by: Nasir Al-Amin
Me: Conjit…Endemensh? (Beautiful…How are you?)
Her: {She smiles at my broken Amharic}
Me: Denanish? (How are you?)
Her: {In her soft barely audible voice she says:}Dena. (Fine)
Me: Ta-faish? (Where have you been?)
Her: {She begins to look down}
Me: What’s going on? Lately no one knows where you are? I send people to your house to check on you and not even your sister knows where you are?
Her: {She continues to stare at the floor}
Me: Talk to me… what’s up?
Me: Conjit…
Her: yes…
--Moments of silence--
Me: Something is going on? And maybe it’s my fault; you told me about your sister’s work {prostitution}, I came to your mother’s funeral, but….
--Moments of silence--
Me: Are you receiving the money I sent?
Me: Did your sister get you into this?
Her: {She continues to stare at the floor}
Me: What happened?
--Moments of silence--
Me: Tell me something. Everyone knew but me…it got to a point that I kept asking about you, but everyone was mute or fumbled on their words. No one wanted to tell me you’re doing this…
As I sit comfortably in the West faced with decisions of either Macchiato or Cappuccino; slacks from Banana Republic or H & M; Indian food, Ethiopian or Thai; during that same breath she made the decision… sell myself or die!
*I wrote this in response to finding out that a girl I met in Ethiopia, who lost both of her parents is now selling her body for cash as a means to secure her basic necessities!
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1 comment:
where did this happen?is it in ethiopia or somewhere else.
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