THE CHILDREN OF LAKE TANA

by Pius NGANDU Nkashama

translated by Jimi Yuma and Robert Levine

I. The Blue Waters of the Lake

At the heart of eternal Ethiopia, wedged in between high mountains, the Guana and the Amedamit, lake Tana spreads out.

Its waters have created a river -- the blue Nile -- which descends from Tississat and Gilgel Abbai, flowing past the Goddebe into the Gondar. Then it braves the deserts of Sudan, before bravely crossing the cliffs along Assouan. Then it floods the twists and turns of Zazagig and Tantah in Egypt. From the time of the Pharaohs until the present.

All around the lake sanctuaries have been built over thousands of years, testifying to the history of successive Ethiopean empires..

Tesnaye Habte is the child of Tana. The castle in which he was born is located on a promontory. From up there Tesnaye likes to contemplate the village in the valley; the view is strikingly beautiful. Up there he feels protected against earthly calamities.

Some oxen pass slowly along the tiny path. The rhythm of clogs on the stones makes a regular sound. They moo from time to time, when the little cowherd pushes them with his stick away from the tufts of watercress. His name is Sisaye Kebede. Tesnaye Habte knew the little cowherd well. He had seen him lead his two puny cows through the same tortuous paths so many times. He admires his strength and his patience, but his parents forbid him from speaking to the children of the valley.

Sometimes Tesnaye does not resist the desire to run behind the little cowherd. He hides in the bushes. But when he finds himself very near, he shows fear. Tesnaye observes Sisaye Habte with anguish, because the little cowherd is so thin! His sides protrude from his chest. Bones stick out from his naked shoulders. His eyeballs burn, giving off tawny glimmers. Tesnaye Habte would have spoken to him. One day he asks him clumsily:

"Why are you so skeleton-like? Are you sick"

"We are all thin in my house. My father, my mother, and my brothers. One of my sisters was so weak that she lay down one evening and did not get up. My parents picked her up, rolled her up in a mat, and took her very far away. They said that she went to rest with Egzi Habihaire, the powerful God who created everything visible."

"Will Egzi Habihaire give her back to you one day?"

"Oh yes, my mother insists that when she returns she will shine. With full cheeks and a belly as fat as a gourd. In the land to which she has gone she must live a marvelous life. Certainly!"

"Can you go and meet her if you wish?"

"Then I would not have to get up in the morning. Myself I would like it, but my father says that if I don't get up in the morning no one will be able to lead the cows to the field in my place. And the whole village will die."

Fog lifted in the valley. The waters of the lake no longer gleamed. They were so blue that they made one dizzy. The friends of Tesnaye Habte's father claimed that they were haunted. Monsters moved about in the depths and raised waves as high as hills. These phenomena had still never been seen. But lake Tana had always been a marvel of nature. Its waters moved with the gleaming of the sun. The deacons who aided the priests in ceremonies made their prophecies there about the world of the future. One had to cross oneself three times to approach it. To cleanse oneself of impure thoughts. To banish evil, uncleanness. To confess one's sins to obtain God's mercy. Shining images were reflected in the midst of water hyacinths and perfumed water lilies.

After bodies of half-starved children had been thrown into the waters giant shadows frighten those who linger until dusk. Tesnaye Habte does not dare go out to contemplate Tana when the sun goes down. Other deacons came from very far away, even from Lalibela, the mother city of all churches. They wear long black cassocks. On their heads they have turbans covered with pleats. Father says that they chant hymns for forty days and forty nights, to chase away the ghosts. Tesnaye Habte himself would like to be present at their procession. They will descend from the lofty cliffs into the shadows. They will brandish their patriarchal staffs, sacred mequomiya . They will wave the gold crosses, the meskalla. Everything will be lit by candles, with candlesticks, with sparks on their gold-buckled sandals. Tesnaye had always dreamt of the magnificence of solemn liturgies.

That evening the sun is blazing brilliantly. Tesnaye Habte feels that he is guilty: he spoke to Sisaye Kebede. He jumped over the walls of the ramparts formed by the eucalyptus of his family's territory. A noble lord, his father. Not long ago the Ras Tefari himself, the King of Kings, came up to their citadel, mounted on a white horse. His purple cape, a broad, shining gabi, gave him a majestic appearance. The chestnut horses of the imperial guard pranced and stamped. The squires and grooms of the court jostled each other along the hedges of poinciana and giant cactus. The wives of the courtiers paraded with grace. His father seemed huge to him, with his diadems and boots of shining leather.

