I was struggling with my mental health and living amid a global pandemic, so I decided to travel to Tigray. I wanted to go back home to do macholot – a holy water ritual. I was going to spend a year in Tigray, travelling throughout the region, visiting churches and historical sites. I was raised in the West but wanted to experience more of my home.
I arrived in Mekelle at the end of September 2020, initially staying with my aunt. From the start of my stay till the start of November, I was travelling the region.
A couple of days after the war began, so did the aerial bombardments. There were multiple jet strikes in Mekelle. The start of the conflict marked the beginning of a communications blackout, no water or electricity, road closures, food shortages, and limited fuel. I remember an eight-year-old girl was killed in the midst of one of the airstrikes on the outskirts of Mekelle. No one could keep up with the scale of the violence or make any sense of it, especially with the communication blackout. Things were changing, the atmosphere was tense, and people were frightened.
By the second week of the war, my aunt and I decided to leave Mekelle and move to the outskirts of the city to stay at a family member’s house, as many other residents in the capital were doing.
“On the morning of November 28, 2020, my family and I went to church, returning home by 8 AM. By the time we returned home, the indiscriminate shelling had begun. It was different from other airstrikes; it was continuous and evidently had no specific target in sight.”
On the morning of November 28, 2020, my family and I went to church, returning home by 8 AM. By the time we returned home, the indiscriminate shelling had begun. It was different from other airstrikes; it was continuous and evidently had no specific target in sight.We stayed in the basement, anxiously waiting for it to stop. I vividly remember the sight of my family weeping, pleading to God to spare us.
The strikes eventually stopped, but we were still fearful of leaving the basement. When I got outside, standing in the garden, I could see a pillar of smoke about 50 meters tall. My neighbours’ door was badly hit by the shelling.
From a distance, I could see a lifeless body outside my neighbour’s house. I later found out it was my 65-year-old neighbour. He had returned from church and was sitting outside in the sun, waiting for his daughters to make him breakfast when the strikes began.
This is where his body laid.
“From a distance, I could see a lifeless body outside my neighbour’s house. I later found out it was my 65-year-old neighbour. He had returned from church and was sitting outside in the sun, waiting for his daughters to make him breakfast when the strikes began.”
There were multiple airstrikes throughout November. You never knew who was alive or was caught in the attacks. The sound of artillery strikes in the distance was so unnerving. The missiles at night were especially jarring, jolting you out of sleep. You imagine where your body would drop; how you would die, or who of your loved ones would die first.Playing out gory scenarios in your head, imagining that your roof would be the next to cave in.
There are countless nights I remember praying and hearing explosions in the background. It was jet strike, after artillery strike, after shootings and missiles. An ongoing nightmare. At some point, though, something changed in me – I was no longer fearful. I was angry.
“The sound of artillery strikes in the distance was so unnerving. The missiles at night were especially jarring, jolting you out of sleep. You imagine where your body would drop; how you would die, or who of your loved ones would die first.”
The end of November saw what I now know marked the end of the “law-and-order enforcement operation” and the Ethiopian National Defence Force entering Mekelle. Then came the 6PM curfew. We still did not have water and very limited electricity.
Before Ethiopian forces entered Mekelle, the only thing terrorising us were fighter jets. Now the forces orchestrating the violence were in front of us; enforcing curfews, stealing our goods, tormenting us, killing our people.
“Before Ethiopian forces entered Mekelle, the only thing terrorising us were fighter jets. Now the forces orchestrating the violence were in front of us; enforcing curfews, stealing our goods, tormenting us, killing our people.”
The gradual disintegration of Mekelle was painful to watch. The nights were filled with terror as heavy looting took place. I remember being woken up by a loud noise and seeing 10 thieves, all with AK 47’s firing into the air.Shortly after, my neighbour was stabbed as Ethiopian forces stole his car and belongings. The casual violence continued; we were completely defenceless. Mekelle was no longer the same city I was living in just a few weeks prior; the city was in a state of lawlessness.
“The gradual disintegration of Mekelle was painful to watch. The nights were filled with terror as heavy looting took place. I remember being woken up by a loud noise and seeing 10 thieves, all with AK 47’s firing into the air.”
Ethiopian forces were patrolling the city; anytime you were outside you would hear stories of civilians killed for staying out after 6 pm. Then came the stories of Ethiopian forces rounding up young men from the street. I stopped leaving the house other than to get water from a nearby river; I would take a jerrycan with me and fill it with enough water for my family. My family was petrified something would happen to me if I were caught outside.
