by
Ying-Yu Alicia Chen

Recorded:
2 August 2018

Published:
20 June 2021

“Come in, welcome to our place,” says Ezana. It was 2 August 2018 when he welcomed us into his apartment with a grin. He is rangy, elegant, speaking in a gentle voice.

He shared the apartment with three other Eritrean men near the harbor in Malta. It had  just two bedrooms and a living room, simple. It does not have many items other than furniture, as if they could be ready to pick up and leave any time.

The incandescent lighting is faint. There is mold eating away at the walls from the briny, Mediterranean humidity. With less than two pairs of cutlery, it looks like a place of transience, not a long-term space, much less a home. A white sofa cover with floral braids is the only decoration. A one-foot balcony with socks draped over and drying is where the sunlight sometimes shines in. But it is spacious and comfortable for the time being.

Only one photo of his youngest sister in a plaid shirt and jeans leaving on the mirror of his dressing table can remind him of the home he once had. To date, he hasn’t seen his sister for almost a decade.

He has been waiting to relocate to another place after applying for resettlement to the U.S five years ago, dreaming of pursuing an education in a free nation. Before becoming a refugee in Malta, Ezana studied Physics and was an English teacher in Eritrea. He dreamt of being a historian, an anthropologist, or a linguist.

Anger toward the regime is what motivates him to continue his study. Or more aptly, studying hard is the only way that allows him an escape from Eritrea’s terrifying authoritarian regime and from being a fighter for the state.

“I am lucky to be in Malta, at least [there are] no wars and deaths here,” he said. He cherished that he was able to survive.

In 2013 when there was an influx of boats arriving on the island, Malta’s detention centers were overflowing. He was asked to leave the detention center after obtaining a 5-month visa which granted him the right to work.

He first worked as an interpreter for the International Organization for Migration (IOM) for a year until he secured a full-time job as an electrician for a construction company. It paid a minimum wage of 428 euros per month. He changed jobs a few times after that, while he took a nursing course. He had no background in nursing before, but he is now a professional healthcare worker at the hospital in Malta, looking after the sick and the elderly.

His eyes sparkled while we spoke, but there was an underlying frustration to his tone. The relatively easy life in Malta against what he had been through in his life before this is still not easy to reconcile.

At the height of the pandemic, we dropped him a message to check in, hoping he is safe and well. We had one call after another, until it had been a total of 10-hours of talking.


A Son of a Fighter
“I was living in a stateless region. My father fought against Ethiopian soldiers. I was lucky enough to see him twice during my childhood. Some fighters would never come back.”

Even before he was a refugee, his living conditions weren’t far off from what one might expect at a refugee camp. There was not sufficient clean water, enough food to eat, nor  stable electricity. Statelessness defined his childhood so it was something he understood  before he became an actual refugee later.

He only knew he was a son of a fighter for the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF). Thousands of families around him were all trained to become fighters by those fighters before them in their own families.

Ezana had no permanent address. Families of fighters were always in search of a safe place to live. Ethiopian soldiers would invade his camp almost every week. Their makeshift study spots were shifted whenever bombing ceased.

He never learned math or science like the average school kid, instead, he was taught political propaganda that propped up the state. He learned how to be loyal to Eritrea against Ethiopia. Older children were sent to fighter training after completing courses in the camp, “We had no other option,” said Ezana.

He was still a kid in the camp in 1992 when the nation gained its independence from Ethiopia. If he were one or two years older, he would already be a fighter. For many it seemed to be a time of celebration.


Real Color of the Regime
“We thought Eritrea would be a free state liberated from a three-decade war, but it ended up [becoming] a worse country than Ethiopian colonial governance in every aspect. They are trying to suffocate our voices, our freedom.”

Ezana has passion for English and social science. Sometimes his school was suspended and he would be forced to leave home due to border conflicts with Ethiopia. When peaceful periods resumed he was able to return to school. But he didn’t expect his freedom would last for just seven more years.

Ezana had a relatively peaceful period in the seven years after independence. There were still periodic suspensions of school when border clashes would erupt with Ethiopia.

Until 2000, Eritrea constantly teetered on the brink of war with Ethiopia. Eritrea’s first and current President since the country’s independence in 1993, Isaias Afwerki, of Eritrea, revealed his true character as a brutal dictator.

His state repression and indefinite military conscription was instituted to silence dissent. Most who have tried to speak out for democracy or freedom have since been imprisoned or simply vanished. Now, marking one of the world’s most massive flux of people fleeing, this is changing.

Eritrea is nowadays known as Africa’s North Korea. The drive to flee his country may have been rooted in Ezana’s blood, but it was not easy to leave.

“Growing up and having a better life? We don’t have that. What we want is just to run away. We want to escape from this country, from the system. Run, run, run,” he said, “We just want to run away. The only way to save ourselves is to escape.”


