Part One: Abebech's World

Abebech in Addis

Addis Abeba, Ethiopia.

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Abebech Tafari, lost in thought, stood at the window of her son's third-floor apartment overlooking Sidist Kilo traffic circle. Shiny black Mercedes, dusty Land Rovers, and little blue and white Peugeot taxis merged briefly then went off on their own ways, out of Sidist Kilo to the rest of Addis Abeba, to the rest of Ethiopia, to the rest of the world.

Soon her granddaughter Berhanish would be coming home from school. She was fourteen and growing fast, faster than Abebech approved. Addis was nothing like YetNo, the small village where Abebech grew up. Berhanish never had to carry water from the stream. She had indoor plumbing, even a sit-down toilet. Abebech never saw a sit-down toilet until she was fourteen. To this day she still prefers the concrete squatter next to the shiny white porcelain thing that everyone else used, though she had learned to appreciate the white porcelain bidet with warm water.

Abebech grew up in a round tukel with a grass roof and walls of stick and mud. She was three when her little sister, Zenabech, was born. Abebech was kicked out of her parents' bed and had to sleep on the other side of the tukel on a small bench. It was better than sleeping on the floor. Chickens roosted with them every night. They ate the bugs that wandered into their tukel and were vigilant sentries of night sounds. In her son's apartment, she slept on the couch in the living room. Berhanish had her own bedroom and a computer, too.

Her son's apartment was on the third floor of a ten-story apartment block, just across Sidist Kilo plaza from Addis Abeba University. Back when Abebech came to Addis for the first time, she knew it as Haile Selassie I University. Now her son taught medicine there. What would Abebech's grandfather Girma think about that? Girma The Great of YetNo was a famous healer in the Ethiopian Highlands. Now his great-grandson was also a famous healer, but of Western medicine. The healer's gift ran in their family. Abebech knew that it ran strong in her.

Espresso shops ringed one side of Sidist Kilo. On the far side was the university. A little blue and white taxi screeched to a stop just in front of two students running hand-in-hand through the traffic. Both turned, and with embarrassed grins, waved to the taxi driver then ran off the rest of the way. The young lovers reminded Abebech of her Uncle Tarik and his girlfriend Tehgest, back in 1970 when Abebech was fourteen and saw Sidist Kilo for the first time.

She draped her soft, cotton shemma over her graying head and around her aged, auburn face. A curl of hair bounced on her forehead. It was her favorite shemma, the one her grandmother Rahel wove for her. She inhaled through the cotton strands searching for her grandmother's essence. Her head swayed side to side, while biting back tears as she conjured those times. But as she was taught, her past made her what she was today and would become. In Abebech's world ancestors played a big part, a lot more than Steve Williams, her Peace Corps lover, was willing to admit. If she had gone to the US with Steve, where would her grandchildren be today? Would they speak Amharic? Would they be fighting in Afghanistan? As bitter and strange as those years were, it made her family what it was today.

    ==========

Wednesday, April 29, 1971

YetNo, Ethiopian Highlands

Abebech Tafari, scared, poor little girl from the sticks, was supposed to find her Uncle Tarik somewhere in Addis Abeba before it got dark. Uncle Tarik was a medical student at the university. He was supposed to take her in and help her. That's what Momma told her, early that fateful morning.

Her eyes poured tears as Momma put her on a bus that would take her from YetNo to the next big city, Bahir Dar, then on to Addis Abeba to find her mother's brother, Tarik, before nightfall.

She was confused, scared, angry, and alone. The bus ride was a terror for her. She'd never been away from her family, or from YetNo, and never on a bus.

Abebech cried most of the way to Addis. She couldn't tell anyone what had happened. Too dangerous. It would be very bad for Momma and little sister if what actually happened got back to Uncle Mesfin. Why do I have to suffer for Uncle Mesfin's evil? she thought to herself. He's the one who should be sent away, not me. Uncle Tarik will have to help me. I'm sure he'll understand. He'll just have to talk to his older brother. Tarik is the only one who can help me now.

