|
Dressed in Shrara, the Eritrean version of the Scottish kilt, Bashai Serur was the unchallenged master exorcist. He held his sessions every Sunday in a dark, misty and damp room. Heavy drum beats, ululations and songs and dancing to satisfy the Jinni and ask him to please dispossess the body of a woman - usually a frail, oppressed housewife who would not get a chance to dance if not the excuse of exorcism. As a kid, hiding behind the door a few Sundays, I watched such sessions. The sweating Bashai Serur, a huge tall man, blood shot eyes, would make sharp and swift swerves cracking his whip. Eheheheh: Ajokha Baba Fereska Aytogdae. The possessed body is considered the Jinnis horse and the pleading songs ask the Jinni not to hurt the horse - please leave peacefully!
If the Jinni would not leave the body with the songs of praise, drums, pleading in poetic prose, incense and colorful candies, the whip will take charge and land on the back of the possessed lady. That seemed to work always; the Jinni would be forced out immediately. They claim the Jinni leaves the body through an invisible crack under the nail of the left hand thumb!***image1:left***The possessed go to Bashai Serur to be whipped; they pay money for that. Now we have another sort of Bashai Serur and we have people who pay money to be whipped by the PFDJ regime. But this Jinni rides the willing horses; whips their pockets dry; and his sessions are not limited to Sundays only. The PFDJ is a shrinking Qole cult where people give up their humanity and submit to oppression knowingly. Watch this: The PFDJ is shrinking while those who are supposedly against the oppressive regime are learning and practicing their multiplication tableliterally. How many localized civil-societies do we have? How many cloned political organizations do we have? How many organizations are fighting to retain the original name they carried before they split? Arent we supposed to learn the Addition Table before we jump into the multiplication Table? Some even treat their organizational names, simple abbreviations that always carry democracy, revolution and Eritrean, as if it was a sacred name or a corporate trademark worth millions of dollars in goodwill value. The names are not even as nostalgic as, say Shokolokobangoshay
Book 1 and Book 2 generation would remember the challenging word Shokolokobangoshay on top of Alaaddin, Blue Bird and of course, Walidad who cuts the grass. We somehow thought that the grass that Walidad cuts is fed to the cows that produce the milk that Aboy Yonatan cooked for us each morning. Aboy Yonatan was the school milkman; powdered milk for school children courtesy of the American food aid program.
The milk powder came in sacks carrying a picture of a handshake. In todays Eritrea there is no milk neither in school nor at home; and if a food aid came from abroad, the PFDJ would make sure to have a picture of a hand slapping a face instead of the handshake.
We consumed the milk despite Aboy Yonatans murmurings reminding us that it was not as nutritious as the milk he grew up drinkingfresh from the cow at dawn!
Over ten years ago while traveling on a train on the Indian countryside, I saw many who resembled Walidad. They might be his descendants. Yet, I am sure I saw one who could not be anyone else but Walidad himself. He had the same white shred of cloth around his groin; he was riding on one of two Bulls pulling a cartful of hay. It seems they had rain in India. The Indians are getting the rain which was meant for Eritrea. That is cheating. They take our rain and now they take our university- I think the regime will soon import Indian students to fill the seats! Here is a funny joke I heard: A pregnant women was asked where she was going. I am going to Sawa to deliver the baby; that way I save the army the trip to my home to get him when he is 16. She is very efficient. I would recommend her to replace Dr. Weldai Futur as the economic advisor in the princes of poverty circle. And her poor and helpless husband, the Walidad of Eritrea, has almost forgotten how to cut grass. If things go the way they are, shortly he might ask what grass means. Worse, he might pose a difficult question: What is a cow? What is Milk? What do children mean? But I am optimistic. Rain is coming and fake Clouds Are Clearing
A few weeks ago I received a message from someone apologizing for something he wrote to me some years ago. The message went: [nice words deleted for brevity] I would like to ask you to forgive me. Couple of years ago when you [were] in Kuwait I think, I e-mail you a comment about what you wrote regarding our Eritrean people. And I wrote to you by asking "if have you ever closed your eyes and thinking about what you are writing" But I was dead wrong. My mind was closed, blind and dark. Forgive me.... I know you will and thank you.