Study to Escape the Military
Ezana, like all Eritreans, male or female, was forced to go to SAWA, a military training center after finishing twelfth grade.

“It was a disaster,” he said about it. They would rise at 6:00a.m. and line up in a row. The military chief would order them to run for three hours under the scorching sun. They spent more time training than sitting in class.

“Every day I ask myself: aren’t we students? What am I doing here? Being bullshitted, beaten, and treated like an animal, and there is nothing good for our country and the next generations.” Ezana said many students had committed suicide.

The only way to escape military conscription in Eritrea is to pass the country's college entrance exam just as his older brother did, finally enrolling in college and becoming an employee at a hospital. Ezana had been secretly studying in bed after hours for three years, praying that he could leave such, as well.

“The anger became an encouragement to study. At that time, it was the only visible way to escape from the system. In spite of confronting torture and many terrifying things in the center, I never stopped studying because I hate the military so, so much,” Ezana said. “Even now, when I see a soldier wearing a military uniform, it disgusts me.”

He finally did obtain the high grade to meet college entrance requirements, in fact, higher than it. He did best in English, his passion. He may have passed, but those who failed the exam would not be as lucky.

In the summer of 2004, just one day after the exam results were released, those who failed the exam began crossing the border to Ethiopia. Some succeeded, some died or were killed, and many were caught by the military, being beaten and tortured. The worst part was that the military forced them to retake military training at SAWA.

Prison-like College
Ezana escaped being a fighter but still could not access much freedom either.

What frustrated him most was that he and his fellow survivors of SAWA were not only deprived of freedom of speech, but freedom of thought too.

The college had soldiers everywhere to keep watch over their behavior, movement and even their mindsets. They would line up in order to get meals, to march on campus, and for permission to go outside merely to buy basic necessities like stationery or notebooks. Students would be sent to a school prison if they violated any rules. Their only freedom was to follow.

It wasn’t in Ezana’s nature. “I was 17 and my major is Physics. I need to express my opinions,” he said. He was detained in a school prison multiple times, as were ten thousand other students. His crime was that he travelled to the nearest town to buy something to drink.

“Most students were terrified that soldiers would break into their mind and read their thoughts,” Ezana recalled with rage. “I can’t give up. We have to fight the system,” Ezana said.


Escape From the Real Prison
“I didn’t realize the school prison is not a prison, until I experienced the worst.”

Even with the constant threat of imprisonment he managed to graduate. Leaving the country remained on his mind. Three years later, he attempted to travel to his hometown near the Ethiopian and Sudanese border. His aunt lived there. He could use this space as a springboard to leave. There were unexpected check points though and he was intercepted by warriors with rifles demanding his documents. His travel document didn’t record the name of his hometown however, and he was arrested and brought to a detention center. They knew he was trying to flee the country.

“I don’t even want to talk about it” his voice trailed off. “Everything for me is just like it happened yesterday. I can remember almost every detail.”

He was imprisoned for a year.

There were four prisoners planning to escape who invited him to join. A prison guard collaborated with them in exchange for $10,000 Nakfa (about USD $270-300) each. The guard once served as a first-aid worker and could no longer bear the prison life either. On the planned day, they worked as usual. When night fell, the group hid behind trees in the mountains until 9:00p.m.

Five prisoners including Ezana followed the security guard into the city. It would normally be impossible to pass the checkpoints without being intercepted. Today they were lucky. There was no one in sight. He believes the guard not only knew the route to escape, but had asked others he knew to distract soldiers at the checkpoints. After ten hours on foot, he reached his aunt’s house.

He didn’t tell his aunt he was coming, but when he arrived the knowing shock on her face said everything.

“I only called my dad and asked him to prepare $60,000 Nakfa (about USD 3,000 at the time). I told him, ‘If you receive my call, it means I have succeeded in leaving the prison and am at my aunt's place.’”

It was the evening of February 16, 2011. The next day, he left for Sudan with the prison guard, with the money from his father in his pocket.

Every year, every day, he heard about people leaving. Now it was his turn. This was his life before becoming a refugee in Sudan, Libya and now in Malta.

The first time we met, Ezana brought us to an Eritrean restaurant in Malta where he hung out with his friends. He introduced us to his country’s cuisine. Tsebhi, or small portions of stews, was on top of a large piece of Taita, a typical sourdough bread that appears in everyday family meals. We ate with our right hand, using  Taita to mop up the stew and vegetables on our plate. He told us this is the place where they can get a real taste of home.

He understands the feeling of being displaced, so together with his friends and neighbors he  has established an informal group for the Eritrean community. They provide support for newcomers in hopes that they too feel less alone.

Ezana is an amazing human being.

Read Ezana’s original Journey Story >