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Father’s Day Horse Dad Scan For Payment Shirt, hoodie, tank top
The very next January, the traditional month for weddings in Eritrea, my mother took me to see a nephew getting married in the country. Solomon came along. They started arguing when they thought I was sleeping.
I heard Solomon say, “What if she runs away? What if she decides to join the struggle? That’s what the young are doing now.”
“Impossible. What can she do? She’s afraid even to go outside by herself.” I had never heard my mother speak so dismissively about me.
The wedding preparations amazed me. I had never seen so many people, especially young people, dressed so beautifully, looking so strong and helping each other. They helped my aunt move everything around, set up a huge tent, cut wood—whatever she needed. I had never seen such community spirit before. It changed my life. Everyone shared in whatever there was: laughter and joy, pain and struggle. They were ready to work together. I could tell that a lot of the guys were fighters by their khaki shorts and Milanos, those short-sleeved shirts made in Italy that factory workers wore, too.
I saw some cute girls standing with the fighters and asked my cousin, “What are those girls doing with those guys?”
“Algu,” he answered with a laugh, “are you afraid they will rape them? They know they would die if they did. They’re so scared of the law, they might as well be eunuchs.”
Embarrassed, I watched the men dance, never letting go of their machine guns and rifles and wearing belts of ammunition, too. The song they danced to and sang along with praised a girl who carried a child instead of a gun.
She carried a gunBut she needs it no moreFull blooded and brown,She’s won the war— A lion with her cubWho grows with her love!