The newspaper seller

It was a late Saturday morning. The cold which was descending had the power to make not only a person but also the smooth asphalt streets, electric poles, green leafed trees and the buildings wish for massawa’s sun. An hour had passed since the sun had risen in a crawling pace, as had been its habit for several days now. It had a dim light and the heat emmitted was as usual.

Therefore that Saturday was similar to the way it had been before, but it was not quite the same as it. The city was the same as before, but it was not quite the same as before. The streets were the same as before, but they were not quite the same as before. Even the man who was tall and thin with a lighter dark skin, watching the slow movement of the city from his news paper selling post on the right side of the street was the same as before, but he was very very sure that he was not quite the same as before.

The city is Asmara. The street Harnet Avenue. And the man named Semere is a newspaper sales man. The newspaper seller is known for attracting customers by reading loudly new healines of the Hadas Eritrea newspaper from his post that is painted in the colors of the Eritrean flag. The editors of the newspaper had even published a story covering his life history as a token of their appreciation.

“Did the city have a good morning? Did the streets have a good morning? I swear on my father’s name it is so lonely that it resembles the wilderness, too lonely for a holiday season!” he said to himself, holding the rifle which was given to him before six months between his legs. And he proceeded to read the day’s publishing of the newspaper with a bored demeanor. The rifle has never left his hands for six months, three weeks and three days now because he has to go to military training early in the morning everyday after leaving his all night job of guarding a ware house located a bit outside the city.

He found the whole newspaper’s content to be an interview done with the president. He neither hated nor liked it. He could not relax because of the loneliness of the not yet awakened streets. He shoke his head in disagreement with his nerves, it is in the evenings that the streets are full of people.

“But where are the ones that read the newspaper as if it were their breakfast? Where? Where?” he said interrupting his reading and placing his rifle behind him on a stack of newspapers. He focused his attention on the decorated street. He focused his gaze as far as Bahti Meskerem with his small eyes which quite unlike him looked bright and intelligent. They were submerged in his round dull face.

Harnet Avenue seemed to him like a beautiful woman who had collapsed after drinking a poison. It astounded him how he could have come up with this particular resemblance of a beautiful woman? And a poisoned one! He believed that it must be an imaginary picture he got from reading countless short stories in the newspaper in his over 10 year experience of work as a newspaper sells man.

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“Wrong!” he did not believe that. It was a mind picture he created all on his own he silently argued. He was sure, he had never ever seen a poisoned person be it man or woman. It was clear for him when he saw her again that this woman was wearing a shining white cloth, had soft long hair, and a dark well moisturized skin. It became clear to him that she was extremely beautiful.

“Goodness! Can she be the one referred by our moms as Mariam Asmereyti (Mary of Asmara)?” He asked himself. But before long he remembered Mariam Asmereyti has fair skin, which makes his guess invalid. On the contrary he attempted to compare her with Mamet who used to be a well known poet. He remembered he had once read an episode in the newspaper which narrated Mamet was a prostitute.

He thought “it would have been great if ones wife had the physical beauty of a prostitute” and laughed heartily at the thought he was having. While laughing; the beauiful prostitute who buys newspaper from him daily emerged in his mind. Had she not persuaded him to call her prostitute he would have had no problem calling her Qeyah (fair) as every one else did.

Every morning except for today she would come hurriedly saying “Semere my brother, does your newspaper have a tasty breakfast in it?” and would leave after snatching it from his hand. Most times she would leave the change and her laughter lingering behind.

“Where did she go today?” Her where abouts did not concern him too much though since he was numb with thoughts of the beautiful poisoned woman.

He said again “haven’t I once read in the newspaper about a black queen who ruled Egypt?” although he could not remember her name, he was sure that she had been dark and beautiful.

When he said “all queens are beautiful”, he marvelled at his ability to remember the queen of England. As a little boy with his mother and father, he had seen her on her visit to Asmara but the image was not so clear for him maybe because he was too little at the time or

maybe because it was such a long time ago. His father who used to be a soldier for the Italians had so much respect for the English monarchy because British soldiers had treated him very well when he was captured in Kessela at the end of WWII.

“Who do I think she is?” He was wondering who to associate her with. Knowing her identity has suddenly started to seem very important to him. “She knows who she is, she does.......she does” he said very seriously.

“I came up with an amazing imaginary picture which is more important than knowing her identity” he thought proudly. He was swollen and inflated with pride. He felt sick with desire to see this creation of his in the form of a poem, novel, painting or sculpture. For the first time in his lifetime of more than 50 years he regretted lacking skills for this. Sitting on the stack of newspapers where his rifle was placed he started to feel bitter about his bad luck.

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“Good morning Semere” A voice he knows very well nudged him back to reality. The voice belonged to the administrator of Zoba Maekel (central zone) who had a face that looked like it was wrinkled due to excessive alcohol consumption.

“Praise be to God administrator. We are at the mercy of Asmara’s loneliness and cold.” Semere answered. The administrator disappeared with his newspaper with out any further response. That put Semere in a bad mood and he wondered angrily ‘how dare he deny me a smile or even at least a bright face?!’

Even though the administrator was not usually as talkative and boring as the Minister of education who came shortly after him, it certainly was peculiar indeed for the administrator to be that quiet on a Saturday morning, semere noticed. He suspected something was not as it used to be. And the man who was the Minister of Education swore that things were not as they used to be.

Semere was thinking “didn’t he talk with me for a whole hour yesterday?” trying to remember what he and the minister had talked about. But he could not remember and he did not care enough to continue trying.

“Semere Semere! You are the only one who is punctual and who respects what he does, nobody else does that anymore. These people..... not only do they look down on their jobs but they also have started to look down on the newspaper. Will things get better this way? How can things get better for the future this way? There is no way they would. Eritrea wake up this instant! It is already morning. Saturday is almost past, do your work now. Read the Gazette, Gazette!” the minister pronounced the last two words loudly.

Seeing some youngsters passing across the street Semere hurried to read the newspaper loudly. Steadying his breath, clearing his throat, he started to read loudly hoping they would come around attracted by it.

“His excellency president Isaias Afeworki holds interview with national news broadcasting agencies in occasion of the new year.” He said more shouting than loud. Fortunately the group of four girls and one boy started to walk in his direction. But they continued towards Semaetat Avenue with out as much even a glance in his direction. No! one girl had given him a mocking glance, he noticed.

“It is good that your eyes are nothing like my daughter’s eyes, which are as bright as the morning star, Ugly! unpleasant to look at!” he cursed silently at the girl who had looked at him. His face looked like a dried leaf with the excessive disdain he felt. He hoped she would come back though. Failed hope. He started to think about his dark, tall and well built daughter.

It has been years since he had had a day of rest apart from Sundays; when he sits at home and chats happily with his family. Last Sunday they had gathered with his wife and his two daughters and were having coffee. Most of thier talk focused on his eldest son. They have not heard from him for months now after he had left for the Sudan.

“if he were still alive we would have heard from him, you think he would lack the money to call from a mobile phone? What ever the reason is, I am really scared I wont ever hear from him again” says his wife. Since the disappearance of her son; she was getting thinner and smaller each day. “ I am sure he is alive.” Answers Semere.