Abebech was a skinny little girl in a simple, white cotton dress, more beige than white, stained with the dust of YetNo. A sweat-stained brown scarf covered her frizzy black hair. She twirled a tight curl on her forehead, which bounced as her finger let it loose. Her handspun cotton shemma, woven by Abebech's grandma Rahel, who died when Abebech was three, was wrapped around her shoulders and head. As the bus swerved her shemma would slide off. She wiped a tear with a corner of her shemma then pulled it back over her head.

Late that afternoon, fourteen-year-old Abebech Tafari was turned out into the center of Addis Abeba's Merkato bus station. The Merkato was the largest outdoor market in Africa. The bus station at its center was a mixture of mud, gravel, excrement, and chaos.

An overloaded bus painted with lions and gazelles creaked and crawled through the mud and rock field. The old diesel groaned. Black smoke spewed from its rattling exhaust. The engine revved to a peak then stalled. Clamoring crowds, chickens, goats, and sheep, in various stages of being loaded or unloaded, could now be heard above the rumbling busses blowing their horns. Donkeys brayed as dingy burlap sacks were loaded to one side and then the other until the donkey started to fall, then one bag was removed.

Abebech clutched her cotton sack and found the city bus that would take her to Sidist Kilo. Do you know Tarik Girma? she was going to ask the first person she met once she got to the campus. It was late afternoon when she arrived at Sidist Kilo. She walked determinedly against the flow of university students leaving for the day. At the entrance she stopped to stare at the massive dark stone arch and black iron gate. Someone grabbed her arm. An old man with an unshaven face bent down and sneered What are you doing here, little girl?

Tarik Girma, do you know him? she answered back, staring straight into his eyes.

Ato¹ Zebengña swung his ancient rifle back over his musty khaki woolen long coat and pushed his pith helmet back. He saw her tattered dress and dingy cotton sack and gently led her into his guard shack, let go of her arm and gave it a little pat.

How do you know Tarik?

Abebech rubbed her arm. Being grabbed brought back terrors from the past week.

Tarik is my mother's brother, she said. I have to find him.

The old guard waved his hand to a young errand boy who wore a tattered drab-olive jacket, and shorts covered with patches. His sandals were cut from pieces of old tires. The guard spoke to the boy and sent him off.

Just stay here. Tarik will come, the guard said.

Abebech watched the students. There were even girl students. One student, a man with curly black hair, was speaking loudly, and shaking his fist. Every time his head turned, his curls would sway like branches of a willow. A crowd gathered around him.

The guard nudged Abebech. Tarik was coming. A beautiful young woman in western clothes followed him.

Abebech. What are you doing here? Tarik asked. Are you okay? Where's Mom? Is she okay?

I'm okay, maybe. But Mom's okay.

This is my friend Tehgest, he said. She's studying to be a lawyer.

They all greeted each other. Ato Zebengña liked Tarik because he was studying to be a doctor and would always give advice about Zebengña's latest pain.

Uncle Tarik, can I stay with you tonight? Mom said you could find me a place to stay.

Of course, Abebech. But there are others who live there, too. You may have to sleep on the floor.

That's okay.

A crowd swelled around the man with long curly black hair. He stood at the top of the stairs of the administration building overlooking the crowd. Another student climbed the stairs and held up a large poster with a fuzzy picture of a young man on the ground, in a pool of blood.

Remember what they did to Tilahun Gizaw! he yelled.

_________________

²Tilahun Gizaw (till'-a-hoon geh-zow') was President of the leftist University Students Union of Addis Abeba, USUAA. On a cold Sunday night, December 28, 1969, near Sidist Kilo, a slow-moving car followed Tilahun. Two shots rang out. Tilahun's body lay in a pool of blood. The photographer's flash went off. Police came and took the body to the morgue. Students stole Tilahun's body, took it back to Sidist Kilo and refused to give his body to his parents. The government responded with bullets. According to the Ministry of Information, three died and five were wounded. According to students, as many as twenty died and 157 were wounded.

There was an irony to this tragedy. None of that would have happened if it were not for the vision of Haile Selassie, Emperor of Ethiopia, who had wanted to create the first all-African university with African teachers and African students from all over Africa. And they came. In the late sixties they came with tales of worldwide revolutions. Up until then the Imperial Ethiopian government had effectively blocked all news of revolutions from its citizens. HSI University at Sidist Kilo became a hotbed of political discussions, demands, and protests. The University tried to control the students by officially sanctioning some groups while banning others. At one point the University seized the USUAA's mimeograph machine to keep them from making inflammatory posters. This was all due to Haile Selassie's desire to provide Western-style education for all Africans.

