The Eviction

It's been a day since it happened, and we've been in our car ever since. It all happened so suddenly. The war in Tigray caused Biniam, my dad, to lose his job, because he's from Tigray, despite working for the Ethiopian government before his became a software engineer for the company Ethio Telecom. We've barely been able to pay the rent for our home since, and a week ago, it happened.

I came home from school and remember seeing the boxes piled up outside, and my parents loading them onto our Toyota.

"What's happened?" I asked, rushing toward my parents. "Why are we leaving?"
"We can't pay the rent anymore," said my mom, Tigist, who was close to tears at this point. "I've pleaded with the landlord to give us some more time, but they refused. We have to go now Andenet."

That brings us to the present: I've just woken up in the car and looked around. We're near Mt. Entoto now. It's almost noon, most likely. We're less than a mile away from Addis but I miss it already. The tall buildings, the billboards, the sound of cars rushing by on Bole Road, the smell of exhaust, and everything else. I miss it all.

We stop at a couple of houses, but nobody seems to have any space for us. I wonder what would happen if we were let in. Who would let us in? Why? Is it even possible? I imagine a large, lavish hotel room, with room service, all for free. I dispel the thought. I don't want to get any false expectations. I don't want to get my hopes up at all.

It's been an hour or so, and my parents stop the car. I've lost all hope. Were not going to find shelter.

We're right in front of a small group of houses, each house being the size of a room, maybe a bit bigger. My dad comes back to the car, with a smile on his face.

"Get your stuff," he says.

"Why?" I ask.

"We've been let in. The owner's name is Ayelu, he says he has just enough room for us."
We head over to one of the houses. It's the smallest, but then again, I suppose it's better than nothing at all. New and clean white gabis are laid on the floor for anyone sleeping on the floor, and there's one bed, which, like the house, is quite small.

"Andenet, you can take the bed, we can sleep on the floor," said Tigist.

"There's barely enough room for the two of you," I argue.

"We can fit."

"If you say so."

She was right. Somehow, as if the room had gotten larger, they were able to fit. I suppose the room wasn't that bad after all.

As I placed down my watch, one of the few belongings I was able to take from our house before the eviction, I pondered the reasons for Ayelu letting us in. Is he going to use us for a demonic ritual? Is he going to kill us and eat us? Will he use us as fish bait? And considering that nobody else let us in, all of those options are equally plausible.

It's around 5 now, and Ayelu finished preparing dinner. Before we eat, he approaches me. It is then that I hope for the best and pray I don't become a sacrificial child in the middle of an ancient demonic cult.

"What's your name?" he asks.

"Andenet," I responded.

"Where do you come from? Which region of Ethiopia?"

"My mom and I come from Addis, but my dad's from Tigray. It's why he lost his job which ended up costing us our home."

"Interesting. I come from Gambella. I moved here after the revolution. I figured I'd be safer closer to the capital."

It's then that I realize how old he is. His beard is a light grey, so light that I almost didn't see it at first. I also see the kindness he possesses, as if he's been through this and many other situations similar to ours. Perhaps today isn't the day I'm sacrificed in a cannibalistic ceremony.

After my conversation, I realize that there's another reason besides being used as fish bait for being let in. It reminds me of that time when my dad got a job. It was before the war, so he was just another person applying for the job. There was no reason to hire him or turn him down just by reading his resume. It depended on the other people applying, and there were more qualified applicants.

I remember him saying, "He took a chance on me, and I won't let him down!"

Maybe this is similar. What if Ayelu was just taking a chance on us? He was taking a chance on us, knowing that we would never give up on trying to make an impact on the world. And I don't plan to, because I know if we don't stop trying, we can make it to a larger house, without rent, and no fear of eviction, back in Addis. So, I won't let Ayelu down.