My initial memories of the regime change in Ethiopia are filled with memories of events that happened after Emperor Haile Selassie was dethroned. My sister was born in 1975, and that year was exceptional. Children of compatriots, Indian Teachers in Arbaminch would scare each other, stating that if we did not behave, Tefari Banti would arrive with his cohorts to take us to task! Things changed, and schools were closed for a whole year. We all had a great time that year, although the uncertainties of life did creep in!
Everything changed post-1975. The Dergue arrived, and they began to target all those who spoke against the revolution! There were stories of people who were targeted for speaking against the revolutionary government. Some of the stories about encounters with officials of the derge were funny enough because intellectuals talked about how they were given flying kicks, and they went flying into the air. Others were serious enough, stories about missing persons, knocks at 12:00 a.m., people going missing, and people being incarcerated in prison camps for training in the socialist ideology. All this while I was a little child getting into grips with the happenings.
And then came the Russian teachers and the Cuban veterinary doctors, and military advisors. My parents grew friendly with the Russian teachers, and my Dad and the Russian friends, Mr. Pastukh and his wife, became friends and went together to Lake Chamo to fish for Nile Perch. They sent the meat to the Russian Embassy in Addis Ababa, and the Russian Embassy rewarded them with Vodka and chocolates.
Post 1975, things happened very rapidly. Mengistu Hailemariam visited the Government school where I studied. Students were lined in rows, and we faced soldiers facing us with sten guns. He came nodding to us in his peak cap with the little red star, and I remember looking at a stern man gazing at us with a rather serious look. This was my first glimpse of a dictator who would rule the nation for a good fifteen years. I was a young child with an impressionable mind, and I wondered about what was going on in a country that was once a peaceful country.
Post 1975, classrooms had labels written large on the classroom walls, EPLF, EPRDF, and so on and I as a child did not know what they meant. Today as I look back at the past, I realise that these were organisations that were fighting against the Socialist Government. My parents finally decided that we had enough and so they decided to relocate to the capital city in 1982. My mother was appointed at the Ethiopia Tikdem school in Shola, Addis Ababa. The school had once been a palace of a minor member of the Royal Family.
My memories of life in Addis Ababa are mixed. However, I remember how my fellow students in grade twelve became despondent after they passed the grade 12 exam. I later learned that this was because they were forced to enrol in the military service. Many of them joined the military service, and they were sent to the battlefront to fight the rebels. They were cannon fodder, and many of them never returned. The military often pushed them into the warzone even as they hid behind tanks and artillery. They were no match for the fighters of the EPLF and the TPLF, who used guerrilla tactics that confounded the wisdom of the Russian advisors.
While in Addis Ababa, we finally reconnected with our Russian friends, Pastuckh and very, who were based in the town of Ambo. It was a joyful moment for my parents to meet with them while walking down the streets of Piassa. We welcomed Vera and Pastukh and housed them in our home in Piassa. At that time, we were staying on the topmost floor of the Mosvold building. Finally, in 1984, I shifted to India for my further studies.
In 1991, things changed dramatically. The rebels advanced into the capital city, and my parents were literally stranded in a country that was at war with itself. While cowering under the walls of the flat, they could hear the loud blast of the fuel dump being hit by explosives. The news was broadcast by major channels across the world. My brother and I were anxious about the well-being of our parents. We went to the airport, fed coins into the slot, just to have a few minutes of conversation with them. Finally, my parents decided to return to India, and that was it. We were all together!
Today, as I reflect on my past, I can only wonder about the experiences that I went through, and I think about how important it is for each one of us to treasure the freedom that we have. Regime changes take place across the world, but we need to appreciate the freedoms we have. Sometimes we become complacent about the privileges that we have without perhaps remembering the large number of young children whose aspirations and hopes were snuffed out, thanks to a dictator who had his own agenda. My takeaway from this post is that one should not take one's privileges and rights for granted.
