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Oh, we’re thirsty! Not to mention washing our faces: A Message from the Streets of Asmara
ኣንታ ማይ ጸሚኡና! ገጽና ምሕጻብስ ይትረፈና-
Poetic English Version
Water- where are you hiding? Our throats burn with thirst, and even washing our faces has become a forgotten luxury.
We dig the earth with cracked hands, searching for a spring that fled our village, as if winter passed without a single cloud, as if the sky itself had turned away.
They say the Red Sea is near, but its salt is a wound that never heals, and its waves do not quench a thirsty heart.
We carry empty jerrycans on tired shoulders, wandering through the alleys, waiting for a miracle. We lift our prayers upward, but even our prayers feel dry.
Tell us, leaders- how can a person live without water? How can one drink when water belongs only to those who already have it?
Come and see our village: children washing their faces with dust, mothers hiding their tears to save the last moisture in their eyes.
Cars pass by, indifferent, jerrycans remain empty, and our hearts grow heavier than iron.
This patience we carry is not patience- it is suspended life. We wait for one government, one future, to bring water back to our hands and dignity back to our days.
