Yilma Tafere Tasew was born in Ethiopia. He was arrested and held in prison for being a sympathiser of the opposition political party. In 1991 he fled his country, angry at the constant violation of human rights and fearing for his life. He struggled to survive in refugee camps in Kenya for eight years. He has written of the first camp he lived in: ‘Malaria, typhoid and hunger killed people every day. Unknown armed gangs in the bush often killed refugees. You heard guns firing every night and the sound of munitions exploding in the camp. You didn’t know what would happen from one day to the next.’ In late 1999, he arrived as a refugee in New Zealand. Yilma Tafere Tasew will read from his collection of poetry Agonising Wounds, which was published by the New Zealand Refugee and Migrant Service in 2001. In the words of fellow poet Lewis Scott, Yilma is one of those poets ‘who write because they have seen, felt, lived, smelled, eaten and swallowed the ugliness and fire that humankind can inflict upon it own.’
Can You Tell Me?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
How my Mum is doing? Is Mum hungry
Thirsty? Sick? In agony? Naked?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
Our small cottage
Is it strong like before, or tilting?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
Is my Mum’s hair full of grey?
Her face wrinkled?
Strong enough to collect firewood?
Has she planted cabbage, pumpkins, potato like before?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
Is my brother alive
Who was forced to join the army ‘National Service’?
Is my sister who eloped coming back to visit Mum?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
What’s my Mother’s income?
Is she brewing local liqueur, beer, ‘Tela Arecki’?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
Our neighbours,
Emama Fatuma, Ababa Tolcha
Emama Aselefech, Ababa Zerayie
The rest, are they alive or dead?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
The green fertile field where I grew up
Playing, looking after cattle
Shaded by acacia trees
Does it exist?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
The attractive rivers of the village
Springs: Tegona, Tercha, Dekisa, Melebo
Are they really flowing like before?
Across the village, towards uneasy distance
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
Is Alamirew still there with his ‘Washint’
Entertaining the village
Or deceased, like my uncle?
And the other strong, sentimental people of the village?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
Are there social gatherings?
Evening campfires?
Coffee ceremonies? Story telling?
That harmony – is it there?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
The folklore, the riddles, the games I played
With friends of childhood
Are they in existence?
Or are they replaced by new ‘Play Games’?
By federalism, democracy, tribalism
Being imposed on the villagers to be played
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
Are people punished who don’t play this ‘new game’?
Like before, like the time of ‘fashion play?
‘Socialism – Communism’
Are they arrested, killed?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
Do you know if Mum is alive or dead?
Joined my father?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
Do you know Mum’s feeling about me?
Her flesh, blood, elder son
Her hope, support when she ‘retired’
Whose name is changed in time
‘REFUGEE’
Who expects charity of twelve beans?
Two weeks rationing
Who is pushed to the edge of this planet?
Who is buried alive under the sandy desert?
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
Whatever happened to Mum?
Sadness or joy? Tell me!
Let me know, I am dying to know
But no energy for grief, no drop of energy
Good to know, to burn to ash
Knowing, Burning! Burning, knowing!
For ‘normal’ life
Knowing is a choice for refugees
To throw away
Dry leaf. Dry stream of draining life
Tear one chapter of hope
Destroy every time
To cool down the desert heat
Save haemoglobin
Of last breath
No shock! No surprise!
All feelings drained away
By the scorching sun
Been long
Since I drained
The shining moon
Surrounded, guarded by twinkling stars
Can you tell me?
CAN YOU TELL ME!
CAN YOU TELL ME!
CAN YOU TELL ME!
WHAT IS IT?
A colourless
Paint,
A distance between
You and me
* * *
What is it?
A snow
Which can’t melt
Hindering us
How? Why?
It penetrates,
Separating us
Has gone up
Beyond our
Consciousness
* * *
What is it?
A vacuum
Which seems
A wall
For us
Long distance
Boundary
* * *
What is it?
I yearn to hold, hug
You,
You strive to reach
me,
A shroud
In the middle
Blocking the air
On top of our
Heads
* * *
What is it?
The shroud which covered
The massacre
Of our people
Which buried
us alive
* * *
What is it?
A cup of death
Which heroes drink
Within a pool.
Or a poison
To execute us
Alive
Once and for all
To bury us
In our soil
Leaving us
Only with small
Breath
* * *
What is it?
Their cup of
Luxury
On our suffering
Useless lives
Tarmac,
A cloud which
Can’t give us
Rain.
* * *
What is it?
A ghost from
Our people
Hunting us
Adding salt
To our wounds,
Injuries.
* * *
What is it?
Goddamned hermit
Who makes us
Fight, kill
Massacre
each other.
* * *
What is it?
Their instrument
To reach us
To find out
From us
Undiscovered agony
Misery
Which can bring
Us more suffering
Than this.
* * *
What is it?
Some kind of game
Which they play
To control our
Consciousness, thinking
To determine our
Fate,
To weaken us,
To destroy us.
* * *
What is it?
Something beyond
Comprehension,
Untouchable
Unreachable
Being stagnant
Between us,
For centuries.
* * *
What is it?
A glass wall
Unbreakable,
Making us
Melt down
With broken heart
At home,
In exile diaspora.
* * *
What is it?
Evil spirit
Which make us
Kill each other
Create long lasting
Hatracy
Tribal war
Unresolved conflict
Evil spirit
Laugh, makes fun
On our suffering,
Catalyst who coaches
The show,
The tragedy of
Our drama.
* * *
What is it?
The curse our
Ancestors
Who lived in
Harmony
Who have guts
Vile
To avoid evil,
To punish us
For not doing
What they have
Done,
Keeping on track
Human integrity.
* * *
What is it?
The mythology behind
All this
What does this
Signify?
What does this
Represent?
Which philosophy,
Ideology?
A picture more than
A million words,
This puzzle
Game of
Stupid life!!!
What is it?
What is it?
What is it?
Wellington, New Zealand
25 April 2003
© Yilma Tafere Tasew
2003
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