Of course, I never held any grudge against anyone who might have a different opinion as long as they present it in a civilized manner. Also, I have learned my lesson long ago: public debaters need to develop an Alligator-skin. The above quoted message, and many similar to it I received over the last year or two, are very encouraging. I have come to know many courageous people who, not only accept and own their mistakes, but are brave enough to apologize. Thank you all for your courage and the nice words and the lessons you keep teaching me. We might not notice it, but time has changed. Years went by before many of our compatriots accepted that we have a monstrous regime. Years passed by before many acknowledged that the statue of the cult leader we created should be demolished. Even the sculptors of the statute are trying to break chips of the despicable statue. Some, those who laid the foundations for the statue, are still shy. They still are afraid of the imaginary long tentacles of the regime that might choke them while they sleep. They have kept silent for too long a chilling silence. In fact a very noisy, loud silence - when they should talk and speak out. In due time, they say. When is that time due? My concern is that the time is due; it is already past due. Some nave Eritreans still have hopes for the PFDJ to change. Yes. I would do tooif I were out of my mind. You cant convince this regime to listen by attending their functions and
Dancing At Their Parties. I heard a very funny story over the Weekend. Someone suggested to a group of people to go join the PFDJ parties, to work and influence from within. If someone is thinking of changing the PFDJ regime to the better by being docile and servile, they need to check the records: has this regime ever yielded to public demand, petition or pressure? Is dancing in a PFDJ sanctioned party going to inject sanity to the PFDJ? You cant even change the size of the gwayla circle in the Partys party let alone the Party itself. What is the logic that equates dancing in a party to a right to change and influence? There is a basic fact: authoritarians never change; they get changed. But if dancing in PFDJ exclusionist, hysterical, drinking-fest parties is needed to secure a safe trip to Eritrea, it is understandable. People get nostalgic and they might need to buy their safety by dancing in a party or two. Needless to say, its selfish and inconsiderate. You cannot influence a system that accepts dancing in its parties as a bribe to grant you safe passage to visit your own country. We are dealing with a government that sells taped funeral procession for money; remember WelWels funeral tape? Save a few from the inner-circle, the whole PFDJ infrastructure is manned by people who do not have an authority even to sign a letter. They all spend half their time writing reports about who said what against the regime; how much money they swindled from the Hafash; who cheered the most, etc. Unfortunately, some of the otherwise decent clerks and emissaries of the regime in many parts of the world are simply money-collectors and have no authority or say. Deep inside, they feel ashamed to represent a repressive and an embarrassing regime Hshakha; injera indyu weyleHawka. The badly needed bread. Empty bellies need baked bread; inflated egos need A Bakery Of Arrogance
Some graduates of the PFDJ school of dishonesty and deceit would qualify to be crowned for mischief. Once tail always tailgating. Something to ponder sort of an after thought meant to provoke your thought.
Suppose you wrong someone in public and then you discover you were wrong and you were asked to apologize. If you are honest, you would apologize immediately right after you discover your mistake. If you are dishonest, arrogant and cheap, you would wait weeks for the right opportunity to find something that would deflate your apology. A sort of a non-apology apology. You start apologizing; but right after your cunning apology, you wrong the person again. Thus, the delicate ego is not bruised. No psychiatry here but a trial to one: this obviously looks an act of a tormented soul that is watching the statue of its idol crumble and its parts disappear chip after chip. Mehret yewred because the crumbling cannot be reversed. Worse, more than the rest, the statue builders themselves are the ones frantically demolishing what they built. Woodpecker would say, Hahahahahaaaa. Why would he? Because it cant go Heeeyyyyyy - doesnt know anything about our Qole. Some people miss the beating up at the Qole dance floor. They are the mentally abused and we see them defending injustice everyday. They can have more Qole sessions on their own, all right; but they cant push the Bashai Serur regime on the free any longer. Comments:
This email address is being protected from spam bots, you need Javascript enabled to view it
|
