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A few days ago I received a message from an old friend who reminded me of a hobby I seem to have forgotten: a poetry page that I used to spend much time on. The heading on the page read, Welcome to the page of poetry...the language of the heart. The friend wrote That I, over the years carried different armors of writing, [and] decided to use the spear of tough love to provoke others into action. The message also reminded me of a gentle love and that on the contrary I insisted that people can handle tough love. The friend concluded the message by advising me to "be gentle, Saleh, let them heal inwardly first". That was deep and I am grateful for the dear friend. Years ago, the Unknown Soldier of poetry, Idris Echet Henna was showering Keren with his impromptu sharp verses that annoyed many EPLF cadres, General Philipos among them, whom he criticized fiercely. Upon the liberation of Keren in 1977, the EPLF security took Idris away and nothing was heard of him ever since. With the disappearance of Idris, one of the last icons of contemporary Tigre poetry vanished. I know of a person who might be the only one who can remember Idris poetry: Abbe Abdella who used to sing his own and Echet Hennas poems and lyrics. In 1973, Abbe Abdella was becoming a low profile agitator among the young. He used to sing anti Haile Sellasie songs to the young who would listen. Slowly, he was becoming louder and louder and invited the wrath of the security forces and he was jailed for insulting Haile Sellasie. Life in Keren, a town that teemed with scores of spies (save Sereke, Abbes friend who was promoted from a uniformed policeman to a plain clothed spy), was becoming unbearable for Abbe. Later I heard, Ironically, that Abbe fled to Addis Ababa to avoid the Keren spies. Upon arriving in Addis, he met a crowd chanting anti Haile Sellasie slogans. A man from the crowd was suspicious that Abbe might be a Haile Sellasie lover because he was not chanting with the angry crowd. Abbe was in a dilemma: He fled Keren for fear of reprisal because he insulted Haile Sellasie and now the crowd want him to insult the King just outside his palace! He was terrified of the act until he discovered that the emperor was deposed and it was all right to chant against the KING. This sketch aside, Abbe is immortalized by a famous lyric from one of his popular songs that almost everyone from my generation knows. Reekoki mn Ad Sidi dib fegri SeEko weyAreko bki SaAmkuhu Aser La grki Translated it would roughly mean: I saw you walking out of the Sidi Quarter [gate] I run but I couldnt reach you [To console myself] I [knelt and] kissed your foot prints That is even deeper, wish you long life Abbe. Our human and emotional side faced a brutal aggression, a ruthless assault. One in every two people I remember is a victim of the tyrannical regime in Eritrea. Daily memories invoke anger and increase the tenacity and determination to keep on struggling. The regime that killed poets killed poetry as well. The regime that killed our human side killed our innocence as well. The dilemma is that no one will wait for others to heal because we are all victims and we are all hurting. And the armor I carry is the only armor I own and the only armor that testifies to my defiance against injustice. The love of the victimized nation is so great that, strangely enough, increases the pain and the agony of the lover. Yet, an old Arabic adage goes, dawini bimahiyya addaou, the remedy is the ailment itself; snakebite is cured by snake poison. The lack of freedom makes one cry freedom. The lack of justice forces one to confront injustice; and sooner or later, the snake poison might cure the snakebite. Cartoons That Dont Speak Tigrigna! A child from Eritrea is on a visit to the USA with his parents. He speaks only Tigrigna and he was not one of the lucky few who had a television set at home. He was being frustrated because he was not able to communicate with the Kids in the neighborhood; he spent most of his time watching cartoons. One day, he threw a barrage of questions at me: why is it that neither the Kids nor the cartoons in America speak Tigrigna? Umhh, you see. I started and stopped. Obviously he didnt see anything; I didnt have an answer. He added one simpler question, the animals in Eritrea do not speak, how come the animals of America speak? They do I assured him. Eritrean animals do speak- I was sure the child never heard Girma Asmerom or Yemane Gebremeskel speak! He has no idea the regimes official cartoon characters are inviting shame and embarrassment to our nation every passing day... by simply uttering a few stupid words. One of his questions pierced through my heart; Are you going to Addna with us? he asked Addna has become off-limits to many of its children from the Diaspora save the self centered who chose to conform or those who are forced to, and visit holding their noses and blindfolding their eyes to avoid witnessing the injustices; and painfully numbing their conscience. But how do you convey such anger to a seven-year-old child? I will tell you more about my conversation with the child later "I Love The PFDJ" As usual, someone is going to attack me for hating the regime and telling me that my motive is hate of the PFDJ! Of course, it cant be love. Of course, I cant be expected to love a clique that is crippling my country and damaging its image for generations to come! Of course, I cant love a regime that has condemned me, and hundreds of thousands like me, into exile. Of course, I cant be expected to love the stone hearted operatives of the regime, and its supporters, who take pride in the regime's practices of injustice, and take pleasure from the life of exile that we are condemned to. I cant love anyone who enslaves my nation; and I cant respect anyone who chooses slavery over freedom. That fact is killing the poets; and the poets have entrusted the writing of poetry to the few, the likes of Kiros Yohannes, Gabriel Guangul, Daniel Rezene and Lobinet and others -the Sekabs, Echet Hennas; The Kejerais and Dr. Reesoms, and giants like them are gone. A Barka nursery rhyme went, mn bkayka seHaqka enfete, (My baby, giggle and dont cry). Mothers carried their babies for nine-months, delivered, nursed their children with milk and rhymes, and reared them to be grown ups -- only to be snatched by the manufacturers of wars and destitution. Cruelty is what is ruling in Eritrea. Poverty is what is being spread and fear is what is being instilled. The love of the