I received a phone call from my uncle sobbing uncontrollably, everything stopped. I was told my cousin had been raped by Eritrean forces and her husband was forced to watch.
Eritrean forces entered their home in Wukro, central Tigray, took hold of my cousin while another soldier tied her husband and forced him to watch as they took turns raping her. I felt sick. I couldn’t come to grips with what I was hearing. This wasn’t the headline of an article, this was my family.
“I received a phone call from my uncle sobbing uncontrollably, everything stopped. I was told my cousin had been raped by Eritrean forces and her husband was forced to watch.” #TigrayGenocide #WeaponizedRape
So many thoughts ran through my mind upon hearing this. My heart broke for my cousin and her husband. Their marriage was violated – something so sacred to their marriage was stripped away. She will carry the mental, emotional, and physical pains of this experience forever. She could be at risk of carrying an infection or pregnancy, which may then lead her to battle her beliefs should she decide not to continue the pregnancy. Her husband will have to live with the immense guilt and trauma of seeing what happened to his wife for the rest of his life.
I’ve since learned that she was able to get to a hospital to get treatment, although I have no idea how she is doing or what treatment she received.
I received the news four days after hearing a cousin of mine in Adwa, northern Tigray, had been killed by Ethiopian National Defense Forces (ENDF). I remember watching a video of Eritrean soldiers captured by Tigray Defense Forces weeks beforehand – my assumption was that the ENDF took hold of the town and killed civilians in retribution. Hearing about the loss of my cousin’s life in the most gruesome and unnatural manner drove me to the depths of despair.
I am heartbroken – hearing deeply distressing stories about your family takes an immense toll on you. Thoughts of my cousins in Wukro occupy every waking second. My existence has become engulfed by images of their faces, imagining what they’re going through.
There are moments during the day where I find myself unable to navigate life and my seemingly ‘normal’ obligations. My profession involves tending to patients. The irony of life isn’t lost on me, knowing that I am unable to extend acts of compassion and care to my loved ones is a predicament I battle with on a daily basis.
“My profession involves tending to patients. The irony of life isn’t lost on me, knowing that I am unable to extend acts of compassion and care to my loved ones is a predicament I battle with on a daily basis.” #TigrayGenocide #WeaponizedRape
The sight of a plate of food leaves me overwhelmed with guilt. This idea of rest feels foreign and fundamentally undeserving. I long for the day I am able to pour my love into my home and my family.
“The sight of a plate of food leaves me overwhelmed with guilt. This idea of rest feels foreign and fundamentally undeserving. I long for the day I am able to pour my love into my home and my family.” #TigrayGenocide #WeaponizedRape
My dad was diagnosed with cancer last year, he undertook treatment in the US. Unfortunately, he did not respond well to the treatment. When he realized the chemotherapy wasn’t working he decided it would be best to return home, to Ethiopia to pass away in his homeland.
I received a call informing me his health was drastically deteriorating and to prepare myself for the worst. I had initially made plans for my father to return home, but given the change in his health I decided to fly to the US to spend his last moments together, alongside my mother and son. This was around November 10, 2020 – the war on Tigray had already begun and the Tigray region was in total darkness.
“I heard stories of mass imprisonment, home searches, planting incriminating evidence in homes; ploys to humiliate and dehumanize Tigrayans.” #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOntigray
Although I live in the capital of Ethiopia, Addis Ababa, the majority of my family are based in Tigray. I was deeply concerned for the events unfolding in Tigray and shocked to see my neighbors celebrating and cheering the devastation. I became increasingly aware of the ethnic profiling of ethnic Tigrayans. I heard stories of mass imprisonment, home searches, planting incriminating evidence in homes; ploys to humiliate and dehumanize Tigrayans. It became clear the attacks on Tigrayans weren’t isolated to the region, but extended to those living in wider Ethiopia. This was a startling realization, that the country I called home was no longer a safe space.
The day of my flight to the US, I was denied entry. I knew ethnic Tigrayans were facing difficulty leaving the country so I braced myself for the inevitable. I was asked for my ID, unlike many other ID cards my ethnic group isn’t clearly outlined. Security officers began calling me by my surname, I assumed this was because my first name isn’t a typical Tigrayan name. I was asked if I was Eritrean, I didn’t know why I was being asked this. My ID and passport both show that I am Ethiopian. I answered and told them I was Ethiopian.