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“ How can you be sure?” asks his wife angrily. She does not allow anyone to deceive her regarding the existence of her son. She has started to become more and more emotional at every mention of her son. She held a grudge against the government for not paying any attention at the disappearance of her son.

“ My son went to Sawa with out even finishing his education, he fought bravely during the war, he only left to Sudan after being frustrated because release from the military was impossible unless you bribed someone or knew someone. It is a cruel government.” She preaches at every mention of her son. She was extremely angry and sad because nobody seemed to understand her, not even her close women friends.

“It doesn’t do harm to wish well, but my son is........” she did not finish her sentence. Hadn’t her youngest daughter interrupted her she was about to say “my son is most probably eaten up by the soil of a foreign land by now.” She was angry with herself for imagining her vibrant, funny son as dead. She noticed her husband watching her as if he were in a trance and she regretted even starting that sentence. She never, not even as an intent of humor, wanted

to make her husband angry. She believed he was a great father who would do anything to take care of his family. It made her really proud that he worked two jobs with out complaining of being weary or sick. Truth be told she had missed him so much somedays that she had wished he would, forgetting all else, spend somedays in the kitchen with her. So she should not upset her husband. Bless her soul her daughter who was watching TV from upclose had interrupted her before the words had escaped her lips.

“But mom you should be certain your wishes will come true when you wish them, or else they simply fail to happen, right dad?” asked the child. Semere has always been fascinated that his daughters were more intelligent than him and his wife. He regrets not having been more intelligent than his parents. But he was not pleased she had asked him for confirmation. Not going far she could have asked her older sister who was brewing coffee. Before he even finished his thought his older daughter started to speak. “Is she being serious?” he thought. He remembered he had noticed his daughter had been behaving strangely.

“Mom, dad I have decided to get married”. Every movement in the room suddenly halted. All four of them stared at each other for a long time. For Semere the moment stretched until it seemed years have alrealdy passed. Did his daughter use the word “decided” instead of “am thinking of”?! Goodness!, I want to get married has become replaced by I am getting married! What is the bride’s father supposed to say now?!.

It stunned him to see the mom embracing the daughter happily. “It must be a great thing to see your daughter getting married these days with the scarcty of young men” he thought. It felt to him as if the tiny room they were in had been thrown off of the ground and into the sky by the loud ullilating sound emmited by his wife.

It was not mystery for him that she was constantly worried about the future of her daughter who was still going to highschool. He remembered she had said once “we should not let my daughter go to Sawa just to see her precious years being wasted and her life becoming joyless. We should do something.” “Doing something” meant sending your kids abroad he had understood quickly. Many parents were doing that.

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She had also said to him “if we can find the money for it we should send her to Sudan, then maybe my sisters or your cousin might help her but if they didn’t then fate would have to depend on her luck.”

He remembered her crying bitterly when he reminded her “luck? What is luck? Death, disappearing, kidnapping, imprisonment are also luck too.” But how it pleased him to see her tears were happy tears now, not that of fear.

He himself was feeling nothing more than amusement by the announcement of his daughter. For years he has not been able to feel anything. But as a parent he agreed with himself that it was better if his daughter finished her education first.

Right! His daughter should finish her education first. Can education be finished? But at least she should attend college and obtain a college degree. And in the mean time if she could find some one of the same educational level then she can get married either on her graduation day or afterwards. It disappointed him that his dream of seeing her graduation ceremony might not be realized.

Now now! Who is marrying her? Is he rich or poor? Someone who is in his national service or someone who has managed to obtain release from that duty? Someone who lives abroad or within the country? He decided to ask her gradually but he prayed who ever he is would not be a Colonel’s son? Truth be spoken he did not have any strife with any Colonel but he has heard that all Colonels see their inlaws as trade partners and that they really strive to find rich inlaws.

How many Colonels are there in this country? But he left the question unanswered because he could not comeup with the answer. As her father he felt obligated to say something, and looking straight at her and trying to sound firm he said “first of all you should focus on your education. You are too young to even consider marriage.” He was looking at his wife’s face trying to read from her expressions if he was being too firm. The room became very quiet as if there were no people in it. Before long his daughter started screaming in a voice that was high enough even to disturb the neighbors.

“I say I’ve had enough schooling, I’ve reached 10th grade. I can read any book and understand it. I’ve no problem reading any English book of my choice. Can you understand me dad?” she said and started to add animal dung to the fire on which the coffee pot was placed. The house was full with new smoke. He intended to reply “I don’t understand you. I’ve never been able to understand you since your birth” but instead he did not utter a single word.

When she said “for example books by Dostoviski, Hemmingway, Aristotle, Chinwa Achepe, Fokler, Tolstoy, Shakespare, Tony Morrison, Daniella, Paulo Coelho” she paused with a proud poise. The way she spoke was filled with passion, her body was moving with the flexibility of a sewing thread. Her big eyes which she inherited from her mother were red and blazing. It felt to Semere like every ounce of her being was possesed by spirits of the spiritual world as if she were their underworld bush.

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She continued “Beyene Haile! How can I forget Beyene Haile? Poems of Beyene and Saba should not be forgotten, melodies of Haile Meles........ I can recite every word of their poems. I can sing it for you, should I sing it for you?” closing her eyes, she drew in a long breath.

“Leave that for another day my daughter, now let’s focus on the topic at hand. Who is taking you in marriage? Tell me immediately” Semere interrupted feeling more and more fatherly by the minute.

“Oh the groom! My future husband, your future son in law, brother in law.......” she was smiling brightly her face looking like a beautiful flower. Semere, the newspaper seller, was silently proud of his daughter’s beauty.

“Who is he? Your father is right, tell us! tell us!” her mom insisted.

“Tell us now! Who is he?” her sister added. The three of them surrounded her as if they intended to have her for dinner.

“Patience patience!” she motioned for them to sit down. When they were back on their seats she continued to speak still standing.

“It is better for you to know about his father instead of him, and this information should be kept between the three of us, for I am hunting the father”. When she said this all of them, especially her father became gloomy.

“Why? What does his father do?” her sister asked with eager anticipation.

She replied “he works at the office of the president. He is a big, big, bi....g! government official”

Semere grasped that she intended to make the man sound even more powerful than the president himself a man who has been in extreme power for almost half a century now. He did not utter a word though, either because he did not want to argue or he did not know how to argue.

“After the wedding we are going to go to Paris for the honey moon.” She continued. Her little sister gaped at her with a mouth opened wide. The younger sister knew nothing of Paris except stories of romance, war, kings, military Generals told to her by her older sister.

“Eiffel Tower, tall mettalic statue of the city, a person who dies with out seeing it is almost like a person who was never born.” The older sister had said. Maybe it was because of this she had desired to see it all one day in her life time. The fact that her sister was going to see it before her and as soon as some weeks later for that matter, induced mixed feelings of happiness and envy within her.

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“How can you be sure of this?” her mother inquired. It has been long since she has understood “to be sure was to never be sure” and she concludes “ no body can be sure in this unsure world.”