Later on the forbidden mountain of Bahar Dar trembled on its roots. Suffering overwhelmed the universe. Sheep bleated sadly in the destroyed pens. Hairless mules munched interminably on tough peels. Clusters of green flies hung by their pus-filled eyelids.

The freed slaves and the baria sharecroppers scattered in the frenzy of the riots. Before fleeing they sacked the cowsheds and burned the millet-granges. The earth trembled under their feet.

Now the chateau seems an empty space. The walls have begun to break lengthwise. The slates are breaking and coming apart, then falling completely to pieces. The paneling is cracking on the ramps and chandeliers. The roofs crackled everywhere. The sparrows flew to the tops of the trees with lugubrious cawing And the waters of the lake had lost their clarity. The desolation propagated itself, as though joy had deserted the hearts of men.

Now the sun was cold under the feet of Tesnaye Habte.

The fabulous beasts of the legends which his old godmother had told him to put him to sleep no longer frightened him. An age was coming to an end to the dismay of the heavens.

Tesnaye Habte does not want to recall these sad memories. Something has him tightly in its grip.

The solitude perhaps. Lake Tana no longer pitches and tosses. Prodigious visions no longer rose from its depths, between the broad leaves of the water-lilies.

Without noticing it, Tesnaye Habte went down to the foot of the mountain. He was at some distance from the castle, which now seemed to him, on its impregnable promontory, heavy and fierce under a lifeless sun. Sisaye Kebede waits for him near a large rock. The earth here is red. Deep crevices streak the soil. A tumult arose from the hidden huts under the eucalyptus and acacias.

"Have you fled from your home, Tesnaye? If your parents knew that you have come this far they would punish you, you know."

"I don't want to go back up there, Sisaye Kebade. I am afraid!"

"Why are you afraid? You are the lord, the Gettà!"

"There are no more lords, Sisaye. Ethiopia has collapsed. The Empire has been broken up. Up there I often had the feeling that we were going to throw ourselves into the waters of the lake. Let us flee together from this cursed valley.

II. Some defenders of the national Empire

In front of the building that housed the tribunal of the province, loud-colored military trucks jam the entrance. A group of young people scramble about inside. Some low tables were set up near the gate. Soldiers in olive-gree combat outfits and camouflage, wearing red berets, are standing about idly. Some women are standing near the steps. Their faces are frightened. Some emaciated children were clinging to their faded silk dresses, which were embroidered with designs.

They do not speak.

Tesnaye Habte and Sisaye Kebede timidly approached the building. They do not dare to ask questions. Silhouettes move behind the windows. Heads appear and disappear almost simultaneously. Indistinct murmurs reach their ears. They were lulled by the crunching of dry leaves on the broken cobblestones. Suddenly a voice barks in their heads.

"You two over there, come here. Come on, don't try to flee. I've seen you, don't hide. No use. You, you two delinquents."

Tesnaye Habte and Sisaye Kebede understand that he is addressing them. Fear invades their bellies and their chests; their legs grow weak.

"Who? We are not from around here. We don't belong to the village."

"We come from the castle, up there on the cliff. On the top of the mountain."

"No discussion, dopey kids. Come forward! At the count of three I'll shoot. Do you understand?"

Tesnaye does not wait for what would follow. In his head only one idea: "To flee, to flee at all costs!" Sisaye Kebede follows him, shouting:

"Stop, Tesnaye, please. Don't run, I beg you. They will shoot us if you don't stop."

The soldier pursues them. He loads his rifle and closes the breech with a sinister click. The sound of feet is augmented by a deafening detonation. Tesnaye and Sisaye throw themselves on the ground. The soldier roars:

"First summons. At the second I aim for the legs, my little boys. So, are you coming or must I go look for you?"

Tesnaye drags himself up on his bruised knees. He doesn't dare to cry. Sisaye holds his hand and helps him to get up. They face the soldier, who is looking at them with an insane smile. They are no longer trembling.

"Come closer, good-for nothings, you're exactly what we need. The country needs help, and there you are, dirty brats. You have become at this moment the defenders of the national Empire.

Ethiopia tikdem!

Sisaye stammered:

"Please, officer sir, have pity on us. We have done nothing wrong. We only wanted to see what was going on in the tribunal building. We did not know that it was forbidden."

