the silence “You don’t believe your mother! Believe her, she is right, but what is Suleiman to those wisest among their people, Shiekhs, Ulama, teachers, successful merchants and elders who met the same fate as suleiman. The Ethiopian regimes had some respect for religion, religious people, elders and society dignitaries. They had some minimum morals. I have witnessed Shiftas of the forties and fifties, they also had some morals in their own way, they respected every thing related to religion, all religions”. A long silence befallen our large Housh (compound), except for the hum of the refreshing cold breeze from the nearby river Attbara, the rattle of the fallen leaves from the big Neem tree crashing on the big water jars below it, the spiky reverberations of the mosquito’s` wings and the remote chorus of the female frogs and toads calling for a mate. Nature is beautiful but humans are greedy, cruel and ugly, I thought. Human cruelty and arrogance are destructive forces. When the humans fail to become part of the natural chorus, when they disturb the harmony between themselves in society as well as in nature then they are a destructive and ugly.
I do not know how long the silence lasted but Yumma was the first to break it and started telling me how Suleiman disappeared. Suleiman`s elder brother was working in Jeddah in Saudi Arabia. He could not afford to sustain one big family of his own in Jeddah and the other, Suleiman and Yegena Amet, in the Sudan. He managed a Haj-visa for Amet. Suleiman followed her as Murafiq-company. It was not possible to get a residence permit for them; therefore they stayed illegally in Jeddah. Suleiman stayed at home helping his sister in-law as he used to help Amet in the Sudan. Once, either bored or for curiosity, he goes out without the consent of the family. He developed the liking to wear like the Saudis, Jellabia and a red shemakh –head cover. He grew his beard and shaved his mustache as all practicing Muslims do. Suleiman was just trying to be like his surroundings but for his brother it was a camouflage; he approved of it and liked it. However, irrespective of his appearance he was caught and deported to Eritrea. Amet and Suleiman are inseparable they are like a man and his shadow; she also followed him to Eritrea and chose to settle in Keren. Weeks in Keren and one day at dawn, a knock on the door and Suleiman was gone. “I am sure they never tried to talk to him even for a few minutes; if they did, they would have understood what a person he was regardless of his appearance” concluded Yemma emotionally.
My father dislikes to talk or to hear sad stories. He has a peculiar way of avoiding them. From under his Namosiya he yelled loudly “You women, you are at the edge of your grave yourself, say some useful prayers if you cannot sleep but let us sleep”. Shifting his anger to me, he continued “And you, you never grow to a manhood, you sit with your mother the whole night and talk nonsense. How many such stories is your mother going to tell you? Let destiny take its course. Stop it now, you will miss your morning prayer which is more important than the stories of your mother”. Every thing was silent again, but I heard father turn on his bed mumbling “Allahuma walle alayna kheyaruna wala te`akhzena bima faEala alsufahaà minna- O, The Almighty Allah! Bestow leadership to the wisest and best among us. O, The Almighty Allah! Do not punish us and be angry on us for the evil deeds of the vulgar amongst us”.
Dear Ismail, as you brilliantly analyzed reconciliation, it could be complex and painful, nonetheless, it is less painful than disunity, disharmony and vulgarism of PIA. It is the only way out. Reconciliation means to forgive but never to forget. We cannot forget; forgetting is not in the human nature. However, we can pretend to forget and for sure we can forgive not for the sake of those who wronged us but for our own sake, for the sake of the memory of our martyrs, for the sake of the coming generations and for the sake of unity and harmony, for the sake of Eritrea. I hope you will forgive me for looking backward in my writings. I look backward only to make sure that we are on the right track on our way to justice and democracy. Thank you Ismail and thank you Sara. Salam to whoever loves Salam.
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