arefaine

"So you seek my blessings then?" The old man asked, toying with the chewing stick from one side of his mouth corner to the other. He carefully adjusted his weight on his cane - an oil marinated rattan that has become as indispensable as his limbs. His aging body could no longer stand straight, a manifestation of years of hard labour.

"Only if it was your will." was the son's reply.
He then approached his father, bowed and kissed both of the old man's knees and remained still.
A cultural precept that sons and daughters, seeking their father's blessings, routinely follow. The recipient must remain bowed or knelt until the ritual is over.
The old man gently took off his immaculate broad brimmed straw hat and placed it on the floor. An excellent shield for his cataractous eyes from the piercing morning sunlight.

"Well, my son, God bless your heart..." so he begun his benediction. His aged vocal could only produce a coarse and faint voice that was barely audible. He cleared his throat while gently massaging the furrowed neck as if to straighten the crackling voice.
" For he surely blessed me with you.. isn't that right, son?"
"Right."
"May your journey end without tribulations. .."

"Amen .." The son softly accepts the blessing so graciously bestowed upon him.

"Let Him, the Lord, bestow on you the endurance through the difficulties and the comprehension through times of disarray and confusion."

"Amen."
"Let Him send you kidush Mikael, the sentinel (St. Michael) so he can swaddle you with his wings and deliver you from evil."
"Amen."
"May you be granted the the same courage, strength and wisdom that God gave Kidush Gabriel, the mighty one who trampled the devil, so that you can triumph over life."
"Amen."
"May He grant you the wisdom in abundance so that you can discern and judge in just."
"Amen"

The door suddenly opened and his wife emerged holding a cup of siwa. She carefully placed the drink on the nearest table and quickly tiptoed her way out.

"May your life be just! "
"Amen"
"Prosperous!"
"Amen"
"Resplendent!"
"Amen."
"Majestic!"
"Amen."

The old man reached for his horse tail beaded fly whisk and craftily chased the pasting fruit-flies that were hovering over his siwa.

"Make us proud, son. "
He reached for the drink.
"Let the town rejoice with your success. "
He gently swirled the siwa to mix the top watery part with the thick layer of sludgy residue.
"Let them recite the woldemicheal name for years and years to come."
The sharp test of the drink was tingling but it did the trick. His voice got better.
This new wife lacked the natural endowment of brewing siwa. Oh how he missed his late wife!

"But your mother would have been so heart-broken if she was alive...". He said.
"But then again you wouldn't have decided to leave if she was alive, would you now?" It was more a statement than a question.

"I wish I could say to you 'don't go'..." a note of sadness was clearly detected in his tone. "But we both know that wouldn't change a thing."

The old man tapped the son on the shoulder.
"Get off your knees, son. Go have a sit." He ordered.
The son bowed and retreated. He fetched for nearest chair and brought it closer where the old man was sitting. An import from Ethiopia, the three-legged berchuma (stool) is an easeful work of art.

"Now listen, son..." The old man was saying, firmly grasping his son by the arm. "Rumour has it that the Italians are recruiting young Eritrean to go and fight the English."
"Askaris?"
"Yes Askaris, and if this rumour turns out to be true, you know what you do?"
"Yes father. Come run back home." The son lied.
"That's right! This is not our war."
"I fought the Ethiopian back in the days against my will." Here we go again ...the son thought.

"Those Selatos.." The enraged old man cried out. He stood up, supporting one side with his hand the other with the rattan, so begun his jaunty pace across the room.

"They paid me just a fraction of what they were paying their Selato brothers. And for what? I left my brothers for vultures."

"And The Ethiopians? Those animals cut the left arm and the right leg of every captives and let them go in the wilderness."

The old man stood by the window and gazed outside.

"Look at aya Gemil. " The old man said, silently watching a one-legged old man hopping across the street.

"They didn't take his pride though." the old man whispered as he was returning to his sit.

"No! This is not our war, son" he reaffirmed, reaching for his sour drink.
"It's a kiln. "
"Where they will round up all the young people and roast them like barley."










to be continued.....