“I don’t have an answer how. But I’ve a definite answer to why I’m sure” replied the girl sitting on the floor.

“Okay, why? Dear God! What times........!” marvelled her father, standing up from his seat and looking down at her.

“Because I want to get out of this country. Eritrea is too small for my dreams and mind. I mean I have a dream and Eritrea is a closed up nation. It has too many boundaries and hinderances. It has tied its own entity by limiting ropes causing it low level of enlightenment. It should not have been like that but it is, it is!. Why oh why?! As for me, I can not live here and I can not fight it. Or if I am to fight it I should be a little distant. I am a universal being eventhough I happen to be created in Eritrea. I want to be what ever I permit myself to be, live where ever I permit myself to live, and follow who ever I permit myself to follow.” When she finished her sentence her eyes which were full with tears resembling a heavily pregnant cow gave way to a torrent of tears. Tears that had been gathering this whole moment or even probably the whole of past season.

“Don’t cry my dear daughter” said her mom crying herself. Semere was in his own physical pain feeling as if his daughter will marry the next day and leave them to a foreign country the day after that. He was starting to miss her already and this added to the anxiety he felt about his lost son.

“Father, mother, I would have chosen death to the alternative of being separated from you but I am being called by my dreams, my age and my desires. I am getting closer to you not leaving you. This marriage is my exit visa. My husband would honor my wishes even if I tell him our destination will be the bottom of the ocean.” She said. And when they were thinking she has finished speaking she started again

“Father are you worried about the dowry? Don’t be. I have already spoken to the inlaws. I have told them my father is an ex-fighter of independence who does not have a penny to his name.”

Hearing this caused Semere’s feelings to be torn apart. He appreciated his daughter’s courage in discussing her family’s poverty with her future inlaws. But he was sad at her

foolishness in exposing her father’s inadequacies. The fact that she did not realise that the first wedding of one of his children would have been supported financially by his relatives, loved ones, friends and even customers made him unhappy. He was certain that he had the kindness and sympathy of everyone who knew him.

No never!, kindness let it be, but sympathy? He has never liked any one who pities him. He is a strong man who manages to work two jobs in a country where finding even a single job has become nearly impossible. While almost every one with ability and brains was exchaning gossip in the bars and cafes of the city, he has given up on rest as he had on his dead parents except for a Sunday of rest in a week.

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On the day next to that Sunday evening, he ate his breakfast and after finishing his military training he spent the whole day at his paper selling bench. When evening came he went to the ware house that he would be guarding the whole night. A whole week has already passed with out him having sat down and seriously talked to her. Tomorrow is Sunday and a delegation from the groom’s family were coming to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage. He realised he was feeling more and more uneasy everytime he remembered that.

How is he going to afford a wedding? And where are all his customers this Saturday? Where did they disappear to? How about the poisoned woman who was unconcious, who could she be? He could only form a line of questions with out answers.

“ Ziada my girl, pretty as a christmas tree” he lamented softly looking at the stack of unsold newspaper. His mind begun to get engulfed by a dark cloud of hopelessness as if selling the stack of newspapers would have enabled him to afford the expenses of a whole wedding. In an attempt to escape he turned his gaze to Harnet Avenue which was still lonely eventhough midday had already passed. The sight of the poisoned fallen woman in her shining white clothes deeply shoke him although he tried not to admit it.

“Can she be gual hidirtina (mystical invisible people described in eritrean myths)?” he thought. He has customers that say to him spending a day in Harnet Avenue is equivalent to spending a day in the shores of a beautiful ocean. And that always refreshed him. He does not like to argue or comment to them, he just listens intently. Even if he wanted to argue or comment his brain was not gifted in such things. He hated encountering anyone who make their ignorance obivious to all by displaying themselves in arguments and comments.

“A person whether he is knowledgable or not should ask questions. Asking has the power of the light getting rid of darkness. It would have been great if all conversations were in the form of questions. But some people fear asking quesitons as much as death. Anyone who

hates asking questions should never speak or work.” He says in talks with himself. Many customers have told him they don’t like president Isaias Afewerki because he does not like to be asked quesitons. Truth be told he was refrained from uttering opinions that were supportive or opposing to the president. Any body who knows Semere can attest to the fact that his refrainment comes from lack of knowledge rather than fear. Any deeds done by the government or interviews given by the president do not impress his mind. But he has never been heard to say “it does not impress me”. He always has been stingy with his opinions.

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“What are you talking about Semere, why would gual hidirtina visit Asmara? To find what?” said one of his regular customers. A man with fair skin and grey hair. Semere’s knowlege about the man was scant. He knew the man who always wears white suit and shirt was named Zeray that he used to be a professor at a university of a foreign country and was married to a pleasant heavily built German wife who calls Eritrean newspapers “crocodiles of deception”.

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To the newspaper salesman ideas brought by Zeray were as foreign as the white clothes worn by him. He has never ever been able to understand the man. Such a shame. He has heard the man had given numerous interviews on TV. But to Semere this man, the president, the government, his daughter and now Asmara were becoming an enigma.

“ Deqi hidirtina love tasty things, sweet things. Asmara is struggling to find food that it could put to its mouth, she can’t satisfy the apetite of deqi hidirtina (deqi=plural of gual)” he said. The newspaper seller noticed Zeray was unchanged as usual.

“Teacher have you watched the interview with the president?” asked Suleiman a tall man whom they had not seen approaching them. Suleiman used to be a judge in the court of the Centeral Zone but he was fired from his job for reasons Semere was unable to fathom. Now he was a taxi driver and he was one of his regular customers. Zeray started to respond “yes...” rubbing his hands together.

“Yes, I tried to follow it. But my wife was upset with me saying ‘I don’t want to hear lies at the start of the new year’. What could have I done? What could any husband do? Because she was leaving the next day to visit her family we instead watched a movie while I pampered her.” He said pointing the palms of the hands he had stopped rubbing to the heavens. Before a few months when he was handed a rifle like everybody else he had stopped talking with any one for over two months, remembered the newspaper seller.

“What kind of movie did you watch?” asked the tall Suleiman.

“It was an american movie, American” he answered evading the type and title of the movie. When he pronounced the word “American” he stretched his neck upwards.

“Isn’t it better to watch tigrigna movies in the seasons of christmas and newyear?” said the newspaper seller. If he did not have a job of guarding the ware house he thought he would have enjoyed happy moments with his wife and kids watching tigrigna movies.

“It demands tolerance to watch tigrigna movies. What is demanded while watching American movies? Only language. It is enough that I have to tolerate the struggle of living in Asmara with out adding the torture of watching films that lack even a drop of art. It would be a suicide. This in itself is excersing the gift of choice. We have the unhinderable right of controlling what we choose to see and hear. Though there might be people that must have been forced to watch the interview either in this nation or abroad. We can’t say there aren’t.” Saying this he bought his news paper and before disappearing he asked the tall man “how about you Suleiman, did you watch it?”

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“I tried and tried but then I gave up. My wife and kids protested they would never watch a man who would not speak a single word considering them and wanted to watch a Turkish series. They won and I ended up watching the interview with my PFDJ neighbor.” He answered semi proudly.

