Childhood Hunger

Bill Shore’s Letters

Letter From the Ethiopian/Eritrean Border

March 2001

Dear Friend,

If Janis Joplin was right that "freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose" then the Ethiopians we met in the border town of Zelembassa have attained a freedom rare in this world.

Our visit was rich in learning about how Share Our Strength's support can be more effective. But I also made a mistake that troubled me all the way home. More a sin of omission than commission, but one that ensures I'll go back to try again. Maybe when I do, you'll come with me.

The State Department's Advisory warns, "American citizens should exercise caution if traveling to northern Tigray (within 30 miles of the Ethiopian/Eritrean border) because of land mines and unsettled conditions in the border area." So we exercised caution. But not from 30 miles away. We got within 30 feet. Right up to the blue and white U.N. Peacekeeping vehicles, which straddle a line in the dirt that cost 20,000 lives to draw. Devastation lies on both sides of that line, as does blame.

Thanks to mountainous terrain and rich marble deposits, stone is the primary building block in Tigray, rather than the wood and mud used in the rest of the country. Closer to Zelembassa, we passed encampments of internally displaced people, refugees from towns shelled or occupied during the war, their blue plastic sheeting the only color against the gray of rock and rubble. Formerly a community of 20,000, Zelembassa was occupied by Eritrea for two years, and destroyed in the struggle for control of the town. As if those who lived on that rocky patch didn't already struggle enough just to survive. As if man's cruelty were needed to punctuate nature's harshness.

Tigray is the northernmost of Ethiopia's regional states with a population of almost 4 million, 83 percent of who are dependent upon rain fed subsistence agriculture in one of the most drought prone areas of Ethiopia. Seventy Eight percent of Tigray's rural population, about 2.3 million people, does not have access to potable water. About 80 percent of the health problems in the region are linked to unclean water supplies. Diarrhea is the second largest cause of mortality in children under five, and a factor in nearly half of all childhood deaths. Life expectancy is low: 44.4 years for women and 42.5 years for men.

Notwithstanding customary Ethiopian hospitality, there was no one to greet us when we arrived. Some former members of the community were just returning themselves. War transformed Zelembassa from village to archeological excavation site without the usual wait of thousands of years. All that's left of the houses on both sides of the main street are the outlines of their foundation and walls of brick a few feet high. When our photos are developed we will look like tourists posing at ancient ruins, like those of Crete or of the Mayans.

As I'm standing, staring at what's left of the houses, a man walks over. He's wearing khaki's like mine, and his close-cropped hair has turned white at the edges. He is heavy set with a weary face. He starts to speak to me. I can't understand the language, but walk over and shake his hand.

A translator arrives. "This was my hotel. I lived behind it. Our house was right there," he points. "Now both are gone."

I ask what happened. "I was kidnapped by the Eritreans and held for two years." There is anger in his voice, tempered with recognition that anger bears no fruit. "We have nine children. If the government helps me, I will rebuild."

I've been told the government is unlikely to risk such an investment so close to the once-disputed border. "What if the government doesn't help?" He shrugs, raising up his eyes.

What comes next is a total surprise. As we're talking, his wife emerges from behind walls of broken stone and debris. She walks out to us, in the street. Her eyes meet mine and then she speaks sharply to her husband. "My wife would like to invite you in for coffee," he explains. In where?

I follow him towards the stone blocks that were once his home. He takes my right hand in his thick left hand, as is common with men in Africa. As he points to where and how they once lived, he squeezes my hand tightly and I can feel the strength that remains.

His wife is strong in a different way. As much as their family needs help, she's not counting on the strangers passing through. That's not what lay behind the invitation. Instead she's showing us that while they'd lost a lot, they had not lost everything. Not their civility. Not their hospitality. Humanity does not run dry even when wells and ponds do. She hurries to stoke the fire and roast coffee beans while her daughter rinses cups.

One of our drivers runs in from the street and says we must move on, that the traditional coffee ceremony takes 30 minutes and we don't have time.

Don't have time? "Are you kidding?" I ask. "These people have nothing. How often does someone invite you into their bombed out home for coffee? I'm staying." But I didn't stay.

"We have meetings back in Mekele," implores the driver. "It won't be fair to the others who are waiting." More of our traveling party arrives. There is confusion about the schedule. Before I know it we are back in the Landrovers.

The man's wife puts the coffee cups away. Next to all she's been through, we are only a minor disappointment. But an unnecessary one. I'm quiet during the long ride back, angry at the driver, angrier at myself.

That State Department advisory was helpful but incomplete. It kept us away from landmines, but didn't warn of broken hearts, or of disappointing oneself, or of what might be required to finish what you start.

I'm going back to Zelambassa for that cup of coffee next year. I won't make the same mistake twice. Maybe you'll join me? I don't know the town well but I know the people. They'll make it worth the trip.

Thanks for allowing me to share some of our journey through Ethiopia. I'd like to write you one more time, in a week or so, to describe Share Our Strength's strategy going forward and to explain the many different ways in which our friends can help.

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