As we piled into the four by four, I settled in next to Tetros. Mebrato and Deray sat in the jump seat in the back. All three were refugee health workers, on their way to a training. There were four more passengers in the truck, along with our luggage. We sped off away from the camp, heading back to Shire, the main town about 3 hours drive away. We raced down the mountain away from the camp, pausing to honk our horn as we passed a truck that had recently gone over the edge of the cliff. A fellow driver’s half hearted attempt, it seemed, to see if there were any survivors.
With no response, we made our way toward the river, passing an ambulance in no hurry, and, having successfully crossed the bridge, started our ascent up the next mountain. At the first sign of the road crew, the driver cheered-we were racing to get past a construction spot before the road was closed so that they could clear away some rocks. The crew member was holding a green paddle, signaling that we could still pass. At the sign of the second crew member around the next bend, however, a collective groan swept through the truck. This crew member was holding a red paddle. We were stuck at this point in the road for at least the next two hours. And to make matters worse, we were only five minutes late in arriving.
Everyone but Tetros piled out of the vehicle to search for a respite from the late afternoon sun. “You don’t want to come?” I asked Tetros? He shook his head—he didn’t handle heat well and preferred to stay in the car. I explored the surroundings for a bit, passing judgment on the strategy of the road construction crew’s handling of the earth movers and wondering if I should venture a suggestion to help save us time. Deciding I had best stick to sharing advice within my chosen profession, I then climbed to the top of a nearby hill, surveyed the striking landscape and sat on a rock for a spell. Growing anxious, I then decided to try and get some work done on my laptop.
I joined Tetros in the car-he had taken off one layer of clothing and was clearly feeling overheated. I came to understand why. He was from the highlands of Eritrea and, only having been in this part of Ethiopia for a year’s time, he was not yet acclimated to the warmer temperatures of his new home. I explained to him that I was accustomed to this weather, having grown up in Washington, DC where heat and humidity are the norm. I further explained that my present home base of Boston saw extremely cold winters. Tetros asked me to draw him a map of the US and its climate zones. I obliged, and the result was an embarrassing portrayal of both the landmass and an over simplication of our country’s climate patterns.
I asked Tetros to draw a map for me to show me where he was from. With care, he drew a map of Eritrea, breaking it down into its regions and showing the capitals of each. We talked at length about the ethnic , linguistic and economic aspects of the various regions. We talked of his history and experiences, of his path to Ethiopia. A university graduate, he felt his wellbeing was threatened and his choices all but limited to government or military service, and so he sought safety as a refugee. His parents, however, were put at risk by his decision and his guilt was obvious. Without a means for communicating directly with his family, he sent messages to them through Diaspora communities in Israel and Sweden.
By this time, Mebrato and Deray had joined us. We continued the conversation, and I learned that Deray had been in jail for nearly nine months. On what charges I didn’t ask but it didn’t seem to matter. Their stories were of young men pursuing what we in the US often take for granted: a higher education and a chance at choosing one’s own path. All, however, faced the threat of military service and a form of servitude to the government. One’s profession was chosen for him and anything but adherence to this path was unacceptable. The jail in which Deray had found himself for nine months was so crowded that he spent most of his sentence standing, packed in amongst others of his ilk without room to move. I can tell you that his face changed as he told me his story. I asked what they expected for themselves in the coming years. They were silent. “We wait.” Mebrato said.
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