"Arefaine! Arefaine!"
it was his younger brother, Haile, who was laboriously trying to wake him up.
"Have to go now..." his mother was saying.
It looked as though she was flying.
"But not to worry. I will be watching over you." She said while hovering over him.
He stretched his arms towards her.
"Please don't go ..." He whispered. His plea was inaudible. Even to himself. His lips appeared to move but his vocal cords were unable to produce or emit any sound.
"ma - ma ..." he tried with all his might. His lips were attempting to utter the word with such difficulty.
She was swiftly moving now. Soaring higher and higher.
"ma - ma - ma ..."
Unknown source of power has gripped his whole body and he felt helpless. She was smoothly gliding upwards. He was pathetically attempting to flag both his arms up and down, up and down , hoping a thrust of air would build up and help him fly.
He thought he saw her smiling. The same angelic smile she wore every time she saw him desperately trying to win his father's support even at the cost of appearing silly.
"so what he doesn't like it? I love it!". She never failed to assure him how proud of him she was.

She waved at him one more time before she vamoosed into thin air.
"M - A- M - A !" The word, propelled by a tremendous force of vibration, broke loose. His quivering lips, perforced by the behemoth internal pressure, expanded until his mouth was opened wide helping the sound to amplify twice fold.
He sprang out of the bed only to face dozen of awed and aghast eyes staring at him.
"Mama?" his little brother looked around the room for explanation. All, almost at the same time, met his confusion; shrugging their shoulders.
"You have been dreaming the same dream again, haven't you?" Haile said, simperingly looking at his muddle-headed older brother.
"Shut up!" Arefaine exploded. He was visibly disappointed. He didn't really know why. Neither did his little brother. Who was now retreating before something unpleasant like an inevitable kurkum ensued. What is the big deal ? He wondered.This is not the first time he eavesdropped. He had heard Arefaine so many times confiding Tesfamariam about his habitual reverie regarding his late mother.
"Baba said that you're gonna be late." He announced before he scampered out of the room as fast as his little legs could carry him.

It was either the comforting reverie that abruptly ended or the uneasy anticipation of the long journey that awaited him but a feeling of either anger or worry was clearly boiling up inside of him.

He regretted the big dummy ruffian character he just displayed towards his little brother.

He sat on the edge of the bed, hands went around his head and joined to form a cushion for his weary head.
He closed his eyes and silently whispered the only prayer that his mum thought him and knew would give him strength. "Thy will be done!"

It was almost 4 AM in the morning. He was thinking "2 hours more of this restless night". His watch, albeit old and crack, is a new gift from his father. He had checked the time for a millionth time. The soft ticking sound of the second hand was getting louder. He thought. He put his hand under the bed cover and tried to muffle the irritating noise. "Damn" he still could hear it.

He could see the restful face of his brothers through the crack of the window where the moon light seeps through. One's foot literarily shoved into the other nose. One's butt squashing the other face. Elbows stuck, hands twisted. He envied them. All 5 of them. He reached for the bed cover and covered his youngest brother who was no match to his older brothers blanket tug war.

He closed his eyes and wished he would wade off to sleep. "Just an hour" he wished. He dreaded the long journey that awaits him. All three days long.
"At the crack of down ...
right before you hear the cock crow..." His father's words echoed in his ear. He tried to ignore it and pleaded with his own mind to let him sleep.
"Remember to leave the mule at your uncles. You should be able to walk the rest of the way"
He curled his body up until his chin touches his knees and cupped both ears with his hands. It felt better. He heard one of his brothers murmuring something followed by his usual lips smacking. He knew what was coming next. His brother's foot came crashing down and gave him a blow on his nose. Such assault was not unusual.
"Take good care of your brothers. They need you" His mother's word echoed in his head.
"It's inevitable that your father will get himself another wife. Whether she will be taking care of you guys as her own is doubtful." She was right on the money - he thought. The new wife is anything but a mother.
"Now get your self a shut eye. You have a long way ahead of you" He thought he heard his mother say.
"I can't mama." he muttered.
"Yes you can, my boy. Here... rest your weary head on my lap... That's it. Just like you used to. Now close your eyes..."
A faint smile appeared on his face. "Oh mama! How I missed you!" was the last thing he remembered himself saying out loud.