“So how was it? I am sure he said nothing about implementing the constitution” said Zeray.

“The reporters did not even ask about the constitution.” Answered Suleiman adding “but I did not watch the second part. I missed it!” in a tone that seemed to have regret in it.

“ If I am right it was being broadcasted yesterday. I had gone to the airport to see my wife off. I could see him speaking on the TV that was turned on in the cafe. But the volume was very low and hardly any one was glancing in the direction of the TV. That is no proper way to treat a president who has sacrificed his life to rid the country off its problems” he said and disappeared crossing the street.

“Did you say you missed it Suleiman? You did not miss it. You can miss nothing when there is the newspaper” Semere said trying to force a news paper into his hand.

“ Oh I haven’t declared it to you yet Semere, have I?, I have officially stopped buying newspaper.” When Suleiman said this the newspaper seller gaped at him not knowing what to

say to that. If the people stopped buying news paper he feared that his livelihood would dwindle. And with the wedding of his daughter approaching, Goodness! such a bad news. What would come of this in the end, he struggled for an answer.

“Why, but why Suleiman? This news paper is becoming more and more attractive eachday you know” He managed to say at last.

“ It is inevitable Semere, inevitable. This is the 21st century. This is the time when any body can be as they please. We have reached a civilization that defies everything. I mean the world has reached that. And Eritrea is attempting to join this civilization with only one newspaper. Do you think a newspaper is supposed to be like this? A newspaper is supposed to be a device that enters every home and uplift our knowledge to the next level.” When he said this he shoke his head while stomping the ground with his right foot. The newspaper selles man finding the ideas of Suleiman being as unreachable as his tall height was gazing up with an inclined head. An unusual youth named Berhe joined them.

“ Perfect, well said Suleiman, you have made me happy.” Said Berhe tapping Suleiman lightly on the shoulder. Berhe is an author who has made a good name for himself writing short plays and he always carries a green backpack on his back.

“ We are lost, people!. Completely lost from the market of civilization. It is better not to mention their names, better left unmentioned.” He said smiling, it seemed more like an angry smile to the news paper seller.

“A newspaper is the train of development. Great newspapers create huge developments. Everything begins as a thought. Thoughts are expressed in words, and a newspaper is the tongue for that expression.” Giving the newspaper seller one nakfa he took a newspaper and placed it in his bag.

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“A person who reads this newspaper is reading the minds that are in this nation. Can any of you tell me this contains the minds of Eritreans? Is this really the capacity of our brains, wish, power, thought and vision? Is it? If you defeat me in this arguement I will forfeit my citizenship. I’ll forfeit it, forfeit it!” he said looking at the girls that were passing him closely.

“Is being Eritrean something you can acquire wishing it or abandon hating it?” questioned Suleiman. The newspaper seller was intrigued by the statement of the weird writer. He had had moments of hating Eritrea on occasions life had become too difficult for him. But it had never occured to him he could decide to be the citizen of another nation leaving his current citizenship. He immediately thought ‘if citizenship can be bought by money only rich people

would be benefactors of this.’ At last he was lost in the thought of which country he might have chosen to be a member of had he had the money for it.

“ ‘I am neither a Greek nor an Athenian’ who said this?” asked Berhe looking up to the top tip of the cathedral.

“Socrates!” answered Suleiman.

“How is Socrates lesser than Jesus? Why have we not payed heed to his thoughts? In this country people who view their citizenship as a religion are becoming more and more. Rather than being a religionless citizen I choose to be religious person with out a citizenship. Or rather than a principleless citizen, I would choose to be a man of principles with out any citizenship. I did not choose to be created as an Eritrean, but to die an Eritrean or not is my choice. For me it is like this. I love Eritrea. I love it as much as I love my home not more than that. When it was invaded I defended it, went to war for it. There are people who don’t love their homes in this country but they have the nerve to advise me to love my country. Let’s think now why such things don’t get written in this newspaper? Let’s write what the love of a nation means! Why don’t we write that it is wisdom to love the world? How many articles have been covered in this newspaper about the unity of Africa?” he damped quesiton after question upon them.

“Berhe I think first should come the unity of East africa.” Said suleiman.

“But before that the Red Sea should swallow Eritrea and Ethiopia. I would have advised God to remove these countries, which can’t deal with their poverty and backwardness, from his map. I’m being serious.” Berhe swore for them. Both of them looked at each other puzzled by his statement.

“You are extremely cruel Berhe. Any one who can’t think broadly is cruel. The mother of cruelity is ignorance and nothing else. If you see everything only from your own experience and age, you will be wrong and cause others to have a wrong understanding. And you are called a writer. You should practice to stretch and stretch the neck of your mind until it breaks, so that you will be able to see there is light over dimness, peace over war, justice over oppresion. Like it or not every junior generation is wiser and sharper than its senior.” saying this Suleiman breathed heavily. Semere noticed he was angry from the way he spoke.

“My girls are definetely sharper than me. Especially the older one, she reads a lot and thinks that much. She is as familiar with the Eritrean history as with our kitchen.” Said the newspaper seller with pride.

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He was about to tell them that she was planning to get married inorder to get out of the country but he cut himself short. And then all of a sudden he became deeply anxious about how he was going to afford the wedding.

“ Prevent her from reading the Hadas Eritrea newspaper. People like me are spending one Nacfa on it each morning out of habit not love for it.” Said the writer.

“Oh what do you know Berhe! she avoids even touching the newspaper except for times I ask her to help me understand the news or the complicated statements.”

“And how does she make you understand?” asked Suleiman expectantly.

“She tells me to comprehend it in reverse, for example if there is a news saying Electric supply coverage is being expanded in the nation, she interprets for me the Electric supply of the nation is on the verge of collapse. If the news says the government is striving to ensure social justice, she explains the government is striving to ensure social oppresion.” He noticed they were listening to him intently and with awe and continued to brag that a whole day wont be enough to describe how smart his daughter was.

“You have a bright daughter Semere. How old is she?” asked a thin snobbish looking young man who joined them a while ago with a second person.

He was a historian by profession and his name was Robel. According to Berhe he had once written a book titled ‘Badme, lies, deceit, war and martyrdom’. Berhe had also warned him not to disclose that secret to anyone else stating they were the only two people who knew of it. But the newspaper seller was certain that the strong and happy man who always roams the streets with Robel also knew about the book. The man was known as wedi geza’e, and it was rumored that he had been one of the top commanding officers and brains of the EPLF during the struggle but he was suspended from his job now. He and Robel had a friendship known to both God and men.

“She has reached 17 years or so. She is young.......not so young. A girl.......a woman. She is a young woman, has come of age.” He said placing his rifle on his shoulder then putting it on the stack of newspapers.

“Suleiman let’s go and find Tsegereda” said Berhe, and without saying anything Suleiman followed him. Robel leaned on the wooden table of the shop and worded a request that intrigued the newspaper seller.

