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Authors: Mawi Asgedom
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for him.
So while still a child, my father moved to a monastery, where he lived with Coptic Christian monks and learned ancient verse and holy chants from millennia past. And then, at age nine, he left the monastery and wandered to the home of a relative.
Some would say that he lived with his relative, but he might say that he almost died. For living implies life and vitality, and he had neither. He became an unpaid laborer, a servant, an orphan among family.
He started to wonder. D OES GOD HATE ME ? D ID H E CURSE ME BEFORE BIRTH ? I S THAT WHY F ATHER DIED AND MOTHER GOES TO JOIN HIM ?
One day his relative hurled the wooden coffee grinder at his head. She promised to do much worse, and he feared to stay.
But he could not return to the monastery, and he could not return to his mother, who was still sick. So at age fourteen, Haileab turned from his homeland of Eritrea and wandered deeper into the heart of Ethiopia, into the province of Tigray.
Alone and almost penniless, he had to rely on strangers as he traveled from small town to small town. But our people are generous and big of heart, especially among the village folk, and few go hungry while there is any to spare. So he survived.
He arrived finally at the big city they call Mekele, where he found his one rich uncle and many other Eritreans.
Even with support from his uncle and countrymen, though, he sometimes went two or three days without eating. Then he would devour six or seven
injeras
at one sitting. I T WAS A TIME OF EATING LUNCH, NOT KNOWING WHEN YOU WOULD EAT DINNER, he later told US. S O WHENEVER I COULD, I ATE MULTIPLE MEALS IN ONE.
The monastery and his relative had taught him how to work, so he begged a job at a shanty government clinic, cleaning rooms, folding sheets, making beds.
But he loved drink. He loved women. He loved every vice that a teenage boy loves when he has no adult supervision.
What one does in youth, one often regrets in old age. I LIVED A SINFUL LIFE. B UT WHAT WOULD YOU EXPECT ? I HAD NO MOTHER, I HAD NO FATHER, I HAD NO ONE TO TEACH ME RIGHT OR WRONG.
B EJAKOOM, MY CHILDREN, PLEASE DON’T BE LIKE ME.
Despite these weaknesses, he also worked diligently, cleaning at the clinic. As he cleaned, he listened. As he listened, he lent his hand. And as he lent his hand, he began to learn.
He had learned how to read at the monastery, and now each night he read whatever books he could get his hands on. Anatomy, physiology, physics, mathematics, chemistry — he learned all the basics of science.
One day, all Ethiopian students who dreamed of becoming physicians came to Mekele to take the government’s standardized examination. To fail meant a volatile peasant life and dependence on the local economy’s unsteady orbit. To pass — as only five percent would — meant a permanent job in the Ethiopian government and a valuable place in society.
Although my father had not attended high school, he took the test with the other students. A vagabond among local favorites, what chance did he have?
He always told the story with pride.
T HERE WERE MANY OF US WHO TOOK THE TEST. O NE PERSON SCORED EIGHTY-SIX OUT OF ONE HUNDRED, AND I SCORED EIGHTY-FOUR. EVERYONE ELSE SCORED BELOW US, SO I EARNED THE RIGHT TO TRAIN AS AN ADVANCED DRESSER. N OT A FULLFLEDGED DOCTOR, BUT IT DIDN’T MATTER BECAUSE THERE WERE SO FEW DOCTORS THAT AS AN ADVANCED DRESSER, I DID EVERYTHING THAT A FULL DOCTOR DID.
Living in a desperate time, among a desperate people, among wars, among famine, among epidemics, he found that he often held the keys to life.
He also found that books and training were not always enough.
W HAT COULD BOOKS TEACH ME IF I DIDN’T HAVE ACCESS TO THE MEDICAL EQUIPMENT THEY DESCRIBED ? W HAT COULD THEY TEACH ME IF I HAD TO TREAT MODERN-DAY HORRORS WITH ANCIENT TOOLS OR IF I HAD TO TRAVERSE TWENTY-FIVE MILES OF BARREN WILDERNESS TO TREAT A BEDRIDDEN MOTHER, KNOWING THAT SHE MIGHT BE DEAD BY THE TIME THAT I ARRIVED ?