country is being eroded because the tyranny equated love for the country with dying and living in trenches, carrying guns day and night. for years. No, love of a country is not carrying books, aspiring for higher education and important personal attainment. No, getting rich is considered a crime; people should live on handout; and in order to prosper, the wise thing an entrepreneur can do is become a quisling of the regime. No. I cant love this regime. I cant love those who perpetuate injustice. I cant love those who drive the young to a forced exile! I cant love those who transformed the dreams of generation into a nightmare and crippled my country in the process. I am not a Hobbesians; I bet if Hobbes was an Eritrean youth, he would have a different philosophical outlook about life. The risk of a power vacuum and the bread before democracy and the whole none sense. I hate the PFDJ. The Defense Forces are the muscle of Eritrea and not the regime's; they are not the regimes militia. No Eritrean that I know of hates the Defense Forces or the public servants - they are victims like all of us. The hate is directed at the PFDJ structure that humiliated the gallant Eritrean soldier and impoverished the resourceful Eritrean worker and enslaved the dignified farmer. That structure must be dismantled before it erases the name of our country from the maps of the world. And the defense forces, the civil servants and the declared opposition are all one force that is going to dismantle this modern Caligula. I dont want bread; I might live eating stone if I wanted to; I need my liberty in order to exercise my right whether I want to eat granite, limestone or sand. And then, once the structure of tyranny is dismantled, bread would be abundant (bkhebdna aytezarbbena goitay, the traditional prayer). Those who do not believe me, I bet anything- at least you would get the chance to go to Eritrea and find out if my assertion is right or wrong! The way it is, we are all condemned to a life of exile. Why? Because the robber is sitting in our country and wouldnt let us in.
Be Kind To The Robber It is mind boggling how some continue to apologize for the regime! Imagine a robber broke into your house and broke the refrigerator in anger because he didnt find any food in there; he broke your drawers because he didnt find anything worth his risking to break into your home. Now imagine yourself feeling guilty: if you left some food in, the robber wouldn't have damaged the refrigerator in anger; if you left some valuables, he wouldnt have broken your drawers in anger! If you gave him a blank check, he wouldnt have thought of robbing your home in the first place. All right, appease the robbers in our country by forecasting their next move, well in advance, and leave some food in your refrigerators. Some friends criticize me for blaming anything on the regime; they say we in the opposition are not being fair. Fair? Never mind that fairness thing, but who else is the culprit? To me they cause even the dry spell. If God forbid, there is an earthquake, I can assure you it is of their making. Death, destitution, immorality, disease- I dont have to prove anything here. But by the mere fact that they are unelected, and overstaying a mandate they never had in the first place, they bear responsibility for anything bad that happens under the sun; I cant say of good things because it is not in their nature to do any good. They spent their lives in the struggle and liberated the country? It was not in exchange for enslaving the nation that they helped liberate! It was all voluntary; and why would a handful of rascals determine the fate of a nation? What gives them the right to condemn us to all the sufferings? Am I listing the negatives without suggesting a solution? No. I have been suggesting one solution for years: dismantling the system; that is the biggest chunk of the solution. BEWARE: Snakes Never Die! Once I was riding a taxi on the mountains of North Thailand when the car run over a snake. The driver panicked and pulled off. He hurriedly walked to where the dead snake was. I followed him. He was murmuring inaudibly, trembling, and feeling guilty. First I thought the snake might be some kind of god that he believed in -- and killing a god is not easy, I would understand. Then I asked him why he was panicking. He told me that snakes pretend they are dead but never die, sort of. They always come to avenge their death. He was afraid the snake might come after him! But he lives in Bangkok, miles away! distance doesnt matter he said. So what do we do, I asked. He started to beat the snake like this was the last thing he had to do; then he dragged it to the side and poured diesel oil on it and a match strike the snake was torched just to make sure there was no life left in it. The snake must have been a PFDJ member: some are not sure whether it is dead or not while others think it was run over and is just dead. Many from the opposition think it is torched; that is why they forgot about it and are engaged in the sport of attacking other opposition members. If they continue that way, I am afraid, the snake would get a new lease of life and come to avenge its death; if you dont believe me, ask the Thai taxi driver, I tend to agree with him: unless you pull the PFDJ out of the way and witness its ashes, dont be so sure. Ah, the seven-year old child from Eritrea is nodding apparently in approval. America Elects A Negus After waiting for days to get the cartoons to speak in Tigrigna, it seems he has given up; he is singing along with the rabbits, dogs and foxes- in English. His grandmother snatches the remote control from his lap; she wants to watch what is happening on the television between the two candidates for the US presidency- to elect Negus-Amarika as she puts it. Our Negus doesnt have to be humiliated like this, she tells her grandson. He doesnt understand but nevertheless he grins. I tried to explain to her the difference between a negus and a president. She gave me a bad look and reminding me of my ignorance she said, Taqwa, you know nothing. I admit I know nothing about a president who becomes a negus. Last Friday, after three weeks, I met the child and jokingly asked when they were going back to Eritrea. He looked worried and said, they took my brother last year and if I go back, they will take me to Sawa after eight years, I am not going back. I think the kid is exaggerating; by then we should be in a voting season to elect Negus-Eritrea!
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