“I want a wife, would you give her to me to marry? I need a woman that makes me see my ignorance, who exposes my arrogance, whipping it with the whip of her intelligence. Please

I need a wife that strips me naked of all of it. I beg you, give her to me.” All of Robel’s composure had disappeared, it seemed to the newspaper seller.

_____________________ end of page 12_____________________

“To you, I would give her to you with pleasure. She would have married you happily. I don’t want to upset you but she has already decided to marry the son of a big, big, bi.......g government official.” He said. The way he said big, big, bi.......g intended to make the man seem bigger than the president himself as his daughter had made him sound last week.

“So it is your daughter who is marrying the son of colonel Kiflay?” said the suspended colonel known as wedi geza’e approaching him closely with eager curiosity.

“Yes, no. No, yes” he answered both confirming and denying at the same time.

“We had lunch at their home sometime ago. I could not find any flaw with her despite all my deligent search. She is both beautiful and bright. She is not the kind my father would approve of. She is an independent girl. I saw her enjoying a freedom that Eritrea has been unable to enjoy after all the price paid for it. He removed the heavy jacket he was wearing and put it on his shoulder. He continued speaking getting too close to their faces.

“Coffee. Coffee!, I would have declared coffee should be brewed by her and no other woman.” He said.

“ She has always said ‘brewing coffee is the main art of a woman’ and I myself have not drank any coffee but hers for years now.” Said the newspaper seller attempting to elevate his daughter’s fame to the roofs of the tall building that was next to them.

“ The groom must be educated” Speculated Robel

“He could not obtain a passing mark to enter college. He works in the ministry of defense. You don’t need education or skills to work in the ministry of defense.” Said wedi geza’e. That his son in law had neither education nor profession displeased the newspaper seller.

“So your daughter is marrying the boy for a purpose. Ha ha ha” laughed Robel, emitting a laugh they had never heard before, and continued....

“We live in a time where marriage has become a weapon. Her aim is to leave this country which is suffering with draught of thought. I feel sad. Even if I am told ‘the history of menka’e is being repeated, run and save yourself!’ I choose death to leaving this country, death. More than food this country is lacking in thoughts. It can’t succeed in holding on to minds that ooze thoughts. Generations that were supposed to expose mysteries of the Red Sea

are leaving it one after another. Why don’t we write all these in our newspapers. Oh I forgot! We don’t have newspapers. Nothing has been pleasant since the death of our newspapers. I would have chosen for our people to lack bread and electricity instead of newspaper.” He said his face expressing his remorse.

“What are you saying Robel? We have newspapers that are dead? Clarify it for me! Explain!” screamed the newspaper seller. He looked as if he wished to die himself rather than hear of dying newspapers.

“Long time ago there were newspapers in this country. At that time everything was transparent. And the light was reaching everywhere. We could see each other with out any cover. The government could see us and we could see the government as well. But then the lights died. And gradually darkness descended on everything. A cover that hindered someone from seeing the other was created. We stopped seeing. The government could see us but we could not see it.” Saying sadly he continued....

______________________ end of page 13________________________

“The problem with Eritrean people is that they forget. A while later they will forget they were under a shameless colonization for a hundred years. After wards they will also forget the sysytematic oppresion of 20 years. People who forget their past do not have a future, how do you make them understand this? Even if they don’t understand it, how can you preach to them that individuals but not people should be forgetful.” Hopelessy waving his arms in the air and dragging wedi geza’e by the elbow he disappeared towards Sema’etat avenue.

Semere was immersed in deep thought looking for an escape. “What have I grasped now? I have not understood anything of what he said. How would we have communicated if he had been my son in law” he shook his head forcefully. He became deeply silent thinking how he was going to accomodate the delegation that were coming tomorrow to ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage.

///////////////////////////////sss////////////////////////////////////////////

The thrifty sun which was barely shining the whole day began to set at the crawling pace with which it rose in the morning. And in the afternoon lonely streets of the day started to resemble a succesful market filled up with people and cars. And Semere, the newspaper seller, after his companions had left him to pay heed to their own affairs was observing the streets and every time a person would pass through he read contents of the newspaper aloud. But no one was even bothering to look his way so disregarding his attempt to sell newspapers he rather preferred to just gaze at the avenue with his sleep deprived small eyes. Inwardly he was scanning the streets trying to find the poisoned woman who laid in the street wearing sparkly

white clothes. Unlike before she was nowhere in sight. His eyes dug the streets until everything was overturned. What was there before was not there anymore but what was not there before sat there glaring at him.

“ Where are they trying to go?” he asked himself looking at the people that were rushing about around him. “ This place is becoming a village of women. You look over only to see girls, look the other way to find only women. Where are all the young men? young men possesing prominent torso, great afro, hairy calf, their strong arms could have made wonderful train tracks and a train could have gone ‘pew! Pew!’ there” he thought and laughed. He stopped laughing abruptly and was thinking “ oh oh! and my blessed son where is he? My son.......my son” tears threatened to engulf him.

On the street across from him he observed Tsegereda, the beautiful woman with soft light dark skin who always wears a blue scarf, coming his way. Besides her was Segen the thin tall woman who was in the buisness of trading paintings.

He guessed when they reached him Tsegereda was going to ask him “ Hallelujah! Do you know why I like this tall man?” He likes and respects her because all her conversations are in the form of questions. And that is her customary question that she asks everytime she sees a photo of the president.

________________________end of page 14_______________________

He has learned from her what the answer was so he did not worry. Like he expected she asked her usual question once she reached him.

“ Yes! Yes! He has caused Eritrea to miss and long for itself.” He answered. She was extremelly happy and refreshed. But for anyone who bothered to look deep in her eyes she was anguished and longing, a fact that did not elude the newspaper seller. She has once told him her father was a martyr and that she grew up with her mum in Arareb. He even saw her in his dreams smiling at him but it no longer happened because of his excessive exhaustion. Though he does not know where it stopped he also had feelings resembling love for this pretty woman. As for her, except to call him uncle she did not have any further interest in him.

He thinks he has heard it rumoured that she was once married to a journalist and that her husband was imprisoned while she was pregnant. And he was certain he has been told by Berhe that she suffered miscarriage due to the shock of hearing her husband was jailed. Berhe also breathed that she has completely changed becase of all this. The fact that he noticed her expressing both calm and volatile personalities at a given moment was considedred a stark observation by the newspaper seller. She was an incomparable heroine to him becase she refused to accept a rifle.

He has heard people give many opinions about her change of behaviour. Some said she was a jehovah witness, others said she had become a pentecost follower, others said she had conevrted to muslim, while some said she had become bahai and some said she no longer believed in God. Concerning Tsegereda he had an opinion of his own. Even though he had not enquired whether her husband was released from jail or not his guess was she misses her husband.

Hearing her say “ haven’t war and coloniazation distorted Eritrea’s soul?” made him shift his attention to her. She continued

“Haven’t we become murderers inorder to kill our killers? Haven’t we spilled the blood of the ones who spilled our blood? Our soul has been purchased by evil spirits, hasn’t it? And haven’t the evil spirits made our rulers their messengers?” she stopped speaking and focused on the picture of the president. Then continued in a whispering tone...