“There was a breastfeeding woman to the left of me, countless other women crying, enraged men and confused children. We were treated like criminals and with very little regard.” #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOnTigray
I was then instructed to stand to the side, alongside other ethnic Tigrayans who were denied entry. I stood there for an hour and a half. There was a breastfeeding woman to the left of me, countless other women crying, enraged men and confused children. We were treated like criminals and with very little regard. I vividly remember a security officer offering the breastfeeding mother a chair so she could comfortably feed her child, this enraged one of his colleagues and led to an argument between the two. We were stripped of our humanity, treated like criminals.
Shortly after this, I was then called by a security officer, who took me inside the airport – a man who I am sure is Eritrean began questioning me. I was fearful of what this man could want with me; he may have known my father, a fighter in the 17 year armed struggle against the Derg regime. The way security officers spoke to me was belittling and humiliating, I was shocked.
They asked me ‘Where was your Grandfather born?’ – I didn’t know.
I knew he lived in Asmara, Eritrea so it made the most sense to assume he was born there. Following that, I was denied entry onto my flight. I knew my father was dying at this point, once I was refused entry, I had no choice but to return home.
My mother and son were due to board a flight to the US the next day. They faced countless interrogation and security checks, but eventually made it in time.
Two days after my initial denial I decided to try again. It was a heartbreaking realization knowing I wouldn’t be able to see my father before his death. I showed security officers pictures of my father, letters from the Hospital all highlighting his poor health but was denied entry for the second time.
“Prior to my third attempt to leave Ethiopia, I received a phone call from someone that knew my father. I was informed that I would be arrested if I were to go to the airport. I cancelled my flight. My father died the next day.” #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOnTigray
Prior to my third attempt to leave Ethiopia, I received a phone call from someone that knew my father. I was informed that I would be arrested if I were to go to the airport. I cancelled my flight.
My father died the next day.
The majority of my family live in Tigray, besides my mother, son and a few other relatives who are based in Addis Ababa. I had to organize a lekso – the grieving process. I was forced to grieve a monumental loss, alone.
I continued my efforts to leave Ethiopia, I called any and everybody for their help or advice. Nobody was able to assist me.
This changed when I received a phone call from a stranger, I didn’t know who it was at the time – but he instructed me to go to the airport and try again. I was escorted through the airport because I kept getting stopped. Just as I was about to board my flight I was pulled aside by security officers for further questioning.
At this point, I lost my temper. I began shouting. I didn’t know what to do. I showed them pictures, letters proving his death. I pleaded with them to let me at least bury my father.
I was eventually allowed to board the flight. Although I didn’t see a point anymore, I wasn’t able to see my father before he died; my whole life is in Addis Ababa, I began thinking ‘I might not ever be able to return’. My businesses, livelihood and my son’s home are all rooted in Addis Ababa.
“They robbed me of my last moments with my father. I avoid talking about the ordeal, it’s too painful.” #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOnTigray
The day Mekelle, the capital of Tigray faced heavy shelling my entire neighborhood celebrated and cheered the offenses in the region. I was at a loss for words. These were people I lived amongst. The realization that the death of Tigrayans was celebrated left me depleted. As if grieving the loss of my father was not enough, coupled with the loss and damage to my home region I lost faith in humanity.
They robbed me of my last moments with my father. I avoid talking about the ordeal, it’s too painful.
Meaza Gidey is one of the leading faces of the #StopWarOnTigray, Ethiopia movement. The war has been taking place for 113 days, largely in the dark. Meaza’s passion isn’t political. It’s personal. She knows poverty and oppression personally and has close family members who were survivors of sexual violence and victims of brute violence. She is a survivor too in her own right.
Meaza Gidey is one of the leading faces of the #StopWarOnTigray, Ethiopia movement. Meaza’s passion isn’t political. It’s personal. @TommyASC91 @Forbes
Meaza was the youngest out of her siblings in a household led by a single, widowed mother. Her sister disappeared over 20 years ago after moving to Eritrea, the very country that is accused of some of the most gross human rights violations in Tigray, the northernmost region of Ethiopia. The family suspects she was killed by the forces of Eritrean dictator Isaias Afwerki after being kidnapped from her house in Asmera merely for her ethnic identity. This tragic event contributed to her mother’s deep depression that ultimately led to her untimely death leaving Meaza orphaned at the age of nine.
School became Meaza’s escape. She knew that was the most feasible way out of poverty as she and her mother worked cleaning public restrooms in Tigray while she was in primary school. After being orphaned, she was taken in by her older brothers who tried to give her as many opportunities as they could. Yet, her childhood was unstable and fraught with challenges.
