Through the Eyes of Madness:

--The journey of one small boy from a war ravage land to a to the land of dreams –
only to find that the he did not escape the war, but brought it with him across the
ocean--

Story Created by: Abiel Gebrekidane

Edited and Ghost Written by: Michael A. Smith
Start Date: April 9th 2017
End Date: >>>??
 Prologue: Beginnings…

The year 1965, holds meaning for most elder Americans,

and of those with academic training some interest in those
circles as well. Martin Luther King Jr. led the peaceable march
from Selma, in that year, also President Johnson signed the
Social Security Act into law. For those that do not live within
the confines of the United States, or any one of the other “first-
world” countries – 1965 was just another year, and for many a
year that brought surprises, and pain as well. For my mother,
that was true, for she conceived in 1964 and bore me on the 4th
day of April, in the year 1965. The place that I was born into like
many places around the world wasn’t an old place, but was
built on the ashes of those that came before. At this point,
though, the town was named Abyssinia, though if you were to
go seeking it on a map you would need to look for its present
incarnation; Entreas.
Of my mother, father, the home we shared, to whom we
called neighbors I have only the slightest of memories which
usually prove ethereal until I sleep then like the gossamer
threads of spider silk, the patter of what is lost returns once
more. I know more from the recollections of my Uncle, and his
kin, than from personal experience – of how beautiful and kind
my mother was. For it was my Uncle John that raised me, and
that as his own instead of the responsibility that is tedious as I
witness so often in other countries. I know that I was loved,
and that I was cared for better than others would have been in
similar circumstances. Yet, that did not preclude my longing
for the gentle embraces of the goddess of stories whose name is
Mother, as the darkness of night creeps from building to
building as a hunter would when stalking prey.
My Uncle John lived in the district known as Simbell,
which is one of the shanty-style neighborhoods that is seen
frequently in old movies and pictures of faraway places. The
city that Simberi was just south is Asmara, and while the city
held promise of money and luxury, the shanty town offered
disease, crime, and to the unwary death. The “town”, or what
some would call a “taudis”, was always a shock of colors and
bright things as it was the crossroads of many tribes, peoples,
cultures, and because of the poorer economy, though I knew
nothing of that, allowed these diverse people to stay, trade,
market, and move on without great financial destress.
This dichotomous taudis is where I spent my childhood.
Though I was poor, I knew nothing of that, but I did wonder
about the indistinctness of the future. Those thoughts though
were rare, for there was school to attend, the gangs to watch
out for and avoid if possible, and games to play. Also, it was
difficult to have philosophical contemplations in a place that
had no underground sewage, so it ran through the streets, and
garbage was not collected in big fancy trucks – it was thrown
out windows and into the shadowed recess that forever fill such
ramshackle accommodation’s. The smell could become so bad,
that people would be forced to move away from there until the
putrefaction had worked it’s magic and te smell evaporated
with the morning breeze.
The house of my Uncle and family was luxuriously
afforded a place on one of the infrequent hills in our region. It
was made of straw, mud, and the roof was of corrugated tin so
that we had the light we need by removing one or two sheets to
get the various jobs done. The main part of the house was a
large centralized room that functioned as meeting place, songs,
reading of sacred texts, but also the meal hall and where many
of the family slept for it rather cool here most the time. I was
looking for a man by the name of Nathan to whom I was told
could aid me in my speaking in English as well as useful
experience for the next phase of my life – if I continued to
survive. the heights of the hill I could see much of the taudis
known as golden. For the reality was that the streets oozed
pollution, and the mix of food items and the dead and dying
from the “fun… of the night before. Indeed, there was a statistic
I heard years later that only 1 in 15 children ever made it to
adulthood in Simbell, between the sewage, garbage, bodies,
and the other filth, not to mention the active recruiting of the