"Just come forward, dirty little bastards. You are going to be able to speak to a real Officer, with stripes and even a big belly."

The soldier pushes them brutally with the butt of his rifle. They keep themselves from trembling.

Inside the building the benches have been moved aside. Young men of their age form two lines in front of the low tables around which army officers are seated. They are recognizable by their round shoulders and arrogant smiles. The silence is painful. The soldier makes them march up to a small platform. He presents them to the recruiters with a cry of triumph.

"Two more volunteers, colonel. Now we have enough of them."

"Bring the registers. We finally have the quota set by the high command. Numbers, my friend, that's all that they want from us, numbers. After that they can go make a mess at Asmara or anywhere else."

"But where did you get these skeletons? These skinny things will drop dead in our laps. Our casern is not an old people's home. But in our position even Hottentot dwarfs would do!"

"Come forward, kids. Good for service. Put on the stamp, no more to be said. You are enlisted in battalion 112. Shock troops. And you will have some. That's all I want for you. You are to go immediately to the front. You will learn your artillery lessons on the battlefield, under machine-gun fire. If you come out alive, you will be lucky.

"All right, I'm worn out. Go on, they're leaving. That's enough for today. Let them be killed by the rebels of the F.E.L.P., I don't give a shit for them."

Their pitiless laughter!

The young men who had been conscripted are packed in at the back of the hall. A dark cave where salamanders crawl about. Smoke drifts among the spider webs. Unbuttoned soldiers give them glasses filled with alcohol. In a corner Tesnaye Habte and Sisaye Kebede hope that this unbearable farce will stop at this point. They embrace each other affectionally.

The doors open on a horrible twilight. Around them everything has become torrid.

III. Rebels

The big military trucks advanced painfully over the clay terrain. Prisoners behind opaque tarpaulin, the boys see nothing of what goes on outside. They suffocate in the heat. Boys collected in scattered villages. They do no know to what destination this unusual convoy is taking them. They haven't even seen that night has fallen behind the hills. Overcome by sleep, they roll one on top of the other to the rhythm of the cynical swaying of the vehicles.

Sisaye Kebede gripped the hand of Tesnaye Habte tightly. He felt it shiver in his hand, in the throes of an irrepressible panic. They were united in the same fear. How long had they been rolling towards the unknown? At times intensely disturbing images of the war assailed them. But Tesnay does not know if they are real, or are haunting him in a nightmare. He huddles close to Sisaye, looking for some reassurance.

All of a sudden unexpected explosions strike the vehicle, followed by the sounds of machine-gun f ire. Tesnaye was not well acquainted with the sounds of war. Up there on the mountain, in the clouds from heaven, sometimes he heard sounds like thunder. But all that was far away. Now the sound resonates hideously inside his ears. Tesnaye shuts his eyes, and his hands grope nervously for whatever he can seize in the dark.

The boys tumble against each other when they hit a violent bump. Red flames flare up everywhere. The truck leaves the road and rolls into a ravine. Explosions everywhere, curses, roaring, and groans of agony. And that smell of fire that stings the nostrils.

"Hold me tight, Sisaye. Don't leave me alone. Where are we? What's going to happen to us? Speak to me."

"Don't be afraid, Tesnaye. I am near you."

"Promise me that you will bring me back up there, on the mountain. I don't want to die in the bush., Sisaye Kebede."

"Up there we meet death every day. It is not terrible, you know. The eyes shut slowly. The finger stiffen a bit. The breath speeds up, then stops. Gently. And within yourself you see a great light.

Brilliant, dazzling. It does not burn. It soothes, it fills you with light. It envelops you and carries you off into the land of eternity. Afterwards you do not die at all. You fall asleep, because you know that you will never die again."

"Why then do children cry in the face of death? Listen to them, Sisaye"

"I saw my sister, before they rolled her up in her mat. A short spasm. She was beautiful, and so calm. She looked at us. Then she became drowsy. And in the morning…"

"Don't be so terrible, Sisaye Kebede. Up there in the citadel they kept us at a distance when death is about to strike. They brought us in only when the body was already coated with balm, with musk, and with benzoin. We don't have time to tremble or to be afraid."

Around them survivors are fleeing, hurtling down the slopes of the rocks. Large rocks roll

precipitously. Tesnaye Habte and Sisaye Kebede follow them, without knowing very much about where they were going. They were worn out with fatigue and stupor. More terrified shouting burst out when the vehicles burst into flames in a giant inferno. Sisaye understands.

