By Mangar Azuma aka The Lawlez YB excerpt from unpublished book “Child Of Revolution”,
Aug 17, 2021 — After miraculously surviving drowning in river Gilo western Ethiopia, we trekked on to Pochalla for respite with blisters on the soles of our feet. The unceremonious fall of Mengistu Haile Mariam regime rendered us helpless like convicts facing gallows in the hands of invading Ethiopian People Revolutionary Defense Front (EPRDF) of left wing ethnic rebel groups. Like a flock of sheep, we’re whipped out of the country with bullets.
Pochalla was a ghost town. Emaciated Jesh shabi can be seen loitering and scavenging for maize from the pounding mortars of Anyuak local community. War brings about starvation and death. We happened to be collateral in that proxy war for power. Edible creatures such as birds, dikdik and even fish seemed to have connived with the rebels to depose the then indomitable dictator out of the highest office in the land. The animals vanished with no trace leaving faint hearted child/ren like me to fend on Neem tree and set a perfect storm for petty crimes like stealing that operate unchecked. Disappearances of Anyuak goats became the norm of the day.
Mundukuru took wind of the mass exodus of Southerners back to their cradle land and unapologetically welcomed us with heavy aerial bombardments instead of flowers. Finding a bunker or a place to shield was hectic. It was during the rainy season and the whole area was converted to an open air defecation paradise making us susceptible to waterborne illness and land mines. Probabilities of stepping on a mine were very high compared to contracting the novel Covid19.
One gloomy cloudy day while I was massaging the back of my elongated head pondering on where to get Nyanya (baby word for food), I saw a dwarf man his skin glistening with sweat. He was dressed in tattered oversized khaki looking like he just killed Goliath and wore his class with a loudhailer strand strapped on his torso while holding the megaphone with his right hand to his huge junubi lips. He was screaming his lungs out.
“There’ll be an airfield clearing bukra for airdropping. Ratios of Janyjaro will be distributed there after subject to the size of the field cleared.”
That was the superb news ever for all and sundry. The following day, we converged at the airfield and the pieces of land allotted family by family were done hastily.
Within no time, we heard the deafening sound of an Antonov (An26) tearing through the air. We tilted up our heads to the sky and saw minute bundles of airdrop that can pass for biscuits falling from the sky. Memories of that life saving moment are afresh hitherto.
We walked home that day with one bag of beans. Mama Mary Riang was cooking ” Balila” for the entire family in a half-cut oil barrel and I was busy (beezy) cooking for myself in a small tin of Sardine hence the moniker YBeezy was born.
I can’t remember much of that ordeal but my stomach was bloated like a balloon accompanied by a bum grenade not mentioning running to and fro to answer unnecessary natural calls in the nearby bushes. It’s like another J1 dog fight taking place inside my tummy.
All these degrading natural phenomenon’s occurred at the airfield as we await our flight to Lokichoggio in full glare of stunned spectators. My crush Nyantet is one of them. Her soft palm landed a fake slap on my cheek to stop me from polluting the air. I almost jumped out of my dark skin. It was quite a show.
The author, Mangar Azuma, aka The Lawlez YB unpublished book “Child Of Revolution”, can be reached through email at azumilitary@gmail.comÂ
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