The Interrogator I knew.

“The patriot’s blood is the seed of Freedom’s tree.”  ~Thomas Campbell

It was in 2005 after the election. She was happy and am sad. She was happy because her father got a promotion that she didn’t mentioned, And I was happy too,for the reason that she was happy. A week to the final exam we had this revision class, As I sat there in civics class, I stared at my girl who sit next to me. She was my so called “best friend”. I stared at her long, silky hair, and wished she was mine. But she didn’t notice me like that, and I knew it. Oh ! Finally, “the teacher…”  was discoursing about something that didn’t work in our country. Let me tell you what it was. He said ” school and religious organizations are secular.”

I know this is everybody’s wish too. And Unfortunately, my brain wakes me up with a single fact.During the time of the election  I remember he wore all the time a ‘bee’ picture printed  white T-shirt/logo of EPRDF/.I don’t have an option, I raise my hand and ask him just like this; “Teacher, I recall you used to wear the white T-shirt with a bee on it.so what was that action? Does it signify our schools are free from political interventions and again the pop Mr. Paul…” I can see him in a distance. ya, he begun to change, his face becomes darker and his eyes turns in to red and tries not to look in my side… sure,the pop was discoursing about Weyanes….he can’t tolerate me. he run towards my direction I run towards the door.

I am standing outside the class room. Waiting for my queen, Oh!… there she is coming. Her face was changed; she looks fierce and unpleasant on what I did. I walk with her without even staring at her. a long silence moment. After a while, showing uncertainty, she asked me if my political view was against the government.
I try not to offend her and just say:“Off course not!” she seems happy. We shake hands.It was a warm lovely and soft hand. I still have it in my mind. I feel it.

Sophomore class/2nd year/

We were unlucky that we choose different streams to study. She has this long ambition of being a politician. she want to study political science.Unfortunately, her Grade was not in a position to give her that department. I get confused a little bit. To day is the second day since we start  school.she is sitting next to me in the same class. I feel happy again because she is here with me.

She had missed a lecture about “Democracy in Ethiopia.” She ask me to give her the notes. With smile, I handed them to her. She said “thanks” and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I was shocked inside, I wanted to tell her, I want her to know that I don’t want to be just friends, I love her but I’m just too shy, and I don’t know why.

One lovely night I ask her to hang out with some friends. “I love the idea. where is it going to be?”

“In kasanchys”

“Hotel? ” she seems curious.

“I will check on that. I am sure you would love it. it would give us to discuss some politics.” I was trying to look more  interested. But i was giving up on principles and practicalities of our politics.

turning in to her dormitory she mumbled “Hah…we will see. but one thing, don’t forget  to bring what I like.” I agree with happiness.

Third Year

The phone rang. I pick it up. On the other end, it was her. She was in tears, muttering on and on about how an incident happened on some Christian groups in Southern part of Ethiopia had broken her heart. She asked me to come over because she didn’t want to be alone, and so I did. As I sat next to her on the sofa, I stared at her soft eyes, wishing she was mine. She pushes the CD player and played one movie recorded about that massacre. It was very horrible. I began to cry. she joined me.her sorrow was deep.

After an hour, her father joins us. he dont seem happy to see me there. he and I had got differences but we dont handle it through discussion.

Years After in 2012 I ended up in a prison called Ma’ekelawi for reporting a news about the North African revolution and waking up Ethiopian youth. one night  two muscled guards came to my room and took me for further investigation . I still remember it, In that tiny room they had a big camera pointing towards my direction. They just bit me and warn me to testify on others and to beg mercy from the government. Iwas bitten to death , have blacked out for a couple of times ,chocked and come alive with fainted body.

Finally the expected interrogator has arrived to the room. I can see her from where I sat . I was expecting a male interrogator. Luckily, the secret service agent entered in that room was the girl whom I knew five  years before. We were lovers in spirit then ,may be now we are enemy’s with ideas. I don’t hate her. I still have her love inside my-blood.  when she begun her investigation I was hoping that she will remember me. But she  don’t seems she knows me. I guess she noticed something, hah….because of the torture I was messed up .I doubt even my mother could remembered my face let alone her.

By Abby Minda MT

Contact the writer abby@maledatimes.com