__________________

At the top of the stairs the poster was turned so that those inside the administration building could see Tilahun's bloody body. Concerned faces, mostly the faces of gray-haired Amhara men in suits and ties, stared out at the growing unrest. The grayest of the gray came out.

Go back to your classes or go home! Go! Go now! He waved his hand as if brushing away flies. Someone threw a small tree branch that landed close to the old man's shiny black shoes. He scowled and scanned the crowd to see who threw it. As the crowd grew louder the old man retreated back through the door.

The student with flowing hair punched the sky with his clenched fist and yelled, We must fight for our rights! Give us back our Student Union! The crowd responded with cheers and arms defiantly pumping towards the sky.

Tehgest. Stay with Abebech, Tarik said, as he went to see what was happening.

Ato Zebengña set out to tell the students to move on. They mostly ignored him.

Two large camouflaged trucks backed up and stopped just in front of the stone arch entrance. Helmeted riot police, Fetno Derash, with long wooden batons poured from the trucks and stood at attention.

Tehgest gasped. Oh no! I've got to warn Tarik. Holding Abebech's shoulders, gazing into her eyes she said, "Abebech. You must stay here. Do not leave!" Tehgest ran off to warn Tarik.

Captain Mengistu blew his whistle. Obedient troops, batons raised, charged through the iron gates. They thundered past the guardhouse. Their flowing mass was a blur. Like stampeding horses, they rattled the ground. Abebech shrunk into the corner of the guardhouse and covered herself with her shemma with only her eyes showing. Then came the screams of panicked students. Those they couldn't catch barehanded were clubbed on their backs and legs. Eventually, they filled their trucks with terrified and bloody students then drove off.

The remaining students recoiled in disbelief, shock, and horror. Unwittingly, Ato Zebengña's towering pith helmet became the focus of students who tried to figure out what had just happened and what they should do next.

By sunset, the campus was clear and quiet once again. It was getting dark when Ato Zebengña got back to the guardhouse. He shook his head and mumbled, They took Tarik. They took Tehgest. And they probably took little Abebech, too.

He pulled the cord, and the bare overhead light lit. Shadows swept the room until he reached up and steadied the bulb. There in the corner was a white sack he'd not seen before. It moved and had two eyes.

Clever of you to hide like that, he said.

Abebech opened her shemma and looked up at him. The old man's face was hidden in shadows. He extended his hand and she stood.

Are you okay?

She nodded yes.

Abebech. I think they took Tarik and Tehgest.

She bit back tears.

Where will you stay tonight?

She didn't know. The guard rubbed his stubbled chin. He called over the errand boy, whispered in his ear and handed him a coin. The boy stood back, looked at Abebech from head to toe, then ran off.

I know someone who might give you a place to stay tonight. But, you'll have to be respectful, he wagged his crooked finger at her.

Who is it? she asked.

She's a friend of mine. Her name is Semynesh. She has helped lots of girls who are in trouble.

He studied her. Are you in trouble?

She just stood there, not knowing what to say. He prodded her shoulder with his crooked finger. Well, what is it then? Are you in trouble? He stared down at her. It's either yes or no. Speak up!

Abebech just wanted to get away, out into the open, away from the old man. He was writing in his notebook when she decided to slip away. The main gate was still open. She could easily outrun the old man. As she bolted out of the shack Ato Zebengña grabbed her arm.

Listen to me. You'll be better off with Semynesh tonight than out there. It's getting dark. Out there you'll have no one to protect you from hyenas and Somali slave traders.

The errand boy guided a stylish young woman across Sidist Kilo plaza. A black Mercedes, its horn blaring, screeched to a stop just before them. The driver stuck his head out the window with curses in mind but then smiled and cautioned, Semynesh, my love. Be careful.

She smiled and waved back. Giorgio! Don't be a stranger. Come see me at the Zebra Club. She blew him a kiss. He grinned and drove off.

