One day in Mekelle
Just two years after the peace deal that ended the civil war, tensions in Ethiopia’s Tigray region are simmering.
The conflict in Ethiopia’s northern Tigray region was one of the deadliest wars of this century. Estimates vary, but as many as half a million people died in just two years. The civil war pitted forces loyal to Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed against those answering to Tigray’s regional leadership. It ended with a ceasefire in November 2022. But Tigray’s leaders are now divided between those who want to co-operate with the federal government and those who do not. These divisions could shatter a very fragile peace. In Tigray’s capital Mekelle, Zeywegih Leyti* describes what it feels like to wait for another war.
This morning, I wake up early, and I go to a nearby cafe for breakfast. Everyone is talking about politics.
Kalkidan, the cafe owner, says to me: “Hey, Zeywegih! What is happening? I can’t focus. Is it really that war will erupt again? Are we going to suffer again from drone raids? Shall I withdraw my money from the bank? What shall I do?”
Another customer, a middle-aged man, said: “All this should be a dream. In the past we fought with external enemies. Now with whom are we going to fight? If a single bullet is fired, it would be civil war.”
I don’t have any answers for them.
After eating my breakfast – fata, a spicy tomato stew, and coffee – I go to the bank to withdraw money for my sister’s wedding. It is full of other people withdrawing all their money. I line up and wait my turn.
Half an hour later, the bank guards inform us that there is no more cash in the branch, and we should wait until more arrives. I don’t feel like waiting.
The worry, the uncertainty, the fear: it all feels like what it felt like before the outbreak of the last war, in 2020. There were cash shortages then, too; and the price of food started to skyrocket.
Food is getting expensive again, especially teff, which we use to make injera. There are lines outside all the banks, but bank officials can’t explain why. They tell us that the banking system is down, or the ATMs are broken. No one is convinced.
From what we hear, it is the same all over Tigray. A friend called me from Adwa last month. “How is everything in Mekelle?” he said. “Here in Adwa, people are queuing in the banks to withdraw all their money.” He said that the situation is even worse in rural areas, where farmers are waiting outside cereal mills for weeks at a time.
As a Tigrayan freedom fighter who took up a gun for the cause of Tigray’s freedom, I was motivated by a sense of obligation to safeguard helpless Tigrayans, particularly farmers. My comrades and I made huge sacrifices and endured much pain for a cause we believed in. But I do not wish to return to a senseless war.
I don’t want to see history repeat itself. I lost many friends in the war. Thousands of women and girls were raped. I know some of them. Clinics and schools were destroyed and have yet to be rebuilt.
I remember everything vividly, to this day. The shadow of the war is everywhere. I hope for a future where peace prevails, where displaced people can return to their homes, where children attend school, and where health centres are able to provide medical services to those in need. A future where youth can work without the fear of war and conscription, without having to contemplate a perilous migration.
I wish for the people of Tigray to live their lives in peace, without fear.
That future feels far away. In the early evening, I go to Kebele 16, a bustling district in the centre of the city. I have coffee in a restaurant that doubles as a bingo hall. Young men sit next to me, debating their own futures.
“Are we bound for war?”
“Where shall we go to be safe?”
“This is not fair.”
Everyone is talking about the leadership rift between the old guard of the Tigrayan People’s Liberation Front and the interim administration, which was installed after the 2022 peace agreement.
There are rumours that the old guard is considering an alliance with Eritrea – the same Eritrea that sent its soldiers to kill and rape us in the last war.
Later that night, my father calls me and asks: “Are you coming home?” No, I say – I’ll see you tomorrow. He is also worried, and so is the rest of the family. We should all be talking about my sister’s wedding. Instead, the talk is of war.
I end the night with a walk up to Abreha Castle, a landmark on a hill overlooking the city. It is a picturesque spot: couples come here on romantic strolls, and parents bring their kids for an outing.
I see some young boys that I know. I overhear their conversation – they are talking about the same thing as everyone else. “I would never go to the cliffs to fight, whatever happened. I would rather die in the Mediterranean Sea and be fish food,” says one of them, whose name is Kiros.
No one wants to fight. We want to live without fear. May God bring peace to Mekelle and bless our elders. May He hear the voices of our youths. Peace for all the peoples of the world.