Efrem

When we walked into his compound, Efrem was sitting on a chair under the shade of his tukul’s overhang. He had on Ray Charles sunglasses, his shirt was hanging open and he was listening to a radio.  His gray hair was cut short, but still showed signs of youthful curl. As we approached, he turned off his radio, slid it into his shirt pocket and we were introduced. He stood up and we greeted each other in Amharic-I showed my respect  by putting my left hand under my right elbow as I shook his hand and offered a “selam no.” We played musical chairs as his deputy Dawit came to join the conversation. With Efrem and me sitting next to each other, Dawit, Kahasa and Getachew sat facing us.  Efrem folded his slight body upon itself, crossing his thin legs and placing the whole of his left hand on his face. His nose rested on his ring finger and his remaining fingers splayed across his sunglasses.  He was ready to hear about the reason for our visit.

The conversation began in Tigrinya, the language of the region of Ethiopia I was in, but, importantly, the language of the nation of Tigray, which crosses the UN-demarcated border between northern Ethiopia and southern Eritrea.  The topic of the conversation was my purpose for being where I was: the Shimelba refugee camp not far from the disputed border. Shimelba was established in 2001 to host Eritrean refugees fleeing political violence in their home country. Shimelba looks nothing like what you would expect a refugee camp to be.  Homes are made of stones, brick and mud, sometimes with tin roofs and other times with thatched. There are cafes and roads. Most of the population has been here for a good part of the past nine years.  Most are on their way to resettlement in the US, Norway and other Scandinavian countries in a year’s time.

So there I was, sitting next to Efrem as Getachew, my colleague, explained that I was there to conduct observations of language teacher practices in grades 1-4. My goal was to establish a component of a baseline that would lead to an early grade reading teacher training program. We were seeking Efrem’s approval for my work, and specifically the video taping of the classrooms. Efrem was the head of the PTA for the school.

The conversation continued in Tigrinya with some English words like “baseline” and “videotape” thrown in. As I watched their expressions and tried to follow the tone of the conversation, a little girl darted in and out of Efrem’s compound, grinning at me, and a donkey chased a chicken past the tukul. Efrem and Dawit nodded throughout the conversation. Efrem asked a few questions and Getachew confirmed for me what was being discussed and the conversation continued.  Then came a pause and Efrem turned to me.  “We have not any objection.” He said to me in English. I thanked him in Amharic and English and reiterated, stammering a bit from surprise, that we were thankful for his approval and looked forward to bringing a program to Shimelba that would help improve the reading of the younger children of the camp.  Efrem went on in English.  He told me about his life in Eritrea—a teacher in Asmara, the capital, he was forced to flee from the country in 2000 when his brother, a prominent official, was arrested in a coup d’état and thrown in jail. Efrem fled to Sudan, where he stayed as a refugee until the conflict in Southern Sudan forced him to flee again. He settled in Shimelba three years prior to my visit. His brother died in prison last year.

“We have not any objection.” He said again as we began to wrap up our conversation. “We have not any objection.”  My heart soared to see this man, nearing the end of a challenging life and blind to his visual surroundings, living with hope, dedication and vision for a better future for the young children of his nation.