Here she comes now. Remember! Be respectful of Semynesh. If she likes you, maybe she'll help you. Otherwise, you're on your own.

Semynesh bowed and asked, Ato Zebengña my friend, what can I do for you?

This little one, she came from her village to find her uncle, but the soldiers, they took him away. Truckloads. Communists, they called them. He trailed off, rubbing his stubbled chin, then regained his composure. Anyway, she's alone in Addis. I think she's in some kind of trouble, but she won't talk to me. Abebech wiggled her arm trying to break free. If I let go, she'll run.

Semynesh held Abebech's chin and looked at her from side to side, up and down.

What's your name girl?

Abebech looked back in defiance.

Her name is Abebech. He explained about her uncle Tarik and how the soldiers came, beat the students and took them away.

Be nice to Semynesh. She can help you. Ato Zebengña held her face towards his and, with a father's pleading voice, said, Semynesh is your best hope now. Go with her until I find Tarik.

Come little one. Semynesh held out her hand. Abebech saw the many gold bracelets and a gold necklace. Come Abebech. I have a place for you to stay the night. Semynesh smiled and her gold tooth glistened. Abebech relaxed and nodded her approval.

Ato Zebengña, she will be safe with me at the Zebra Club. Good health to you and your family.

To you and your sisters, good health and prosperity.

Come little one. With Abebech in tow, Semynesh hailed a cab to the Zebra Club.

_________________________________

Abebech let the drape fall back and turned her head from the window. Life as a bargirl at the Zebra Club was a drastic change. When she met Steve, her world changed again.

Steve was a Peace Corps Volunteer from Iowa. They were lovers. They'd been living together for about a month, just getting to know each other when they disappeared him. That's how Steve would have said it. Just like they disappeared Dunbar. But Abebech knew better. It was Zar spirits. She'd been telling him about Zar demons and wuqabi, guardian angels. He just waved it off as backwoods superstition and nonsense. Then when Steve least expected, he was swept away by forces far greater than he ever imagined.

Steve couldn't recall how he ended up in the psychiatric ward of the US military hospital in Frankfurt. The last thing he remembered was building a dam in southern Ethiopia. Steve wrote to Abebech from Frankfurt and later from Iowa. He didn't think they'd ever let him back in Ethiopia, not after what he did.

"What if I had stayed with Steve? she wondered. Where would I be now? In America? And what would my children be like?"

Now, from her son's apartment overlooking Sidist Kilo, she could see where it all began. It all wouldn't have happened if it weren't for an Ethiopian boy named Raphael who heard voices, demon Zar voices.

Girma & Aestar

Abebech's grandfather was the famous 'Girma The Great' of YetNo. Girma knew how to heal people.

When 'The Fascist Mussolini', as they called him, attacked northern Ethiopia in 1935, Girma was fifteen years old. Italian planes dumped mustard gas leaving thousands of Ethiopians to die horrible deaths. Many families, like Girma's, fled their Amhara ancestral lands high above Lake Tana, to the safety of Khartoum in the lowlands to the west in Sudan. In a scene reminiscent of the Exodus, they sojourned from their mountainous highland homes down to the flat lowlands of Sudan.

Young Girma, weak with cholera, was barely alive when they reached the gates of Khartoum. His family was turned away because of Girma's sickness. They found shelter in a Nubian compound with a sympathetic family. Nubian healers put Girma in a healing hut and plied him with healing incense, herbal drinks, and prayers. That night, God spoke to Girma and told him that his spirit would be spared this time so that he could return to his home and heal others. The next day Girma was able to eat and got progressively stronger.

Girma had a quick mind and an ear for language. He soaked up all he could, especially from the healers. In Khartoum he learned from not just the Nubians but from the camel traders who crossed the vast Sahara Desert to West Africa bringing, along with spices and jewels, knowledge of healing arts from the Draga, the Tuareg and other great nations. The traders spoke of West African healers who could heal all sorts of demon curses and evil eye. They could speak to unborn babies in a mother's belly. The traders sold healing herbs from all over Africa. Girma collected seeds and stories wherever he went. From the Sudanese Azandé, Girma learned witchcraft.