“Let’s look at the eyes of this man, can you read it people? Is he not a person who gave his soul to evil spirits for the sake of Eritrea? If it was not so, do you think he would have changed a country he has toiled all his life for to a cave of suffering and shackles? Do you think he would have sentenced his comrades and friends to live in squirrel holes while he spends his nights dancing?” Berhe the weird writer with Suleiman the tall man following him came from behind her and gave her a pressing kiss on the cheek.

“ My companion where have you been hiding? To where did you disappear to closing your mobile?” he questioned her. It was obvious from his tone he had missed her.

“ Precious, do you think my mobile works with water? Have you forgotten we live in a city desperately lacking electric power?” she said.

_________________________ end of page 15_______________________________

“ It would have made little difference even if it were to work with water, did Leonardo Davinci say “I love to see a person who smiles regardless of all his problems!” Look at all these Asmarinos despite all their problems they are eager to smile... eager....eager” said Segen. Eventhough she was not young she looked 20 years younger than her actual age because of her good posture and stylish clothes. She was not cosidered pretty, in the eyes of the newspaper seller or other onlookers, but she had more than enough self satisfaction.

“It is good that I’ve found you. Let’s just hope they wont bill us for walking on the streets. Now I don’t care if Asmara migrates to a place with water and Electric power. I mean it, I mean it!” he swore for her. Caressing her shoulders using both hands.

“Semere how is my relative doing?” asked Segen standing very close the window of the bench. She meant his wife when she said “my relative”. Oh yeah! They were relatives. And she will be one of the many family members who will contribute thousands of Nacfa for the wedding of his daughter. Great great, he decided to invite her before promisng his daughters hand to the groom’s delegation.

“Your relative will be a mother in law soon. Everyone will be invited, but mainly you and Tsegereda, mainly” he said to her.

“Bella bella! Is she marrying off a son or a daughter?” instead of asking him straight forward she asked in another way.

“Her son has never been heard of since he went to Sudan, Segen. She has an impressive daughter who resembles you” hoping she understood he meant they resembled in height and not looks. His might not have succeded in that hope because he thought Segen looked pleased by his statement.

“Delightful! So anything that you might need, anything be it small or large I am here for you. Tell my relative not to worry about anything” she said and started to dig into her yellow handbag which was stuck close to her body.

This can’t be good! He started to pray she would not offer him money infront of everyone. He concluded with himself that he would not accept anything saying ‘we will handle our own expenses’ even if she offered him a Nacfa with six zeros on it. They got intruppted by a loud ullilating voice and all their heads turned except for him. The person who was ullilating was Qeyah and he knew she did that everytime she saw Tsegereda.

Qeyah was wearing a deep red colored dress (color of sheep’s blood) that was knee-high. Her shoes were also red. He quickly noticed her breasts were almost taking steps ahead of her. She opened her arms wide and greeted Tsegereda with a tight embrace.

“ Tsegereda honey I have been looking for you but could not find you. I have missed you.” She said.

“Qeyah my dear, is Asmara not becoming too slow and cold for you?” said Tsegereda

“It is becoming extremely slow. Like ice, ice!. I have never seen it get this inactive.” She said approaching Berhe.

“Amore, amore kiss me” she said to him offering him her face. Berhe the weird writer kissed her with enthusiasm.

__________________________end of page 16_______________________

‘Wait a moment! Goodness! Did he kiss her on the lips? In the open streets! What an indignity! What times! No no it must be my eyes. His lips shadowed over hers but landed on her cheeks. Yes yes! He kissed her on the cheeks. But the wicked Qeyah might have wanted a kiss on the lips’ thought Semere

“Semere my brother does your newspaper have anything for dinner?” she said approaching him. But when she saw the picture of the president she spun her head around turning her back to Semere.

“Listen to me, from now onwards I have stopped supporting this man.” She shouted. All of them knew that Qeyah was not only pro the president but she also considered anyone who spoke against him as her enemy.

“Qeyah dear, in Eritrea except obeying it is not allowed to oppose or support. If it were to be allowed countless people would be on your side having the same opinion as yours. The thing is you can’t see them and they you. I call it invisible reality. Invisible emotions, invisible opposition, invisible struggle, invisible longing. Invisible leaders of change and their followers. Just invisible invisible invisible” said Suleiman waving his forearms from left to right infront of him.

“Don’t you think he knows of my brother who died in Sinai? A lot of young people like my brother have died there. He does not even express his condolances to the families of the deceased. I hate him, hate him. From now onwards I will not even buy a newspaper” despairingly she pushed the stack of newspapers on the bench towards Semere.

Semere, the newspaper seller, felt frustrated by her frustration. Truth be told he has not heard Qeyah lost her brother in Sinai. These days he has heard a lot of families receiving the news of death of their children in Sinai and the sea. He was sure it was only a matter of time before he heard a similar news about his lost son. But rather than to hear of his death he prefers to never hear of the whereabouts of his son.

His oldest brother was never heard of or from again since he left years before to join the Eritrean Liberation Front. But this was better than hearing of a cofirmed death. You can always wish, hope, desire, long. He would rather wait for the day that he might come back from where ever he has been in. He wishes the news of his son would stay hidden like that of his big brother rather than know for sure like Qeyah knows about her brother’s death.

“All of you are saying you will not buy a newspaper, we will wait and see if this will change the country for the better” he said to them at last.

“Things will change for the better, Semere my brother. My only regret is I have wasted all my time reading the newspaper instead of talking with Tsegereda and Segen” said Qeyah approaching Tsegereda and putting her arms around her waist.

“I will tell you one secret Qeyah, all of you. This is the last interview our poor president is ever going to give” said Tsegereda with her arms open wide.

“I am sure he will not step down from power voluntarily” said Zeray, the man who wears white suit and shirt. Segen appeared to be unsettled by the coming of this man thought Semere.

___________________________ end of page 17________________________________

Semere rememered that the man has told her he has little respect for her because she was not using her money in aiding her society. Segen had held a grudge for him then. Later on Semere was told by Berhe that Segen and Zeray used to be lovers when they went to school together. They left for abroad together. But when they reached Europe Segen betrayed Zeray. They betrayed eachother! Segen became succesful in time. Working to create her empire of restaurants and hotels she never found the time to marry or have children. Zeray attended many universities ending up with many academic credentials and a German wife, eventually returning to live in his country.

“Professor Zeray nobody is as close as you to the president so tell us what you think, don’t you think he wont step down voluntarily?” Segen asked him. No one calls him professor except for Segen. Some people call him teacher, but the majority including the newspaper seller simply address him Zeray. Zeray has always preferred that to being addressed professor.

“Lady Segen I have not anything to hide from you your question is far more precious than the paintings you trade for thousands of currency. I can’t afford to buy it. Let what Victor Hugo did for France be your answer” he said to her standing close by.

“It is the end. End of what? Eritrea? No but for its leaders with certainty” he said to her in a melodious voice. Maybe not for the others but for the newspaper seller it was a puzzle he could not understand, so he waited for someone to say something.