I was able to leave Mekelle at the end of December, but a couple of weeks before leaving I was able to speak to my mum.I remember the gasp when she heard my voice followed by “is that you – is that really you?” We both sobbed. I couldn’t imagine how she was dealing with this alone. It was a beautiful moment to finally tell her I was ok – a luxury I knew so many of my people were robbed of.
“I remember the gasp when she heard my voice followed by “is that you – is that really you?” We both sobbed. I couldn’t imagine how she was dealing with this alone. It was a beautiful moment to finally tell her I was ok – a luxury I knew so many of my people were robbed of.”
Addis Ababa felt like another country. A staff member at my embassy made a passing comment to me about the behaviour of people in Addis Ababa, that you would never believe you were in the same country. It was ironic that a non-Ethiopian was able to empathise and notice the irony of the situation before my countrymen and women.
It took me two months to leave Ethiopia. Within those two months, I was disgusted; there was an evident lack of empathy amongst people. There was nothing worse than being in the capital city where people were championing the same forces decimating my home. I’m unable to describe the resentment I felt towards everything the city represents.
“The thought of returning to Tigray crossed my mind constantly. Living with uncertainty in #Tigray seemed like a better option than living amongst the morally bankrupt in Addis Ababa.”
The image of my family members crying is etched in my mind, and the guilt of leaving them is still with me today. The thought of returning to Tigray crossed my mind constantly. Living with uncertainty in Tigray seemed like a better option than living amongst the morally bankrupt in Addis Ababa.
Since leaving Ethiopia, I feel anxious talking about my experience. I know I have a duty to speak up, but it doesn’t make it any less anxiety-inducing. Since leaving, I tried to journal my thoughts a number of times, but the weight of it sent me further into the depths of depression. Knowing there are so many Tigrayans that weren’t afforded the luxury of leaving or survival is a constant reminder as to why I must share my story.
There is not a moment I hear a plane and am not immediately transported back to Tigray. Prayer helps; I find comfort in prayer and leaning on my faith. I weep for Tigray, I am overcome with rage; I know without God, I would give into anger. Being alone helps. Silence gives me room to grieve.
I don’t know how else I would be able to navigate the terror of living through war to then being transported to my life in Australia.
“I don’t know how else I would be able to navigate the terror of living through war to then being transported to my life in Australia.”
Being confronted with the fragility of life has changed the trajectory of my life and my outlook forever. There is not much I find solace in beyond thinking about the day I can return home to my country, Tigray.
“Being confronted with the fragility of life has changed the trajectory of my life and my outlook forever. There is not much I find solace in beyond thinking about the day I can return home to my country, #Tigray.”
I am not a great writer, and under normal circumstances, I would not be writing about this. However, I have realized that when it comes to Ethiopia, staying quiet hasn’t benefited Tigrayans. With the genocidal war waged on Tigray on November 4, 2020, I feel the need to speak up.
This is not a special story. It is one that is common among Tigrayans in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.
In the past year, I have realized that I have lived in a fantasyworldall my life. I grew up thinking that Ethiopia was home to a perfectly diverse, peace-loving, and progressive population. I am now amazed by how out of touch I was from the dark history and reality of Ethiopia.
My parents are Tigrayans and I was born and raised in Addis Ababa. My family is middle class at best. My parents worked hard to provide us with a quality education and to put food on the table. Up until my twenties, my connection to Tigray was limited to sending books, pens, and clothings to relatives in Tigray.
I was a typical Addis Ababaian. My family was too. We assimilated, unconsciously conforming to the culture, language, and lifestyle of the city. We celebrated ‘Abebayosh’ (a more typical Amhara celebration) more than ‘Ashenda’ (a Tigrayan festival). We sang and danced to “Menilik Tikur Sew” and “Ethiopia hagere yedefersh yiwdem,” and other songs that were pro-Ethiopian nationalism. Little did I know that I was singing and dancing to songs that would be used as background music to the decimation of my own people – Tigrayan people.
“I grew up thinking that Ethiopia was home to a perfectly diverse, peace-loving, and progressive population. I am now amazed by how out of touch I was from the dark history and reality of Ethiopia.”
As a member of the Tigrayan population in Addis Ababa, I now feel deeply betrayed by both communities. I blame my parents and relatives for not teaching me Tigray’s history and for not telling me what Tigrayans went through in the past.
I also feel betrayed by the people in my hometown, the city I was born and raised in, that now sees me and my parents as the “enemy.” The truth came out in pieces … and then slowly flooded our homes and hearts with blood.
