In 1982, Ato Be'alu Girma's magnum opus, entitled Oromai (meaning, too late) escaped the censors of the Dergue, the government of Ethiopia under the dictatorship of Col. Mengistu Haile Mariam. A few Ethiopians were fortunate enough to buy a copy of the book before the officialdom had realized what a bombshell and a damning indictment of the regime's war in Eritrea it was and ordered its banning. The government had approved its publication thinking that this literary work was only a patriotic-romance novel. In the tradition of Alweledim, another book that had been banned by the monarchist regime earlier, mere possession of Oromai became a crime. Ato Be'alu Girma, a prominent Ethiopian journalist, was soon after picked up by the notorious security agents of the Dergue, never to be heard from again. His crime? He dared to dare.

Why did officials of the Dergue find this strangely titled war novel so unsettling? As a backdrop for his work, the author - hardly in the Sha'ibia (The Eritrean Peoples Liberation Front, EPLF) fan club - uses the Dergue's Red Star Campaign of the early 1980s. This was the all-out military offensive for which the entire human and material resources of Ethiopia were mobilized to crush the Eritrean insurgency once and for all. As the Dergue's new ideological godfather, the USSR, along with its Eastern European satellite states, had decided that the future of communism in Africa would be decided on this all-important military campaign and directly took part to ensure its success. Strange, but who would have thought that the Russians would be back today selling the same wares and training our armed forces long after the Dergue is gone!

For the three months duration that this so-called multi-dimensional campaign was supposed to take, operations of the various ministries and agencies of the entire Ethiopian government were moved to Asmara, the operational hub. There was almost a surreal feeling that Addis Ababa was being vacated as the capital, and Asmara was being christened as the center of governance.

Tsegaye Haile Mariam, the central character of the novel and the principal narrator, was chosen to take part in this do-or-die campaign as a television reporter and chief of propaganda. The main target of this all-out, no-holds-barred military undertaking was the capture of the town of Nacfa and its environs in Sahel, northern Eritrea. This was the remote stronghold to which the Eritrean Peoples Liberation Front had retreated following the 1978 huge offensive by Ethiopia and her allies. The EPLF, in possession of all the strategic heights there, had decided to defend Nacfa with all that it had.

The author goes on to great lengths to describe the foreboding topography of Sahel as the main enemy and obstacle frustrating Ethiopia's military plans. He speaks of this region of the country as a natural barricade, an endless chain of mountains seemingly poking straight at the heavens. The valleys and gorges look like the wide-open mouth of hell itself, eager to devour anyone approaching them. The curse of hell is written all over this inferno of a landscape. It is, therefore, quite understandable why the enemy chose this natural fortress as its redoubt. The enemy knows the terrain, its nooks and crannies. The same enemy is inured to the climate and the harsh living condition there. They could go on without water for days on end like a desert camel. Here, where water supply is a matter of life and death, the enemy knows where all the water holes are located.

The focus of the campaign was a hilltop known to Ethiopian and Soviet military strategists as Hill 1702, supposedly the precarious gateway to Nacfa. Tsegaye was taken there to record and report to the Ethiopian people and to posterity what was expected to be our country's greatest military achievement and the end of the Eritrean insurgency.

"The fall of Nacfa is only a matter of time now. In anticipation of Ethiopia's crowning military victory, this particular evening we stayed up late drinking. We raised our beer mugs and enthusiastically cheered, "Ethiopia Tikdem!" (Ethiopia First - the Dergue's slogan). All I could think of now is Nacfa, which could be no more than seven kilometers away from where we are holed up. As each day came and went, I can almost hear the joyous bells of victory ringing in my ears. In my mind's eye I imagined an euphoric victory- parade never seen before in Ethiopia's history.

"I was sitting in the shade of a magnificent boulder looking over the pages of my notes. All of a sudden, I heard a deafening volley of heavy artillery from the right flank of Hill 1702. I had a rush of adrenaline thinking this has to be the beginning of the final push. To my chagrin, Col. Tariku, the commander of the Ethiopian forces, sent a messenger urging me to go back and see him immediately. I followed the messenger to the Colonel's bunker. I did not like the look on his face.