“I am sure he will not die” said Qeyah with a body movement accompanying her statement

“Qeyah honey he will surely die. Don’t we all? Aren’t we all judged for our deeds? He has his own karma as we all have ours. Truthfully don’t you pity him? Shouldn’t Eritrea mourn for its leader while he is still alive and standing? Isn’t he a poor man who single handedly destroyed what has taken all his life to build? Poor man, poor man” Tsegereda said tearfully. All

of them appeared saddened. Even the newspaper seller felt grief, a grief he has not expressed for the loss of his son, at the pit of his stomach.

“Tsegereda don’t cry honey, he did this to himself. We did this to ourselves” Qeyah was saying trying to console her but she was crying herself.

“Tsegereda why do you pity him if he dies and cry? If you are crying for yourself it is acceptable. All of us should cry for our own selves. He dreamed about today’s Eritrea and he befriended all the evil and shrewdness available under the sun inorder to make his dream come true. He made all his comrades his enemies. We are his dream. This suffering is his dream. Who knows? Maybe his stars misled him” declared Segen. She was standing straight and stiff which made her seem harsh to the newspaper seller. He has never heard such a serious talk from her and he was proud to have her as his wife’s relative. Even if she offers him the money she promised him earlier he would not decline the offer he concluded with himself.

“I will never cry. How can I feel sorry for Some one who turned my world upside down if his world is turned upside down for him now?” said Berhe moving his backpack up and down on his shoulders.

______________________ end of page 18___________________________

“Berhe, Berhe can’t you see Eritrea drawning in its suffering? Isn’t it experiencing spiritual corruption? Look at the streets, the youth. Can’t you see they are with out their courage and determination? Are the people who they used to be before 10 years? Where is their unity, brotherhood, pride, religion, morale and freedom? Where is their freedom? With out freedom what will they achieve? Do you understand Berhe? Understand or not?” said Tsegereda almost climbing the man.

“What I have understood is young people have stopped considering this country as their own” answered Berhe.

“What I fail to understand is where are our youth?” angrily Suleiman the very tall man.

“What I have understood is I better go back to Europe before I am burdened with a rifle” said Segen.

“What I don’t understand is if young people are as unhappy with this government as it is rumored why don’t they demand and scream ‘ho!’ for their rights?” shouted Zeray.

“What I don’t understand is there have never been fewer people in this place but I have never been as busy in all my life” said Qeyah.

“What I don’t understand is why I have stopped missing my husband? Have I forgotten him? I am sure I love him. Will I ever see him again?” they were submerged in deep thought when Tsegereda said this. Tears were dripping from her eyes like rainfall. The newspaper seller intervened saying

“What I don’t understand is I have not sold newspaper today the whole day. Why, why? These people are disrespecting the newspaper, am I right? How can we expect for things to get better with out the newspaper?” picking up a dozen newspapers and showing them.

“Please let’s get out of here. Suleiman take us somewhere. Teacher, where is your beautiful wife?” asked Qeyah. The newspaper seller assumed she was looking for a drinking buddy for she has once told him drinking beer with the German lady was indeed very pleasant.

“She left for her country saying she will never set foot on it if Asmara is not comparable to Cairo or Tripoli” said Zeray. The group was joined by Robel the historian and Wedi Geza’e the suspended Colonel and immediately afterwards Wedi Geza’e started to talk. The newspaper seller considered it quite normal nothing unusual that people would join a discussion no matter not having been there for the most of it.

“Zeray, there are some people both here and abroad who try to make it seem new. I presume you are aware of it. We were just talking with Robel about it. A revolution has a triangular shape. Some fight by their emotions and feelings, some fight by their brains and intelligence, while others fight in real ground in person. With little exaggeration it can be said at the moment all Eritreans are fighting the government emotionally. A few are fighting using their brains. While even fewer are fighting in person combining their emotion and intelligence. I know people who have submerged themselves in all three corners of the struggle but who have still not severed their ties with the government.

_____________________________-end of page 19__________________________

“Had it been beneficiary for the revolution to mention their names I would have. In any case this is not a new thing” said Wedi Geza’e the suspended colonel. And Robel adjusted his posture in preparation for speech.

“Let’s make one thing clear, if a human being stops to struggle that is equivalent to dying. Freedom is a better ground for continued struggle not merely the end aim of struggle. Even in the coming days if the people stop their struggle saying they have achieved justice, the same thing will happen to them as is happening today. Struggle is unending, people!. With out a revolution be it the world or a single country might become the victim of the back wardedness and ignorance of individual persons. Who do you think invented the concept of revolution?” he asked looking from face to face alternately.

“Qeyah, what are you doing here? Haven’t I told you not to be present anywhere near me?” Robel changed his snobbish composure and was as angry as a wild animal. Qeyah kept quiet taking cover behind Tsegereda’s back. The newspaper seller was disappointed at the behaviour of the man who was begging him for his daughter’s hand in marriage earlier. He would have scolded Rober openly had both them not been his customers. He hoped Robel would not drag her away by her hair like he had done a couple of weeks ago.

Where did he take her that evening? He has heard Suleiman saying that the poor thing escaped opening the other door when he boarded her on Suleiman’s taxi intending to take her to his home. Suleiman had also mentioned that when Robel was writing his book titled ‘Badme, deception, lies, war and martyrdom’ he had had a three year marriage contract with Qeyah. When the contract expired Robel had asked her to prolong it for him but she had adamantly refused. Although the enraged Robel bluffed he would not give her a cent of the money they agreed upon but fearing she might talk about the book, he had ended up giving her all the money with out deducing a cent of it.

And now that he was writing another book titled ‘Judgement day, when leaders bow their heads’ he wanted a new contract with Qeyah but her refusal has alienated him to her, as mentioned by Suleiman. It puzzled the newspaper seller that Suleiman and even the wild Qeyah knew about the existence of the book called ‘Badme.......’. But he considered himself fortunate to know about the book ‘Judgement day, when leaders bow their heads’ when he learned no one including Berhe, who is considered as “all knowing” by Semere, had no idea of its existence.

Why had Robel choosen Qeyah? It astounded him. He suspected it was not only for the reason that Qeyah was acquainted with most of the higher ranking officials of the government as Suleiman has mentioned, there must be something more he mused.

Hearing Tsegereda say “Robel don’t you know it earns a man the title ‘gentleman’ if he respects a woman among many women” brought the newspaper seller to the present. Immediately Qeyah appeared from her hiding place behind Tsegereda’s back her movement having the motion of dancing.

“No one owns me!” her arms spread on both sides making her seem as if she was about to fly. Qeyah, starting to appear fairer and fairer by the minute to the newspaper seller, continued.......

_______________________end of page 20_______________________

“Not a single person!, gets to dictate who I hang out with or where I go to. I am who I am. If there is any one in our midst, in this city or in this country; who finds my life style,

choices, opinions and laughter disagreeable he can very well hang himself. It is not my problem if any one hates the fact that I don’t think like them. What concerns me is my life. How I live and why I live is my own issue. Why do you care about me? You are different from me and I from you. We are separate. I am a free individual with choices of my own. Semere please tell the newspaper owners to interview me. I want to tell Eritrea that I can only be me and nobody else. Tsegereda is it shameful to tell Eritrea that?” she asked Tsegereda grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.