My upbringing as a Tigrayan in Addis Ababa…
I grew up aware of my Tigrayan identity. I was raised to respect the dynamic identity of populations in Ethiopia. I was raised to be conscious of others’ feelings, emotions and to not offend anyone in our community.
Retrospectively, I am not going to deny the fact that I had my own implicit biases against people from outside of Addis Ababa. For example, my friends and I often laughed at non-city sounding names. I had my own biases against every ‘non-Addis Ababian’ (non-urban) person. It was all fun and jokes at the time, but I believe those small implicit biases contribute to the bigger problems we see today.
Ethiopia’s university system draws students from across the country to new areas in hopes of creating appreciation for the country’s diversity. Now, as I witness students who once studied at Mekelle University (in Tigray’s capital) cheering for the destruction of Mekelle or Tigray, I can’t help but wonder if education or cultural integration through universities failed to address the root cause of the problem.
2005 Election
As I think back, there were always signs of what was to come. One of my best friends once said to me, “Tegrewochu yihidulin” (we want Tigrayans out). We were in middle school. He wasn’t the brightest kid, he never really paid attention in our civic or history classes. His parents appeared to be loving people. I wondered what they taught him at home behind closed doors.
There were protests throughout the city against the outcome of the elections. It did not take long for me to realize that Tigrayans were being scapegoated for the problems.
Many were chanting, “Tigre wede Mekelle” (deport Tigrayans to Mekelle). My Tigrayan friends and I were shocked. We knew our parents were from Tigray, but we had no clue what they did to deserve deportation. None of us had been to Mekelle at that time, so it felt somewhat foreign.
What happened during the protests was utter chaos. My most vivid memory was of the fear in my father’s eyes when he came to pick me up from school during one of the protests in Addis Ababa. I could see he felt threatened, unsafe, and concerned about the future.
Although I was young, I too felt the uncertainty, the rush, the panic.
“Many were chanting, “Tigre wede Mekelle” (deport Tigrayans to Mekelle). My Tigrayan friends and I were shocked. We knew our parents were from Tigray, but we had no clue what they did to deserve deportation.”
ESAT: The media that spread hate against Tigray and Tigrayans
The flames of ethnic tension in 2005 continued to be fanned by Ethiopian Satellite Television (ESAT).
ESAT journalists shared conspiracy theories, and demonized Tigrayans every day. Ethiopians, ate it up!
In my home, we were not allowed to watch TV, though on occasion we watched some family oriented shows. Our parents wanted us to focus on our studies. I had never heard of ESAT. It was never brought up in conversation with friends and we never really discussed politics. I thought all of our problems could be solved if we were educated together. I had no clue what the rest of Addis Ababa was being fed day in and day out until recently.
The first time I learned about ESAT in 2016, it came with a warning from my cousin who lived in the United States. She told me to keep my “eyes open.” She mentioned that Tigrayans were being targeted in the media – especially on ESAT. There was apparently a Youtube video on “How to shoot a Tigrayan in the leg” and that ESAT released a statement to challenge the Ethiopian people to fight Tigrayans who made up 5 million of Ethiopia’s 95 million population at that time. I dismissed it and thought “diasporas are crazy, man. No one is going to do that.”
But I was wrong…
Following ESAT’s call for solidarity against Tigryans in 2016, universities became a hit zone for Tigrayans, and later they became a crime scene for everyone. So many despicable things happened, including the killing of innocent Tigrayans, the removal of Tigrayan students’ eyes, and the burning of Tigrayan homes in Gondar that launched the internal displacement of Tigrayans from different parts of Ethiopia. There was a systematic demonizing and persecution of Tigrayans all over Ethiopia.
The same friend who said, “we want the Tigrayans out,” in middle school, said that the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) made Ethiopians racist. The Tigrayan People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) was a key member of the EPRDF coalition and Tigrayans were often associated with the EPRDF regime and its doings.
“Many despicable things happened, including the killing of innocent Tigrayans, the removal of Tigrayan students’ eyes, and the burning of Tigrayan homes in Gondar that launched the internal displacement of Tigrayans from different parts of Ethiopia.”
“You don’t think Tigrayans benefited from the system?” or “By the way, I like the people of Tigray but not TPLF…” said the same person who is denying the rape and death of civilians during the genocidal war today.
Our Addis Ababian friends were quick to tell us about Tigrayans’ experience in Addis Ababa. They didn’t want to hear what we had to say. If we had anything positive to say about Tigray or Tigrayans, some of them went as far as telling us that we were brainwashed and lied to by our Tigrayan community elders.
Slowly, I stopped engaging with friends about the Tigrayan struggle for equality in Ethiopia. They believed the accusations made about Tigrayans on ESAT more than they believed their own friends.