"Rebels, Tesnaye. They were waiting for the convoy. An ambush. They are setting fire to the trucks."

"What's going to become of us?"

"Let's wait for day. Perhaps the sun will show us the way."

"We should move on."

"Let us follow a star, as though we are leading the cows in the field. There! That one there for example. It's more brilliant than the others. You know, in life, it's always necessary to choose a star. And to hang on to it tightly. Distracted for a moment, you lose your way."

"How did you come to know so many things? We, up there, we study the principles of Kébra Negast, the Book of the laws of Emperors. Throughout the day we recite the ancient codes, we hear the sacred legends of royal dynasties, and we discuss the timeless order of the stars in the universe."

"We also, you know. But our legends are so sad. They are filled with all of the abominations of the world. Famine, sickness. The forces of the sky are unloosed and crush us. They crush us into misery. Then we fight, our fists tightened. But one day nothing remains for us but to stretch out in the dust. To wait for peace to descend and restore us completely."

"Your voice is sad. Is it because of all the death around us?"

"We have always dreamed of the universe beyond, without compassion. On the other side of the night, when the horizon fades, to liberate a great flash of light. Marvelous things. Delights that no one has yet suspected. The first happiness.

The beatitude of the happy is there. Melodious songs. The choirs of angels and of seraphims. In death no suffering can reach us,"

Tesnaye Habte knit his eyebrows.

"Say no more, Sisaye."

"You too, rest now. Tomorrow the road will be long. We are all alone now."

The explosions have stopped. The cracklings of the fire make themselves heard. Crawlings in the bushes. Sudden lights which twinkle. They want to keep their eyes open in the night.

It is in this position that the light of the sun surprises them. The shadows disappear in an ordinary morning, with muddy colors. They reveal a strange country. The mountains have disappeared. Ochre sand stretches out to infinity.

A sound that gows louder makes them jump up. A military jeep hurtles down the slope in a cloud of dust. Tesnaye and Sisaye saw only the same green olive uniforms, the dirty helmets of soldiers. Then the hideous mouth of a large rifle which spits fire. They did not have the time to react.

Tesnaye Habte fell heavily, holding back a groan. A burning sensation bit him in the thigh. He does not know if he is dying from it, or if he is only wounded. Sisaye Kebede throws himself on top of him to shelter him. The jeep vanishes in a whirl of dust, as if it had never existed. The army's rejects and the debris of the deserters flee from it. They sow death randomly in their rambling. They have the empty look of fugitives who no longer have a land.

Tesnaye and Sisaye stagger to their feet. They continue to hold each other's hand.

IV. An extravagant cortège

Tesnaye's wound no longer bleeds. His thigh is very painful, but the bullet did not get near the bone.

Tesnaye and Sisaye see them the moment that they come out of the small woods. They form an extravagant cortège. They seem to come from a lost planet. The men move forward with fitful movements, as though they were walking on fragile objects. They spread their arms to keep a precarious balance. They inflate their cheeks. They breath the morning air painfully. The women follow them with difficulty. Their clothing, spotted with mud, cling to their bodies. Some of them carry children on their backs. With wicker-baskets and with loads on their shoulder-blades. The sound of their feet in the sand is sad to hear.

Some young boys make up the rear-guard of the caravan of refugees. They are so thin that they do not have the strength to lift their feet to walk. Their eyes are sunk into their sockets. Frightening traces of a series of famines, and of an exhausting march from the confines of the universe.

The caravan wanders haphazardly along roads and paths. Survivors of atrocious wars, fleeing from deadly misery. With their own eyes they saw the world go to pieces, and tumble into the void of violence. They clutched life because death had spared them. They fought not only with their feet and their fists, but by breathing and watching.

Because they are not yet dead they live, or they survive, in the illusion of themselves.

Tesnaye Habte and Sisaye Kebede fall into step with them, without asking any questions. They find themselves taken up in the vertiginous wandering. Tesnaye is choking with grief. Blood has coagulated on his clothing. He pulls his wounded leg along with a desperate effort. He questions Sisaye.

"Can men survive such suffering?"

"They have passed the stage of suffering. They are no more than moving bodies."

"To what country do they belong?"

"Their country is a vast horizon which never ends. Their landscape is unlimited, because it stretches out to the spaces of dream. They have abolished the frontiers. All the frontiers imposed by the line of the horizon."