School became Meaza’s escape. She knew that was the most feasible way out of poverty as she and her mother worked cleaning public restrooms in Tigray while she was in primary school. @TommyASC91 @Forbes
Meaza’s activism started at an early age. At the age of 16, she worked at the first local FM radio station in Tigray, 104.4 Radio FM Mekelle, producing biweekly programs teaching children about compassion, resilience, and tolerance. She used her small salary from the show to support impoverished children in her neighborhood.
Meaza’s activism started at an early age. At the age of 16, she worked at the first local FM radio station in Tigray, 104.4 Radio FM Mekelle. @TommyASC91 @Forbes
She overcame an unstable childhood and got a merit scholarship for a bachelors at Kyung Hee University in South Korea . While in school, Meaza built up a social media presence around her activism to help mobilize funds for hundreds of visually impaired and orphaned children.
Upon graduation, she returned to Ethiopia and focused on an initiative called Siiqqee Scholars. This initiative was aimed at empowering young university students at Addis Ababa through education. In 2019, Meaza co-founded Yikono, a grassroots movement aimed at creating a society that treats men and women equally. The large scale devastating reports of Weaponized SGBV in the war on Tigray have been recognized by the UN and Meaza has been the leading voice on that too. Within the first year, Yikono was able to raise enough funds to help 25 young, vulnerable women start their own business.
In 2019, Meaza co-founded Yikono, a grassroots movement aimed at creating a society that treats men and women equally. @TommyASC91 @Forbes
Meaza is an organizer at heart. When Tigray was preparing for its regional election last year, Meaza single-handedly held virtual debates among competing political parties focusing on their policies involving women. This was aimed at helping women within Tigray make an informed decision on who to vote for.
Meaza is an organizer at heart. When Tigray was preparing for its regional election last year, Meaza single-handedly held virtual debates among competing political parties focusing on their policies involving women. @TommyASC91 @Forbes
She saved up money as an English teacher and is now putting herself through graduate school in Washington DC. At the cost of sleep, when Meaza is not in school, she is lending her voice to those who don’t have one, to the civilians.. mothers and children.. who are being killed, raped and/or are refugees trying to escape the torture and violence happening to the people of Tigray.
After the war started, she realized that the movement against it needed to be globalized. Meaza helped establish Omna Tigray alongside other Tigrayan Diaspora around the world to promote educated-based advocacy. Since then, she has been dedicating her time to speaking on panel discussions, media agencies, politicians, and the community on the genocidal war happening in Tigray.
After the war started, she realized that the movement against it needed to be globalized. Meaza helped establish Omna Tigray alongside other Tigrayan Diaspora around the world to promote educated-based advocacy. @TommyASC91 @Forbes
A moment that will illustrate Meaza’s passion for the cause.. She stood up on a flight from Virginia to Portland and asked the flight attendants if she could have a moment to speak to passengers about the war happening in her homeland. The flight attendants gracefully gave her that space. Meaza’s passion overrides fear or ego because it’s grounded in humanity.
Meaza’s passion overrides fear or ego because it’s grounded in humanity. @TommyASC91 @Forbes
TOPSHOT – Women wait in line in order to enter a polling station during Tigrays regional elections in the city of Mekele, Ethiopia, on September 9, 2020. (Photo by EDUARDO SOTERAS/AFP via Getty Images)
I planned on spending 3 weeks in Tigray, mainly in Mekelle, but I had a desire to see other parts of Tigray. The purpose of my trip was to lay the foundation for a move later this year. I was eager to start a life in Tigray; to make a tangible contribution to my homeland.
The atmosphere in the city in the weeks leading up to the war was invigorating as people were going to southern Tigray, Raya, to help farmers with the locust outbreak.
The following week, the news reported that an Army General was allocated for the Northern Command, and he flew into Alula Aba Nega Airport, Mekelle. Everyone was confused, what could’ve prompted this? Looking back, that was probably when they intended to wage war on Tigray. Nonetheless, the General was sent back.
“An Army General was allocated for the Northern Command, and he flew into Alula Aba Nega Airport, Mekelle…Looking back, that was probably when they intended to wage war on Tigray.” #TigrayGenocide
The night of Tuesday, November 3rd, I had dinner with a friend. It was a beautiful night, and after dinner, we walked the streets of Mekelle. Once I got home, a friend called to say he could hear shooting and that war had been declared. It’s very difficult to describe the thoughts that ran through my mind as I struggled to comprehend what he was saying. He gave me clear instructions: sleep on the floor, stay away from any windows, put my bed in front of the door, switch off the lights and charge my phone.