The decades passed and he
So while still a child, my father moved to a monastery, where he lived with Coptic Christian monks and learned ancient verse and holy chants from millennia past. And then, at age nine, he left the monastery and wandered to the home of a relative.
Some would say that he lived with his relative, but he might say that he almost died. For living implies life and vitality, and he had neither. He became an unpaid laborer, a servant, an orphan among family.
He started to wonder. D OES GOD HATE ME ? D ID H E CURSE ME BEFORE BIRTH ? I S THAT WHY F ATHER DIED AND MOTHER GOES TO JOIN HIM ?
One day his relative hurled the wooden coffee grinder at his head. She promised to do much worse, and he feared to stay.
But he could not return to the monastery, and he could not return to his mother, who was still sick. So at age fourteen, Haileab turned from his homeland of Eritrea and wandered deeper into the heart of Ethiopia, into the province of Tigray.
Alone and almost penniless, he had to rely on strangers as he traveled from small town to small town. But our people are generous and big of heart, especially among the village folk, and few go hungry while there is any to spare. So he survived.
He arrived finally at the big city they call Mekele, where he found his one rich uncle and many other Eritreans.
Even with support from his uncle and countrymen, though, he sometimes went two or three days without eating. Then he would devour six or seven
injeras
at one sitting. I T WAS A TIME OF EATING LUNCH, NOT KNOWING WHEN YOU WOULD EAT DINNER, he later told US. S O WHENEVER I COULD, I ATE MULTIPLE MEALS IN ONE.
The monastery and his relative had taught him how to work, so he begged a job at a shanty government clinic, cleaning rooms, folding sheets, making beds.
But he loved drink. He loved women. He loved every vice that a teenage boy loves when he has no adult supervision.
What one does in youth, one often regrets in old age. I LIVED A SINFUL LIFE. B UT WHAT WOULD YOU EXPECT ? I HAD NO MOTHER, I HAD NO FATHER, I HAD NO ONE TO TEACH ME RIGHT OR WRONG.
B EJAKOOM, MY CHILDREN, PLEASE DON’T BE LIKE ME.
Despite these weaknesses, he also worked diligently, cleaning at the clinic. As he cleaned, he listened. As he listened, he lent his hand. And as he lent his hand, he began to learn.
He had learned how to read at the monastery, and now each night he read whatever books he could get his hands on. Anatomy, physiology, physics, mathematics, chemistry — he learned all the basics of science.
One day, all Ethiopian students who dreamed of becoming physicians came to Mekele to take the government’s standardized examination. To fail meant a volatile peasant life and dependence on the local economy’s unsteady orbit. To pass — as only five percent would — meant a permanent job in the Ethiopian government and a valuable place in society.
Although my father had not attended high school, he took the test with the other students. A vagabond among local favorites, what chance did he have?
He always told the story with pride.
T HERE WERE MANY OF US WHO TOOK THE TEST. O NE PERSON SCORED EIGHTY-SIX OUT OF ONE HUNDRED, AND I SCORED EIGHTY-FOUR. EVERYONE ELSE SCORED BELOW US, SO I EARNED THE RIGHT TO TRAIN AS AN ADVANCED DRESSER. N OT A FULLFLEDGED DOCTOR, BUT IT DIDN’T MATTER BECAUSE THERE WERE SO FEW DOCTORS THAT AS AN ADVANCED DRESSER, I DID EVERYTHING THAT A FULL DOCTOR DID.
Living in a desperate time, among a desperate people, among wars, among famine, among epidemics, he found that he often held the keys to life.
He also found that books and training were not always enough.
W HAT COULD BOOKS TEACH ME IF I DIDN’T HAVE ACCESS TO THE MEDICAL EQUIPMENT THEY DESCRIBED ? W HAT COULD THEY TEACH ME IF I HAD TO TREAT MODERN-DAY HORRORS WITH ANCIENT TOOLS OR IF I HAD TO TRAVERSE TWENTY-FIVE MILES OF BARREN WILDERNESS TO TREAT A BEDRIDDEN MOTHER, KNOWING THAT SHE MIGHT BE DEAD BY THE TIME THAT I ARRIVED ?
The decades passed and he
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