"What is going on?" I screamed in excitement.
"We have to evacuate," he said "at exactly 1800 hours!"
"You must be joking!"
"This is an order," he punctuated.
"But why? What has happened?" I screamed, even more loudly.
"He explained calmly that the enemy has regrouped and moved its B-10 anti-tank guns, 120 and 82 mm mortars forward. Moreover, using canons and tanks from a distance, the enemy has recaptured another strategic outpost, Hill 1755. Because our forces are dangerously exposed on the left flank, and due to the delay in the arrival of reinforcements, defending our position has become out of the question. Even if we had extra manpower, deploying them is just not feasible. The layout of the land and the proximity of the two forces make calling an air strike impracticable. The other problem is the preparation the enemy had undertaken in anticipation of this offensive. Since the enemy has good intelligence and is well aware of all our movements and maneuvers, the only choice we now have is either to evacuate or suffer encirclement and annihilation."

Unfortunately, what Tsegaye Hailemariam was forced to witness was the debacle of one of the largest military campaigns in the annals of African history. All the excitement and anticipation with which the narrator had began his job has turned into a nightmare and his day into night. The attendant carnage and the moribund scene this civilian had already witnessed was more than he could stomach. A transformation has taken in the life of this professional "reporter/propagandist," as the following soliloquy of his makes evident.

"As I was leaving the battlefield behind me, the sound of guns was dying. Although I don't understand how one can miss hell, in some twisted logic, I am beginning to miss the hellish scene and the people I am forced to leave behind. At the same time, I loathed everything about what I am witnessing. I hated the sight of one human being lunging towards another like an attacking wild beast might. I hated seeing the suffering of another human being. I hated losing friends right from my side almost in a twinkling of an eye. They were there one moment, and not the next. Even if we had achieved victory, I believe I would have hated that as well, because I have seen the human price that had to be paid for it. Returning alive from a battlefield is probably not anything to boast about either. Death has fixed its stare in my face, and nothing will remain the same in my life. "How does one measure oneself following such a horrific experience anyway? Am I to think of myself a hero for returning alive, or just another coward? I hate what I am discovering about myself? It drives me out of my mind. In my new self-appraisal, I am confused between who I thought I were and what I think is becoming of me. People all around me are going insane, losing life and limbs.

"Could it be true that those who never made it out alive are better off than the walking dead! Can there be solace in losing everything, I mean everything one can possibly lose, including life - the ultimate loss from which there is no regret? At least, they are beyond the reach of regrets, sorrow, and suffering.

"How about those of us who escaped the grip of death? We must hope for a future when there will be no more suffering - a time when we will be free from the horrors of war. You know, once you have seen death close-up it takes a lot of courage to live again. But I have no time to philosophize...

"I had no strength left when I reached the town of Afabet, the command post for Nadew Iz (the 'destroyer command' - as the mighty army which would be totally destroyed six years later was known).

"It's been ten days since I had taken off the shoes I am wearing. The filth and sores in my body feel like what Job, the Old Testament patriarch, must have felt in his hour of suffering. I itch all over. I am horrendously constipated. I stink beyond description.

"Without a moment of rest, I was due out in an hour on a flight to Asmara. We are only waiting for three persons - Selemon Betre, Yeshitila Masresha ("Suslov"), and Mets'hafe Daniel - all top cadres who came that morning to see the on-going expansion of the only hospital at Afabet - the temporary abode of the living dead.

"Hundreds of wounded soldiers are screaming in pain. The maimed and mangled bodies spill over to the compound. More of them keep coming. The scene looks just like an endless procession of ghosts. The stench of death is everywhere.

"I feel sorry for the physicians and nurses there. They look like they have had no sleep or rest since they had arrived at Afabet. A physician just came out of an operating room. The man he had operated on is dead. Another severely wounded soldier is being wheeled in for yet another hopeless surgery. The young physician was aimlessly gazing towards the north as if in a trance. It seemed as though he was saying, "It is sad to lose something as precious as life. War is so dreadful..."

"I run into Selemon Betre and the others near the airstrip. "Suslov" was chattering with several members of the military brass who were surrounding him. No sooner than he greeted me he queried, "How was the war - I mean, the morale of our army?"