Sudan was a British colony at that time. The Ethiopian expatriate community remained loyal to their emperor in the belief that Haile Selassie would return to drive out the Italians. His Majesty waited in England until 1940 when the British Army, under the leadership of Orde Wingate, organized Ethiopian expatriates in Sudan into a fighting force that eventually succeeded in defeating Mussolini.

Life didn't stop for the Ethiopian refugees in Sudan. Sixteen-year-old Girma was married to fifteen-year-old Rahel. Soon after, news came that the Italians had left YetNo. The Ethiopians returned to their homes. Their son Mesfin was born later that year in YetNo.

Girma farmed his portion of his father's land. Like all YetNo families, they were subsistence farmers. In good years they grew enough to feed themselves. If they had extra, they would sell it at the local markets.

WouchAuger, about an hours walk north of YetNo, had its market every Thursday. On Thursday morning, the dirt path to WouchAuger was a stream of people, donkeys laden with burlap sacks, herds of sheep and goats. Chickens, their feet tied by twine, hung upside-down from sticks balanced on their owner's shoulders, bounced their way to market. When the market ended in the late afternoon, the entire parade reversed with animals and their new owners, people carrying unsold produce, new stuff they needed, and hopefully, a little cash back to their village.

Girma was able to raise extra money by selling his special healing herbs, some of which were from seeds he brought back from Sudan. He often made more selling his herbs than from selling his bags of excess Teff seeds or potatoes. Along with selling herbs he started listening to people's problems and selling them their own special herbal mixture. That got him more fame and more money. Soon 'Girma The Great' of YetNo became famous throughout the province.

======

WouchAuger, December 1935

Aestar was from the Sidamo tribe of southern Ethiopia. Orphaned at age nine, she was sold to a Somali man who took her north to Addis Abeba, enslaved her to clean for him and eventually forced her into prostitution. A year ago Italian soldiers raped her when they found her alone one night crossing BeShof'Tu road.

Over the past few months, Aestar had been able to hide fifteen birr in her mattress, one for every year of her age. One morning, when he had gone to pick up another little girl, Aestar fled Addis on an intercity bus to a place so remote he'd never find her. She had three birr left when the bus stopped for lunch at Mohammed's buna bet in WouchAuger, just north of Bahir Dar. Aestar stared longingly at a plate of doro wat, spicy chicken stew. The overweight woman eating the doro wat raised her shoulder and turned her chair away from Aestar's gaze. Aestar couldn't decide whether to eat or go on to the next village, YetNo. If she went on to YetNo, she'd only have one birr left. If she ate lunch, she wouldn't have enough to get to YetNo. She looked at the food and counted her money again.

Ato Mohammed, leaning against the kitchen doorway, watched the dark-skinned girl in fancy big city clothing, carrying a bulging pillowcase. She was nice looking even though her skin was dark. She was tall with strong features and arms that knew hard labor. Her hair was combed back, almost like a man's.

Ato Mohammed knew the likes and dislikes of Amhara men. They liked strong women, but also demanded that a woman knew her place when a man was present. Amharas knew that among all of God's children they were God's chosen ones since one of their own, Haile Selassie, Conquering Lion of Judah, Elect of God, direct descendant of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, was Emperor of all of Ethiopia. The fact that Mohammed was only a man of Somali Muslim origin was made clear to him by his Amhara customers on a regular basis. Nonetheless, Mohammed welcomed their money. A new, attractive young woman would draw more business.

He walked over to her. Are you from around here?

I don't know, she said. Maybe. It depends. She tilted her head, sizing him up.

He pulled his toothpick from his mouth and said, Depends on what?

Depends on whether I get back on the bus, she said. Why should I stay here in WouchAuger? What's YetNo like?

Mohammed stood back, looked at her from top to bottom, and smiled.

He waved his hand around the room. I own this place. I am Mohammed. Would you like to work here?

What'll you pay me?

You'll get food, a bed and tips. He jutted his thumb to the back of the bar. There's a room back there where you could stay.

She thought about it, mostly the part about food. Her money was running out and she needed a place to sleep.

She looked around at the room of patrons, looked at Mohammed's smiling face and said, I'll do it.

Great, he said. Wait here. I'll be back shortly.