He gave me clear instructions: sleep on the floor, stay away from any windows, put my bed in front of the door, switch off the lights and charge my phone.
I kept asking if he was sure–I was just walking outside and hadn’t heard anything. I called my friend to ensure he got home safely, but he said he couldn’t hear anything. I called a friend in Addis, friends in London, but no one answered. I decided to call my cousin in the United States, I told her what was happening; she panicked. I asked her to see if she could find anything on the internet on what was happening, but 20 minutes into the conversation the phone lines disconnected. Electricity cut off, and we were truly in the dark.
The following day, I went to my aunt’s house, and we began sharing stories from the night before. She said she heard shooting just after midnight. The message going around the city was that 500 commandos arrived at Alula Aba Nega Airport under the pretext of bringing new notes to Tigray. But with the intention of assassinating TPLF officials. Our militia was alerted of this, and within an hour, ‘it was handled’. Nothing had changed in the city except – banks were closed. I had heard there was limited petrol in the city, and over the next couple of days I did notice there weren’t many taxis or bajajs around.
Three days later, I was with my aunt when we heard the harrowing sound of the first of many fighter jets that would terrorize us in the coming weeks. The jets fly low to remain undetected by radars, it was deafening. I peeped my head out of the living room to see it, it was incredibly low, circled us then left. We sat in complete silence, we were in shock as we slowly accepted our new reality of war.
We remained disconnected and completely unaware of what was happening outside of Mekelle. I remember thinking things would change after this so I took a picture of my grandmother’s house, to remember it in its current state.
“The jets fly low to remain undetected by radars, it was deafening. I peeped my head out of the living room to see it, it was incredibly low, circled us then left.” #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOnTigray
After that day, I had trouble sleeping. I was constantly on guard. I began journaling to cope and pass time during my sleepless nights – I was convinced that I was in Tigray experiencing this for a reason; perhaps this was my chance to put my love for my ancestral land to use.
One night I heard three loud blasts – I felt alone so I contemplated going to my aunt’s house. As absurd as it sounds, I was anxious that I’d be taking death with me so I decided not to go. I thought it’d be better to die alone than potentially witness others dying.
Life was a continuation of such events, and aside from the occasional airstrikes, Mekelle was relatively safe. Ironically, we still had agency to do as we pleased. I remain awestruck imagining how I witnessed a revolution begin like the ones my parents and grandparents lived through and spoke about during my childhood. The psyche of Tigrayans is truly mind-blowing to witness – I felt shielded by the resilience that surrounded me. I would often listen to old war songs and be moved to tears that history was mockingly repeating itself and yet simultaneously reminded of our unshakeable courage. The women in Tigray spoke love and protection over me. Without intending to romanticize conflict, it was truly remarkable to be around such power and strength.
“I would often listen to old war songs and be moved to tears that history was mockingly repeating itself and yet simultaneously reminded of our unshakeable courage” #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOnTigray
The journey to Addis Ababa and my time spent there – was a glimpse into how layered this conflict was. Not only were Tigrayans being attacked by fighter jets, we were also being subdued by more insidious measures of suppression.
After 2 weeks, the United Nations worked with our individual embassies to evacuate us. The journey was chaotic and frightening. We passed through the Afar region and were made to stay in its capital, Semera, for 4 days. The Afar sun is scorching and suffocating. Our time there was largely spent at the Police Commissioner’s office – confused, hungry, thirsty, fatigued and scared. Infants were wailing, and the elderly were near collapse. Despite the adversity, it was remarkable to see Tigrayans extending compassion and help to one another.
The only available toilet was a latrine thinly covered by metal. The entire four corners were covered in feces. I was on my period, I hadn’t used the toilet since leaving Mekelle the day before. I wanted to burst into tears, I didn’t know what to do. A young woman saw me pacing back and forth to the latrine in distress and showed me where she and her sisters were praying. She advised me to use that space, discreetly. My spirit and dignity were shattered as I changed my sanitary pad while people watched me.
The security checks in Semera were intense and excessive. We were taken to the middle of nowhere, a desert. We were instructed to get off the bus, open our suitcases and prepare for interrogation. I anxiously awaited my turn. When it arrived, the federal officer emptied the entire contents of my luggage onto the dusty ground. He purposefully picked up a single piece of underwear in an attempt to belittle me– as if the whole ordeal was not distressing enough.
