Girma - Habens Story: A Memoir of Connection, Determination, and Hope in the Face of Adversity

Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. Summer 1995.

Two men in uniforms stand in the aisle of the plane, towering over Daddy. I watch from the seat next to him, straining to see the shadowy figures. Their curt tones trigger the sensation of mosquitos stabbing my skin.

Daddy unbuckles his seatbelt. I have to go, he tells me.

The two men escort him off the plane. For the first time in my seven-year-old life, Im alone.

I stare down the aisle. My field of vision ends at around five feet. A person walks by wheeling a bag. Two kids go by with backpacks.

I sink into my seat and close my eyes. This plane is supposed to take us to London, then another plane will get us back to America. I was born and raised in Oakland, California. Daddy grew up in Ethiopia, so we came here for the summer. My mom and sister plan to enjoy two more weeks of vacation before returning to the United States.

Memories from the summer play through my mind: dancing on the dusty streets with my sister and the neighborhood kids, baking raisin bread with Mommy, swimming in the Red Sea with Daddy

My eyes open. I stare down the aisle again. No one walks by. Everyone has boarded.

Its been an hour. Why isnt he back?

An invisible chain of tension squeezes my throat. The pain climbs up my neck to my head. I take deep breaths, struggling to hold on to hope.

An announcement blasts through the PA system. The sound washes over me in incoherent murmurs, accelerating my pulse to a dizzying clip.

All my life Ive heard stories of Ethiopian soldiers tearing families apart. Soldiers threw Mommy in jail just for refusing to sing a song. Ethiopia claimed the neighboring country Eritrea, and for thirty years Eritreans fought for independence. Daddy was born and raised in Ethiopia, but his father, Grandpa Kidane, is Eritrean. During the war, Eritreans living in Ethiopia became targets. The war ended in 1991, though. Its supposed to be safe for Eritreans visiting Ethiopia. Why did they take Daddy?

The thought demolishes me like a kick to the stomach. I gasp for air as the pain spreads through my body.

Why didnt our American citizenship stop them from separating us?

My eyes study his empty seat. Hes gone. I touch the seat, even though I already know. Hes gone. My hand feels a seatbelt. His seatbelt. The long smooth strap contrasts with the sharp metal buckle, the buckle that failed to keep him safe.

Strong vibrations shake the jet. The engines rattle every nerve from the soles of my feet to the back of my neck.

Burning pain tightens around my chest, climbing all the way up to my cheekbones. Breathing hurts. My nose labors for air as I fight against the suffocating fear.

I need Daddy. Who will help me navigate the world? I dont know how to find my next flight when we land in London. I dont even know the international number to reach Mommy.

A flight attendant looms over my seat. Mumble, mumble, mumble. She drops to my level. Mumble, mumble, mumble.

Terror clamps my mouth shut. Pain immobilizes every muscle. The only movement comes from my tears.

The flight attendant speaks again. Mumble, mumble, mumble.

I stare at her, begging her to hear my thoughts. Bring back Daddy.

She rises to her full height, turns, and disappears.

Another flight attendant stands at the head of the aisle. From her gestures I know shes going over the safety procedures. Too late. My life has already crashed.

My hands squeeze the seatbelt Daddy used. Thats when I discover moisture on the metal buckle.