A radiant sun hoisted itself finally over the ridges of the mountains. It is unbearably white. Instinctually, with one accord the caravan of exiles moves off the road. The women take the weights off their backs. They collapse onto the ground. The men move away, wobbling like drunkards. They sit in a circle under a bush with thick foliage. Everything takes place as though in a long dream. Some women take out of their baskets flour cakes wrapped in a viscous honey that sticks to the fingers. The children hold out their hands. Tesnaye and Sisaye receive their share from the hand of an indifferent stranger. They all eat in silence.

Suddenly a voice is raised in the burning air. A song at the border between prayer and sob. A lamentation which recalls joy and pain, evokes life and death. The woman sings words of courage and hope. Everyone moves in tightly around her, to hear this melody which ties the living to those who are going to be born.

The earth is my home and she moves in my breast

the cry of the child born on the sands heated by the sun

where then will my voice be able to swell like the wind in a storm

you my daughter do not look into the valley of scattered shadows

suffering is extinguished at the heart of the rainy season

death retreats at the breath of hope

take me by the hand child do not let me weep

I am your immortal mother I bring you to the strange country

The song is now taken up by all mouths. Young women accompany it by clapping their hands.

The melody climbs and grows, like a wind in torment. The children sleep in the heat. Then insects are heard around the bushes. Birds with grey feathers hover above the acacias. The woman's song has awoken all of nature.

Tesnaye murmurs to himself: "This lamentation, I shall never forget it. This song brings to birth a new existence for me. Things transform themselves under my eyes. This song which comforts me will pursue me in my dreams. Never again shall I fear the waters of lake Tana."

They all get up, at once. No one makes a gesture to indicate where their path lies. Already they are marching with the same impassiveness they had before resting. But they look more serene. The children are sleeping on their mothers' backs, their heads bending. The baskets are lighter. What will they eat this evening?

V. The camp of Gondar

That night the convoy finishes by ending up in an unexpected camp. Young people dressed in brown uniforms come up to greet the refugees. They line them up in the central courtyard. A group appears with some files. They offer them glasses filled with fresh milk. They ask them questions without rushing them.

"Is there anyone among you who knows how to read and write? It would be an enormous help for us."

"I know how to read Amharique, and also a bit of Tigrinya," replies Tesnaye Habte.

Tesnaye takes some of the files on the table. A man of a certain age congratulates him and gives him a friendly tap on the shoulder.

"Very well, my boy. Now you are going to take charge of your companions. We have much work to do in camp. But you are wounded? What happened to you?"

"It's nothing. A scratch."

"You call that a scratch. Your thigh has swollen terribly. You must have made an extraordinary effort to drag yourself this far."

A young girl in a white apron brings a container with rubbing alcohol and bandages. She places Tesnaye Habte's leg on a bench. The wound is frightening to look at. She rubs very hard, to remove the scabs. The wound is not very deep. She disinfects it with alcohol. Tesnaye clenches his jaws to prevent himself from roaring with pain. The nurse smiles at him.

"You are courageous. We shall get along well, you will see. In a week you will be cured and able to run. Now a little effort. There you are. All done. One last bandage. Tomorrow, at daybreak, you will show up for treatment. I shall set up a file for you. Go now to help drawing up the lists."

"Pardon me, Miss, can you tell me where we are?"

"Then you don't know, little toughie? Where then do you come from? Here you are in the camp of Gondar, the largest in Begemder. At the horizon shine the mountains of Simien, the most beautiful on earth. The Tigray! We welcome refugees from the entire area, even from Wollo. Famine has made such ravages in this area. Do you follow me? And your buddy, what does he do with his two hands?"

"Sisaye Kebede? My best friend. He has snatched me from the claws of death."

"In my village I keep watch over the cows. But I also rebuild huts. We too have known hunger. Our parents taught us to preserve grains"

"You fall well, my friend. What have you done to get this far?"

"False conscripts. The attack of the military convoy. We did not even have the time to put on our camouflage outfits. Dead, wounded whom the rebels finished off in the blaze. It was only yesterday. But it is as though we marched for a thousand years."

Tesnaye is radiant.

"I shall never again see the mountains of Zaghié. Nor the blue waters of Tana."

"Here, Tesnaye Habte, we shall remake another universe. This camp will be our eternal mountain. We shall beat with our fists until the land will become as blue as lake Tana. Me too, I shall learn with you to read and to write. You will teach me, and me, I shall show you how to overcome fear."