Read Online Of Beetles and Angels by Mawi Asgedom - Free Book Online
Authors: Mawi Asgedom
Tags: JNF007050
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From now on, do not hide the children away by themselves. Keep them with you, for who knows where safety lies these days?
”
But the sickness they call
niphoyoo
seized Selamawi, and he almost died. We did not know what to do, and then I said, “Father of mine, Father of mine, I will go to Sudan. I won’t say I’m tired, or that there are thorns, or that there is cold. I will go to Sudan. Just heal him
.”
God is good, and Selamawi got better, and we fled to Sudan.
We fled, carrying sugar, medicine, a few clothes, a little money. We left our house and our family and we sold our livestock.
At first, we went on our feet. We piled our two small donkeys with food and we rented a camel, and we had guides to help us for part of the way. I walked much of the way, even with the animals. I still have scars on my shoulder from the chafing where I carried Mehret and Selamawi.
We walked only at night because we feared that a plane would bomb us. From the sky, a pilot could not tell the difference between civilians and guerrilla fighters.
Every night, we would hear the hyenas shriek, INGHOOOOY!, and we would fear. The younger hyenas would say, cheecheechacheecheeechaachee, and we would sit up in terror. The foxes would howl, wild boars would yelp, haaah, haaah, haaah, haaah, and snakes would give noise, chee chee chee chee.
The night air entered my children, and all three became sick with the intense killer cold they call
tekh-tekh-ta.
They would throw up everything they ate; many children died from it.
We arrived at a small town called Deke Dasheem, a place where snakes wiped out many people and rabid dogs killed many others.
I encountered a woman named Hidaat who had a house of eating, and I told her, “Hidaat, please, I have money, just help my children.” God bless her, she helped us.
But the
tekh-tekh-ta
persisted, and many children died all around us. I begged a doctor named Kidane to treat my children, and he gave them penicillin shots, and after seven weeks, we left Deke Dasheem.
But the sickness persisted, until it became very bad, and then we could not find water. We approached a village and begged them to let us into their homes, but they saw us and said, “They have the strong cold, do not let them enter, we do not want our children to die
.”
But then a strong storm came and it almost swept us away, and they had pity on us and let us into their homes.
After we entered Sudan, we went from place to place and found many habesha that we knew in a land they call Awad, near Aliberia, and they became frightened when they saw us, saying, “Don’t you know that your husband is in a region called Hafeer, and that he is very troubled because of you?” So they sent someone immediately to where my husband was.
But there was an influential woman there who said, “No, they cannot stay here with their
tekh-tekh-ta.”
But our friends argued with her, saying, “She is our sister, either throw us away with her or hug us with her
.”
And the woman said, “Let her be, then,” and we were able to stay. Then my husband came, and our year of separation was over.
We were all very sick, maybe approaching death, but because of my husband, we became better. He injected the medicine into my children’s thighs, into their skin, and they became better.
After some time, my husband heard of the Swedish Ministry clinic in Semsem, in a refugee camp called Umsagata. He went to work there, and I helped at the food and nutrition place, and we lived there for three or so years in our adobe. And then we came to America, and you know the rest.
My father with a patient in Adi wahla, Ethiopia. He signed this photograph in Tigryna.
T HE M AKING OF A M AN
W hen we children had grown up, we learned the rest of my father’s story, which my mother hadn’t mentioned in the coffee tales.
Haileab was born in Seraye, Eritrea, in 1934. His father died shortly after his birth, and soon after that, his mother grew sick. She could not care
”
But the sickness they call
niphoyoo
seized Selamawi, and he almost died. We did not know what to do, and then I said, “Father of mine, Father of mine, I will go to Sudan. I won’t say I’m tired, or that there are thorns, or that there is cold. I will go to Sudan. Just heal him
.”
God is good, and Selamawi got better, and we fled to Sudan.
We fled, carrying sugar, medicine, a few clothes, a little money. We left our house and our family and we sold our livestock.
At first, we went on our feet. We piled our two small donkeys with food and we rented a camel, and we had guides to help us for part of the way. I walked much of the way, even with the animals. I still have scars on my shoulder from the chafing where I carried Mehret and Selamawi.
We walked only at night because we feared that a plane would bomb us. From the sky, a pilot could not tell the difference between civilians and guerrilla fighters.
Every night, we would hear the hyenas shriek, INGHOOOOY!, and we would fear. The younger hyenas would say, cheecheechacheecheeechaachee, and we would sit up in terror. The foxes would howl, wild boars would yelp, haaah, haaah, haaah, haaah, and snakes would give noise, chee chee chee chee.
The night air entered my children, and all three became sick with the intense killer cold they call
tekh-tekh-ta.
They would throw up everything they ate; many children died from it.
We arrived at a small town called Deke Dasheem, a place where snakes wiped out many people and rabid dogs killed many others.
I encountered a woman named Hidaat who had a house of eating, and I told her, “Hidaat, please, I have money, just help my children.” God bless her, she helped us.
But the
tekh-tekh-ta
persisted, and many children died all around us. I begged a doctor named Kidane to treat my children, and he gave them penicillin shots, and after seven weeks, we left Deke Dasheem.
But the sickness persisted, until it became very bad, and then we could not find water. We approached a village and begged them to let us into their homes, but they saw us and said, “They have the strong cold, do not let them enter, we do not want our children to die
.”
But then a strong storm came and it almost swept us away, and they had pity on us and let us into their homes.
After we entered Sudan, we went from place to place and found many habesha that we knew in a land they call Awad, near Aliberia, and they became frightened when they saw us, saying, “Don’t you know that your husband is in a region called Hafeer, and that he is very troubled because of you?” So they sent someone immediately to where my husband was.
But there was an influential woman there who said, “No, they cannot stay here with their
tekh-tekh-ta.”
But our friends argued with her, saying, “She is our sister, either throw us away with her or hug us with her
.”
And the woman said, “Let her be, then,” and we were able to stay. Then my husband came, and our year of separation was over.
We were all very sick, maybe approaching death, but because of my husband, we became better. He injected the medicine into my children’s thighs, into their skin, and they became better.
After some time, my husband heard of the Swedish Ministry clinic in Semsem, in a refugee camp called Umsagata. He went to work there, and I helped at the food and nutrition place, and we lived there for three or so years in our adobe. And then we came to America, and you know the rest.
My father with a patient in Adi wahla, Ethiopia. He signed this photograph in Tigryna.
T HE M AKING OF A M AN
W hen we children had grown up, we learned the rest of my father’s story, which my mother hadn’t mentioned in the coffee tales.
Haileab was born in Seraye, Eritrea, in 1934. His father died shortly after his birth, and soon after that, his mother grew sick. She could not care
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