"It is good," I shot back, knowing that was the answer he was expecting. This sort of discourse where one says what is expected of oneself rather than what the naked truth is takes place matter-of-factly in totalitarian political systems. That is how one manages to keep one's head intact with the rest of the body.

"We are raising a great army that will perform miracles. Our red army is bound to contribute tremendously to the struggle of the oppressed masses the world over. Nacfa is really nothing. Our struggle is beyond Nacfa. A thousand Nacfas await ahead of us. It is with this in mind that our struggle in the propaganda arena must be conducted," pontificated this senior cadre, appearing to remind me the political and ideological context in which I should view my job.

"He must have just arrived from another galaxy, I thought. I couldn't believe my ears. I have just had it with the likes of "Suslov".

"Comrade," I said pointedly, "As for me, I have seen one Nacfa and that is one too many. I have seen what I have seen there. Enough! If I can ever help it, I have decided not to ever see the ugly face of war."

"Our plane is in route to Asmara. The conversation is still about the bloody battle for Nacfa. Mets'hafe Daniel expressed what was in everyone's mind when he said, "After so much preparation and fielding the largest and best equipped army in our long history, how is it that we have failed to capture Nacfa? What is our problem? Is there any mystery we can't understand? Can somebody please unravel this riddle to me?

"I didn't know whether he was asking a question or just simply venting his anger and frustration.

"But as if to say, "Let the eyewitness speak," Selemon directed Mets'hafe's apparent questions to me.

"The questions were disturbing. All I could do was rain down curse on everyone rather than respond to the questions directly.

"It is so easy for those who look from the distance to offer platitudes. It is one thing to talk sitting in Addis Ababa and Asmara about how to fight and capture Nacka, but altogether another to go and do it. Has anyone seen Nacfa? Those who went there have either died or are wounded. The reason for the failure of the first offensive to capture Nacfa was not for lack of heroes - believe me! The thousands who fell at Nacfa bled and died, not just fighting the wenbede (meaning, bandits, a term the government employed in referring to the Eritrean insurgents) but as they were trying to crawl up the natural fortress that is Nacfa...What mystery? What riddle? The battle for Nacfa had no mystery or riddle. Nature itself has conspired against us. Nature has declared war upon us?"

"Since everyone wears a mask designed for one's survival, Tsegaye then puts back on his propagandist hat and invokes the usual cliches. During the course of his career, he is well practiced in the art of survival, mostly by parroting the official line.

"Yes, victory will eventually be ours if we try harder. The revolutionary army will be vindicated by the eventual capture of Nacfa. And the enemy will be vanquished," he uttered unconvincingly.

"There was a moment of silence. But then, as if to refer to Roosevelt's famous statement of his revulsion towards war even as he led his country in the war of the century, World War II, Tsegaye defiantly murmured what he really felt deep inside - behind the mask, "I hate war. I can't stand war. If I can help it, I do not want to ever see it again."

Ato Be'alu, of course, saw war no more. But he speaks to us from beyond the grave as the leaders of the post Dergue era break the sacred vow which they had made to the people of Ethiopia nine years ago - that war would never be allowed to rear its ugly face and consume us again. But, how brief and selective this thing called memory is!

If Ato Be'alu could hear all the clamoring about war and victory in Ethiopia today, I believe he would turn in his grave in disgust. He would wonder why anybody in his right mind would choose war over peace in the twenty-first century? Could it be that all who aspire to lead us have become so used to the dread of war and conflicts that they have come to believe the sword as the only means of establishing one's legitimacy? May God Almighty help Ethiopia! Our leaders have tasted blood and can't seem to want to stop. They refuse to learn from "the thousands of eye witnesses" and from the past that those who live by the sword will indeed perish by the sword.

Our forefathers took solace from the knowledge that as long as "Ethiopia stretches her hands unto God" that all would be well. Have we let our hands down? Has God abandoned us? Has Ethiopia taken to the worship of baal, the Canaanite god, in which sacrificing one's own children has become part of the requisite endless ritual to appease the wrath of the gods? May God Almighty have mercy on Ethiopia!