The bus passengers milled around the bus and made small talk while waiting for the bus driver to finish his lunch. Their soft murmurs were shattered by the yelling of a man in the back of Mohammed's. A woman yelled back. Then the man's loud voice, punctuated with a spit then a slap, was followed by a woman crying. The rear door of Mohammed's burst open. A young woman, in tears, pregnant in her last few months, made her way to the bus and rested on its side, holding her belly as she sobbed. Several women from the bus consoled her and sat her down inside the bus. When the bus left, she left too. Mohammed would no longer have to pay his pregnant bargirl. Now he had Aestar, a fresh, young bargirl.

Working as a bargirl in WouchAuger was a lot nicer than Aestar's slavery in Addis. She had food, her own bed and friends. Once in a while, she would spend the night with a man if she needed extra money, but only if she wanted to. If a man tried to force himself on her, Mohammed would pick up his leather dulah and smack him below the belt.

The Fascists seemed to have overlooked WouchAuger. Now there was news that the Emperor had returned with an army of loyal Ethiopians and a few British soldiers. The Italians were fleeing north to Eritrea.

=========

Full Moon, April 1938

The afternoon storm caught everyone off guard at WouchAuger's Thursday market. After four rainless months with dust clouds blown from Sudan, the rain pounded the dusty market yard into a mud field. Everyone gathered under whatever shelter they could find and laughed. It was the end of the dry season.

The rain kept up most of the afternoon. Walking back to YetNo was now too dangerous. Paths were flooded. Snakes were all about. Evil Zar spirits were running back to the otherworld, away from the forces of new life. It was the Coptic holiday of Fasika, the rebirth of Jesus, the end of withering, and the beginning of new hopes and good harvests.

The thought of walking at night through muddy forest paths with Zar spirits racing about made many people, including Girma, decide to stay overnight in WouchAuger. With the extra money Girma made from selling his healing herbs, he took a room in the back of Mohammed's buna bet.

Girma tossed his cloth sack on the far side of the bed and stretched out on the rag-stuffed mattress over a metal spring frame bed. It was bigger than the bed he shared with his wife Rahel and five-year-old son Mesfin. Their bed was made of eucalyptus branches held taut with leather straps supporting their straw-stuffed mattress.

There was a small wooden table near the head of the bed with a candle and a few matches. At the foot of the bed near the door was a white porcelain chamber pot. The floor was smooth concrete recently wiped with kerosene to keep the bugs away. The walls were painted sky blue. There was no window, only the wooden plank door, which was also painted sky blue. Faded white cloth panels on a wood lattice covered the ceiling. Above the cloth panel ceiling was the eucalyptus framed tin roof and the home of many vermin, which would scurry above the panels throughout the night.

It was the first cool night in months. The tin roof creaked as the evening's chill shrank the rusty corrugated sheets. Girma closed the door behind him, slid the latch and walked across the courtyard to Mohammed's buna bet for dinner. Breathing in cool dust-free air seemed a forgotten luxury.

Mohammed's was crowded with all the extra patrons from market day. Four kerosene lanterns lit the room. He found a seat in the corner and tapped his walking staff on the wooden floor until the bargirl noticed him.

Beer'ah es'Tee, Bring me a beer, he said.

Aestar pulled a beer bottle from the metal tub under the bar, wiped the bottle in her apron and walked to Girma.

When she got close, she noticed how good-looking he was. He was a big man; square-jawed with a broad forehead. She smiled at him and poured his beer into the tall slender glass being careful not to let the foam get too high. She was bumped from behind and beer splashed from the table onto Girma's leg. She quickly apologized and stooped to wipe up the beer. As she bent forward, Girma admired her breasts. She rubbed his leg with her apron and noticed his muscular legs and smooth skin. Girma eventually got her to stop. She stood up, dried her hands on her apron.

I'm sorry my lord.

That's alright, he said. It's nothing.

He smiled at her and she smiled back.

So, what will you have for dinner? she asked.

Do you have Kai wat?

Our cook uses only the freshest young beef, killed this morning, to make the tenderest Kai wat you've ever tasted.

Girma nodded his head. Aestar straightened her skirt over her fifteen-year-old hips and swayed her way through the tables back to the kitchen.

The massenKo player drew his bow across the