I am not going to defend the EPRDF regime for its oppressive reputation, but the party did not represent Tigrayans nor work for the Tigrayan population alone. Tigrayans were members of the community receiving the same services as others. We were no different. Money didn’t rain in Tigray or in our homes, but the way others portrayed it made it seem like each one of us was receiving gold chains for every breath we took.
“We supported the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD) and we gave money to the project… Tigrayans had fully bought into the idea of the “Ethiopian” identity, without realizing that we were never fully accepted by other Ethiopians.”
Ethiopia was one of the fastest growing economies during the EPRDF regime, but Tigrayans were not the beneficiaries of the rapid economic growth. The Ethiopian elites were made up of people from different ethinic groups.
Tigrayans often supported developmental projects during the EPRDF regime, not because TPLF was a key party in the coalition, but because all we wanted was development, for the country to do better, and most of all – we wanted peace. We know the cost of war – most of us have lost close family members in wars. Our mothers were thankful for and willing to do anything to preserve peace. We supported the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD) and we gave money to the project without a second thought. Tigrayans had fully bought into the idea of the “Ethiopian” identity, without realizing that we were never fully accepted by other Ethiopians.
It was shocking and painful to discover your own friends were saying such awful things about Tigrayans.
Personal experiences of anti-Tigrayans sentiments…
“A Tigrayan can’t be rich, poor, smart, or dumb without having his or her Tigrayan roots mentioned in the conversation in Addis Ababa.”
A Tigrayan can’t be rich, poor, smart, or dumb without having his or her Tigrayan roots mentioned in the conversation in Addis Ababa.
I remember once in my profile picture on social media I had an afro, but I was naive to not know the association of this hairstyle with Tigrayan fighters during the Derg regime. A very close friend said:
“Zemedochisihn new mitmesiyew, keyriw please”(Please change your afro hair style, you look like your Tigrayan relatives.)
Tigrayans were also perceived as having access to wealth and weapons. Occasionally, I got the usual:
“Tigre aydelesh eski yeteshale sira asfeligilign”(Aren’t you a Tigrayan, find me a better job through your connections.)
To this day I cannot believe what a medical doctor friend of mine said:
“It looks like the number of contraceptives and abortion laws in Amhara was designed to depopulate the Amhara region.”
Typically, when people refer to harmful laws implemented in the Amhara region, they blame the EPRDF regime, but I had never heard such extreme opinions before. I didn’t respond to her statement, I was in disbelief.
The comments continued. The sad thing is most of us Tigrayans did not bother to correct their jokes on Tigrayan identity or how the EPRDF was being associated with Tigrayans.
“The comments continued. The sad thing is most of us Tigrayans did not bother to correct their jokes on Tigrayan identity or how the EPRDF was being associated with Tigrayans.”
Tigrayans decided to hold a regional election in August 2020. The unelected Prime Minister of Ethiopia, Abiy Ahmed, did not support this election. He wanted to postpone the regional and federal elections and used COVID-19 as an excuse. Through a state-sponsored campaign, Abiy’s administration successfully made it look like holding an election was a crime against humanity.
During this period, Abiy strengthened ties with Eritrea’s dictator Isaias Afwerki. Ethiopian youth went out to celebrate dictator Isayas’s visit to Ethiopia. No one questioned why Ethiopians or the Prime Minister would celebrate a guy who is known to have destroyed his own country – Eritrea.
Anti-Tigrayan sentiments escalated across the media. The Amhara elites began telling farmers not to sell their goods to Tigray or Tigrayans. They genuinely believed that the best way to defeat Tigrayans would be to starve them. They blocked roads to Tigray and started robbing trucks and cars in an attempt to starve the Tigrayans in Tigray.
Amhara Regional Government officials admitted to blocking roads to Tigray because Tigrayans were “harboring criminals.”
“Tigrayans decided to hold a regional election in August 2020. The unelected Prime Minister of Ethiopia, Abiy Ahmed, did not support this election. He wanted to postpone the regional and federal elections and used COVID-19 as an excuse.”
I will never forget the videos of armed men threatening to destroy Tigray, broadcasted on social media since 2018. The same men were paraded around as heroes in Amhara Regional Government meetings and conferences.
Each one became hunters of what the Prime Minister called ‘‘ye ken jib’’ (daytime hyenas).
I visited Tigray during the elections. No one was harassing non-Tigrayans. To the contrary, the people would speak to you in their broken Amharic if they felt like you were struggling with Tigrigna – it is our culture to welcome guests. No hate was sung against innocent people. They would criticize Abiy, but they saw criticizing a politician as a right. I was pleasantly surprised by the political knowledge of the average Tigrayan and their ability to separate people and governments.