“We were taken to the middle of nowhere, a desert. We were instructed to get off the bus, open our suitcases and prepare for interrogation. I anxiously awaited my turn.” #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOnTigray
On our third day in Semera, a UN member of staff told us, ‘‘there is some good news and bad news: the good news is some of you will be leaving Semera today – the bad news is some will remain for further questioning.” Immediate panic ensued. We gathered in groups asking ourselves who would be remaining? He then said we were returning to the Police Commissioner’s office to be provided with more information. Once we arrived, we gathered around him in anticipation, a member of staff whispered something to him – he changed his mind and decided we would go to Semera Airport.
‘‘There is some good news and bad news: the good news is some of you will be leaving Semera today – the bad news is some will remain for further questioning.” #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOnTigray
The scene at the airport was complete lawlessness. People were pushing anyone, including children, in an attempt to get to the front of the queue. UN staff told us to form queues by our nationalities, after some time they began calling nationalities – they started with Indian, Sri-Lankan, Sudanese, Somali and then Eritrean nationals. We were in complete shock that Eritrean nationals would be called before Ethiopians. Only Ethiopians were remaining at this point, so we prepared ourselves. They called US citizens, Eritrean born; UK citizens, Eritrean born etc. I’m unable to describe the depths of our despair – some cried, others were enraged. Ethnic Tigrayans sat outside the airport waiting to be called. It was yet another insight into the treatment of Tigrayans in Ethiopia.
I’m unable to describe the depths of our despair – some cried, others were enraged.
Eventually, we were allowed to go. Many of us had lost any hope of leaving that day. We sat outside the airport for five hours and watched a plane take off – we were later told the plane left with only 75 people on board.
By our fourth day, we arrived in Addis Ababa. Getting onto that plane was probably the single most distressing point of my life. In anticipation of the departure doors opening, a friend turned to me and said ‘The minute these doors open, I need you to run. If I fall, leave me behind. Just run!’ I tried to explain that any capacity in me to fight was drained. I simply could not do what he was asking of me.
“I’m unable to describe the depths of our despair – some cried, others were enraged. Ethnic Tigrayans sat outside the airport waiting to be called.” #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOnTigray
When the departure doors opened complete anarchy descended. I was pushed onto the floor. I saw a man carrying his son, both pushed – the child hit his head on the door. I could see everyone in front of me, I couldn’t move. I was stuck. My bag was stuck between people. I tried to wiggle free. Once outside, I began running, but didn’t feel like I was in motion. A friend ran over to me, took ahold of my bag, stood in line, and waited for me. I was out of breath and overcome with tears. I couldn’t believe what my life had become.
The flight to the capital city took forty minutes, but once we arrived, further questions awaited us:
‘‘Why were you in Tigray?”
‘‘Do you have any family members that are fighters?”
“Where do your parents live – what is their occupation?”
“Do you know any politicians?”
“Give us the names and addresses of your family members in Addis Ababa.”
Ethnic Tigrayans were instructed to report to the Airport every two days or face imprisonment. From the moment of our arrival in Addis Ababa, we were harassed and humiliated. It was clear, we were to be treated like criminals.
“Ethnic Tigrayans were instructed to report to the Airport every two days or face imprisonment. From the moment of our arrival in Addis Ababa, we were harassed and humiliated.” #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOnTigray
Tigrayans were then told we would have to go to the UN grounds in Kazanchis. Again, all other nationalities were allowed to leave the Airport but us. Once we arrived, we spoke to our embassy representatives. I was asked about my well-being. It was the first time we were spoken to with compassion and kindness.
The representative told me that ethnic Tigrayans were facing difficulty leaving the country, and those of us that’d recently left the region would probably be denied entry into the airport. He advised me to arrive at the airport hours in advance of my flight, and when taken for interrogation, to comply with demands and wait for another officer to switch shifts. There was truly nothing to be done and no one to safeguard us; our passports meant nothing.
I informed security officers once I had booked a flight. During the night of departure, I was taken off my flight and accused of lying. I was explicitly told I would not be able to leave the country. An officer turned to me and said, “I’ve told you, you’re not leaving the country, be quiet and stand over there!” gesturing to stand away from them. I had so many questions, I didn’t know what they were referring to. I faced another round of questioning, but I was eventually allowed to board the flight.
“I’ve told you, you’re not leaving the country, be quiet and stand over there!” gesturing to stand away from them. #TigrayGenocide #StopWarOnTigray
Humiliated, demeaned and powerless, I cried as the plane took off. It was the first time I was still. I was forced to confront everything I had suppressed from November 4th.
