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Show THE ZEPHYR/DEC-JAN 2008 wanted to look. Although I didn’t like smoking, I was learning how to hold a cigarette, and for some of my assignments, I had to know how to smoke. “What do you do?” he asked me. “Tam a student from Keran,” I answered. “Are you from Keran?” “Yes,”” J answered. My friend interjected, “She is staying with me. As you know, there is no transportation to or from Keran. Her whole family lives in Keran, so she is with me.” The five soldiers returned. The one with stars on his uniform asked me, “Did you see the shooters?” He didn’t wait for my answer. “Did you see who was firing? Was it a woman or a man?” Speechless, I just shook my head. The night curfew was nearing. “I need to be at the base by seven o”’clock,” the stranger spoke up. “We need to leave now. That is my Jeep.” The soldier wearing stars explained, “I am sorry for the delay. We must check everybody.” “T understand,” the stranger answered. After saluting the soldiers, he took my arm, and we walked away like lovers. He opened the Jeep door forme, and we quickly left for the military base. My friend introduced me to his comrades as “Yaneynsh,” a term of endearment. For a brief moment, his caring felt real. I had a new name, a new life. FROM AMAZON.COM Anyone who lives in a small, rural Western. town, or anyone contemplating moving to, or, worse yet, just buying property ina small, rural Western town, definitely needs to read this book. Stiles paints an unflinchingly accurate picture of how the tiny town of Moab became a crowded tourist town filled with fast-food joints and chain hotels. Longtime small business owners were forced out by the giant chain stores and T-shirt shops catering to out-of-town mountain bikers, Jeepers and ATVers. Alfalfa fields and orchards were sold to developers, who slapped up condos and luxury homes for mostly absentee owners, and conservative locals swamped by lycra-clad city dwellers. It’s a sad and harsh reality, but Stiles manages quite a few laugh-out-loud moments: comedy is usually funny because it is so true. While driving, he looked cautiously in every direction. The town was quiet, but bloody bodies were scattered on the sidewalk. I counted thirteen Eritreans. The green-uniformed soldiers, who were everywhere, were picking up the bodies. The wind blew hard, and [held my shawl tightly. Then he turned and asked me, “Do you have a gun?” I hesitated to answer. He asked me again, and I told him the truth. I answered quietly, suddenly frightened. “Drop your gun on the floor of the Jeep, under my feet,” he demanded. He saw my face. “Do it now.” I looked around and pulled out my pistol. 1 dropped it at the feet of this man who I barely knew. He put the gun in his shirt pocket and kept driving west toward the military base. When we neared the checkpoint of the base, he said, “I’m going to tell them you are my girlfriend. Be on your best behavior. Do not make eye contact with anyone and hide your face.” In the Ethiopian military compound, the soldiers recognized him and assumed I was his mistress for the night. To my surprise, they didn’t ask for identification of him or of me. Although women werent allowed there, it was understood that Ethiopian men were charming and had a weakness for women. He parked his Jeep in front of a busy, dormitory-like house filled with many young soldiers. I looked down. I had been there before for some jobs, and I knew a few under- ground contacts. If they recognized me, things could get out of hand. Available at: My friend introduced me to his comrades as “Yaneynsh,” a term of endearment. For a brief moment, his caring felt real. [had a new name, a new life. He was a respectable BACK OF BEYOND 800.700.2859 man, and he liked books. There was a group of Marxist books by his bed side alongside the bible. He seemed unhappy about the killing going on in Asmara. I sat on his bed. Pictures of his family hung on the wall of his bunk. Many of the young men in the barrack talked and laughed. To get permission for me to spend the night, my BOOKS UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA 800.426.3797 friend had to ask the general for approval. I saw fear in his eyes. He was risking his safety and maybe regretting what he did. ... PRESS : and at book stores across the West “Don’t be frightened,” he told me, as he tossed a book in my lap. “Here, read the Bible. We'll need it tonight.” The general gave him permission for me to stay and left. I didn’t know what would happen to me that night. My friend brought me food, but I worried that it was poisoned and only drank the tea. Night fell. He put the sleeping bag on the floor and gave me his bed. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said and went to sleep. I tried not to sleep, but finally my body gave up. As I slept, I dreamed about my mother. Then it was morning. I was still alive. After the end of the morning curfew, he drove me back into Asmara. “Listen,” he told me ina soft, firm voice, “I’m going to drop you off at the market. Go to your mother continue your education. If I see you here again, I will kill you myself.” He never asked my name or anything about me, but he knew my circumstances. saw I was a young, uneducated, Eritrean girl, involved in a fight much bigger than could comprehend. Risking his own safety, he reached out and saved my life. There no words deep enough to thank him. DOOM OVERFLOW A United Nations expert has condemned the growing use of crops to produce biofuels as a replacement for petrol as a crime against humanity. BBC and He she are EDITOR’S NOTE: For her personal safety, the author’s name has been concealed. HELP THE _ NATURE RESTORE A MASTERPIECE GLEN CANYON cea WWW.GLENCANYON.ORG ; Some men see _ Keren, things as they are, and say why... Akurdet, Massawa* _ASMARA™ I dream things that never were and say, why not? G.B. Shaw 23 |