The world turned upside down right before our eyes
The war on Tigray broke out on November 4, 2020.
People in Addis Ababa began voicing their support for the war. Our friends, our neighbors, and our co-workers. All of them were happy to hear a war being waged on Tigray.
“People in Addis Ababa began voicing their support for the war. Our friends, our neighbors, and our co-workers. All of them were happy to hear a war being waged on Tigray.”
They posted and shared their support of the war on social media outlets. To my surprise, those who had lived and worked in Tigray, or those with better exposure to the people of Tigray than myself, were cheering for the destruction of Tigrayan cities.
Our Instagram friends who had enjoyed watching what we had had for breakfast, lunch and dinner muted us when we started speaking out against war.
Every complaint was followed by whataboutism. Friends were no longer allies. People stopped asking questions and just started to watch and see how the war would play out.
Addis Ababa police raided Tigrayan homes. Some Tigrayans were being taken to the police station and disappearing for days. My aunt was held hostage by the police for no apparent reason.
We were nervous to go to the airport even as civilians. We began mocking each other by looking at each other’s’ ID’s to see if we could be identified by our last names and thrown in jail. Tigrayans usually have distinct names that could be identified easily. We asked ourselves if we would lie and say we were not Tigrayans. Would we proudly say we were Tigrayans and risk prison?
We could not reach loved ones in Tigray. But news about airstrikes and door to door killings in Tigray were common. Everyone was in the dark and it only kept getting darker.
Constant anxiety and panic attacks. We received phone calls from family members abroad with uncontrollable tears. They somehow knew our pain.
Police officers were telling people to identify Tigrayans coming back from Mekelle. Our neighbors called our children “little juntas” and their friends were told not to hang out with Tigrayans. The non-Tigrayan people we once considered ours turned against us.
Our non-Tigrayan mother and father in-laws started denying the atrocities happening inside of Tigray, forgetting that we are family. They always asserted: “In the end, Tigrayans will be Tigrayans.” They seemed to be disappointed by the fact that we didn’t want to see another war.
My coworkers couldn’t hold in their excitement to go cheer for war on Tigray. Those who grieved for the innocent lives during the protests that followed the 2005 election results happily accepted that Tigrayan youth (our brothers and sisters) could be collateral damage in the name of politics.
All the while, Tigrayans in Ethiopia and across the globe were worried about their loved ones in Tigray and in Addis Ababa. My family has already lost three distant cousins. A few family members in the ENDF are missing after being taken out for questioning and a few more are seeking refuge in Sudan.
Humanity slowly disappeared into thin air. The Ethiopians who in the past would stand by to make sure you have your tire changed, or gather to help with anything, turned into strangers who wished you ill.
Our Ethiopian “friends” chose to ignore our suffering. They never asked about our relatives in Tigray. At birthday celebrations, they got mad at us for not laughing as much, or for acting “oddly.”
It became clear. They never liked our Tigrayan identity. Such dislike did not develop in the past thirty years; it was a culturally and socially constructed hate that goes back for generations.
Conversations with friends in Addis Ababa have become different — shallow, tasteless, meaningless. They want Tigrayans to denounce their Tigrayan roots. Tigrayans’ response: “Watch me protect it with all I have got.”
In the end…
I am Tigrayan. No amount of hate or fear can diminish that part of my identity. I, like many others raised in Addis Ababa, didn’t grow up romanticizing living in Tigray.
Since the war began, I have made every effort to learn about Tigray’s history and its people. There is nothing that I am ashamed of.
In fact, I have found a cause greater than myself. A cause to protect my heritage and my identity. A cause to resist forced assimilation and to rebuild Tigray.
My last message is to fellow ESAT followers. I would like you to to understand that:
A country is not an idea, it is the people in it.
Invasion is not liberation. Under Abiy Ahmed, Ethiopia has allowed Eritrea to invade Tigrayan lands.
War kills both sides, not just the minority group.
War has rules. You cannot rape, kill civilians, and demolish religious sites, universities or factories.
Justice does not equal vengeance.
Having an election should always be encouraged. It should never be a crime, especially when the constitution allows for it.
The EPRDF is not the TPLF. Four coalition parties led the country under the EPRDF. Oppression under the EPRDF should never be associated with Tigrayans or Tigray.
Tigray will prevail. History will judge those who are supporting the genocidal war.
Betty – Omna Tigray External Contributor April 2021
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.
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.