“Sorry Qeyah but I should be frank with you, I can not tell the owners of this newspaper who they should interview” said the newspaper seller. He regreted he could not ask the owners of the newspaper, that would not sell all day, inorder to make her happy.

“Semere brother haven’t you been saying the newspaper was not selling? Atleast you should share an opinion that they should not print the president’s interview. Your opinion is yours regardless of you being educated or illiterate, rich or poor. It is not your problem if anybody hates you for it” she said and getting to their center and spreading her arms started to sing.........

“shgey habuni shgey habuni! Aytetaliluni (give me my torch, give me my torch and fool me no more)”. The song felt familiar so he was convinced it was not an invention of the wild Qeyah. And honestly he loved the sound of her voice. He thought it was soft and powerful. Eventhough he had never seen an island in his life he thought such a heavenly voice can only be a natural murmur heard in a green wild island that has yet to be discovered by man.

Qeyah was repeating only one line of the song. Her right hand was placed high above her head, moving imitating the grasp of a torch. After a while she was moving her whole body in the center of the six people resembling a burning wind. She laid flat on her back on the side walk then rose up again with the power of a storm, continued rising until she was standing on tip toes. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw her rising above their heads. She started to move in a circle at high speed with her arms spread at her sides. Then she disappeared from his vision. He looked and looked but failed to find her in their midst. Where did she go? Where can she go? Any human being can not be invisible like the spirits. Especially this wild Qeyah can not pass for a spirit.

And she definetely was not one! He heard her speak and laugh.

“Robel with out my consent, no created being not even creation itself can control me” she said dragging Tsegereda away by grabbing her arm. Tsegereda grabbed Segen and started to lead her away in turn. Segen leading Zeray, Zeray leading Suleiman, Suleiman leading Berhe, Berhe leading Robel, Robel leading Wedi Geza’e dragging each other like children they crossed the people rushing about them and disappeared in the direction of Bahti Meskerem. Semere,

the newspaper seller was looking at them with a longing and worry of a father whose children were leaving to the other side of the world.

____________________ end of page 21______________________________

His worry was more about his newspaper more than about them. The newspaper’s failure to realise its enemies were increasing saddened him. “Why do they hate the president?” he despaired. Yes! Why is he the hated one? It is true nobody is comfortable in this country. No one including the newspaper seller was enjoying the luxury of secure available sustainable bread, electricity, water supply. Should this cause hatred directed at the president? His attempt to solve this puzzle triggered a spark of an idea in his brain. But he vowed not to do that even if he were to die.

“Whether the president is alive or dead makes no difference to me. A lot of young people, too young to know true happiness, died for this country. A lot of educated, illiterate, old, young, wise and foolish people also died for it. My parents died, my sister Senait is a martyr, my brother Efrem is lost he probably is dead. I don’t even know whether my son is alive or dead. Most importantly this country is a country of people. It has people who reek of knowledge. Many kind and wise people. If the president dies surely other presidents will come.” He said longing to see the extremely beautiful woman in white clothes. And he was unhappy to see only cars that were competing for space in the asphalt and people who did not bother to look his way.

“It is like Berhe said it, I just should not be the one to die until the day comes when there will be many newspapers” he said sitting on the stack of newspapers forcefully, so forcefully a vibration was resonating across his entire body as if he had landed on the ground. Seconds passed with out having him thought of anything. But gradually he started to have memories that were long since buried deep within his subconcious. Immediately his mind was full of information and memory of events until it felt like he was converting into one big pot container. I should never pass judgement or opinion on anything he promised himself and he quickly passed through the low roofed exit bending his back and running outside.

Glancing right he saw the bicycle he inherited from his father outside looking like a frozen cold homeless person awaiting the sympathy of bystanders. He looked to the right and saw countless young people, old ones and children passing by the side walk infront of his little shop. They were smiling, laughing, bumping into each other some coming and others going.

He wished to know where the goers were going to and where the comers were coming from. He was disturbed by a voice inside him that urged him to ask them, and that voice strangely sounded like the voice of the wild Qeyah. Attempting to distract himself he focused on the red public buses which were transporting passengers. He could not find anything new.

But he, he felt like a new person. He concluded everything was completely with 100% certainty as it used to be. Judging from the mirror of his years, Eritrea has not changed even a tiny bit. It saddened him to see it was the same as it ever was. He prayed in his heart for the future to bring better times to it. He had the revelation better times are the times when he will be able to sell a variety of newspapers with many colors and names on them. His attempt to figure out why he was bothering about newspaper selling as if it were a noble profession failed more than one time. Then he remembered what his father, who was pro independence in the 40s and 50s, had said to him.......

“Reading the newspapers is what made me understand that a bird without wings and a person without freedom are the same. If there had not been newspapers at that time, Eritreans would not have longed for independence as for paradise.

______________________ end of page 22_______________________________

“The nation Eritrea would not have occupied the hearts of all its fighters. When Eritrea acquires its independence the first thing it should focus on should be the newspaper, even if it can’t afford it”

When he remebered this saying of his father, the face of his hairy and bearded graceful father came to his mind. His spirits lifted and he felt refreshed as if his father has returned to him from a long journey. Closing his eyes...........

“You were right father. All that you told would happen happened. Eritrea with out its newspapers got its eyes blinded, its ears deaf. It became something other than itself, we became some ones other than ourselves. She did not benefit from her children and her children did not benefit from her. It is separation! They flee away to safety while it slips to its doom. It is all nonsense” he said. He spoke loudly but he was neither aware of it nor did he care. He opened his eyes to find two very heavily built men with black leather jackets standing infront of him. He did not know what to think. It quickly became apparent to him the faces of both men were cruel and mocking.

Behind them he saw the poisoned beautiful woman in her white clothes now walking in the direction of Bahti Meskerem with the wind flapping her dress behind her. Not long after her another woman who must be her identical twin and wearing the same sparkly clothes passed them. A while later he saw yet another beautiful woman in the same outfit on the street across from them passing with a smooth glide. He saw a fourth one. Guessing their numbers were in the tens he stopped paying attention to them. But he worried whether this was a dream or reality and whether he was losing his sanity. He believed those men with cruel faces and big bodies were really standing infront of him, no he did not.......... yes he did. The women in white clothes were strolling about in the streets while some of them were on the roofs of buildings

and others on the poles. What he noticed as his last vision was that they were all happy. Two of the many approached him one standing on his right and the other on his left.

“You should be free. And we are the spirits of freedom. If perhaps you die in your thoughts tonight we are here to escort you in your spiritual journey” they told him in unison. Their voice had a dreamy and mystic pleasantness to it. Minutes passed with him merely opening and closing his eyes. He absolutely had no idea what to think. But what ever may come he was sure he had nothing to lose except his fear. Looking at the faces of his visitors, who seemed to him like the head part of the killing spear, he smiled and he whispered to himself “the end”.

The end

Written by Habtom Abraha

Translated by Tirhas Tsegay

P.S: This note is only to apologies for a typo error and to thank you for reading this short story.