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young for the gangs – not many survived. But that is me
jumping ahead, now where were we….
Ah yes, childhood, the glorious twilight time when the
world is perfect even though it is not, and there is always
another adventure to be had around every unexplored shack. It
was during these “not approved” explorations that I came
across this oddly vacant spot just outside of the lanes that lead
back toward Ironsteem. I named it the Marvel Cliff, where with
some judicious climbing I could see all the way into Asmara, as
well as most of the roofs and even some of larger shacks that
make up our haven of Simbell. When the rains came, I would
be very careful and follow he cliff till I could see without
climbing. There in the streets of Simbell, the younger children
still played in the river of sewage and junk being washed down
the narrow streets by the deluge of water falling in torrents one
minute and then clear skis the next.
But even after the rainy season gave way to the dry season
once more – Simbell still stank of death and disease. The gangs
might be death dealers or quickie sex to deviants, but even they
stayed off the sloping tracks into the interior. Not that it would
help, but perhaps the mayor, senators nor the president had a
thing to say about the death plague that had begun in Africa at
the same time as in the United States. Yet it seemed that one
cared and that nothing would be done until the plague hit
closer to their homebased. And eventually did, and they started
fighting – though nearly a decade had passed since the
inception of the plague. That was about the time that I had to
make a choice, I could starve and learn the lessons on the
streets as I had seen others do – or I could join a gang and earn
at least a placer top sleep and occasionally a hunk of bread.

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 Chapter 1:
Streets of Crime
-Practicum of Daily Life-

I have a message from God in my

heart concerning the sinfulness of
the wicked: There is no fear of God
before their eyes. Psalms 36:1

It wasn’t long after my ninth birthday that I had to make a

choice. My Uncle was now quite the old man – and the time
that he had left on the planet was limited, yet without him I
had no place to sleep and would not have the resources to feed
myself. The tone of voice that issued from my uncle’s mouth
sent shivers down my spine, for it was no longer the pleasant
baritone yet now my voice was a haunting sound that makes
one continues with all the burrs and harsh grates that any
would be singer would be proud of.
“Abiel, you need to choose to live or die, I wish that there
were other choices that I could give to you – but perhaps if you
do well I might be able to help after all. But first you have to
decide if you’re willing to me one of the bullies that scared you
2 years ago.”
“What are they uncle, the choices I mean?” asked the shy
semi muscular yet lithe youngster before a white harried elder
which took him great strength.
“If you wish to die, there is a knife in the shed and I shall
male it painless for you. If on the other hand your choice in the
path to wakefulness and ultimately life, you are going to have
to be willing to do some horrible, evil, and deviant things. Yet if
you do survive – in the floor hallow that only you and I know of
– there will be an inheritance for you – but you must not return
until your 18th birthday!!!

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“Which do you wish, life and hope though you shall have to live
in hell for some years, or a quick ending – choose and do so
with care for since you make the choice, you know full well that
we are pledged to honor our word)”.
The skinny boy looks at his uncle, with fear and a haunted
look behind his eyes he makes his choice – the gangs. “Uncle,
God forgive me, but I want to live”.
“So be it,” says John as he seats himself on a wheeled chair
and continued to accompany her as she changes such beautiful
music. As John rolls, away, Abiel looks over at his Uncle and is
shocked to see tears in those eyes, but not of pain or grief -- but
perhaps for having to make such a devil brazen with any other
race? Darkness no. For we are one – two sides of the same evil
coin.

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 Chapter: 2
Terms of “Dis-Affection”
-And the benefits gleaned-

In their own eyes, they flatter themselves

too much to detect or hate their sin. 3
The words of their mouths are wicked
and deceitful; they fail to act wisely or do
good. Psalms 36:2-3

There is a saying here in the enlightened party of the world. it

states that the “pen is mightier than the sword”, which might
well be true in a civilization with languages so complex that
you have one word meaning several different things depending
on the spelling, usage, or the content of other subject words
that are found within the sentence. Now the interesting part is
that most people could not come up with an example if their
lives depended on it – yet it is still true non-the-less, so there!
In the case of Abiel, his family and the friends of that
family taught Abiel quite early the difference between blood
and burden. With children in the desperately poor economical
societies children are your responsibility if yours, and someone
else’s if not yours. Orphans were sad situations that other
people could help. To the standard person these waifs were
less than human, of less use than a dog, or pig - because both
could ultimately be eaten, whereas you can’t do that with
children – instead you feed them. Most time the populace looks
to the investment of foreigners to care for and raise the
indigent children of poor luck. In situations where the
government and the foreigners have not made a successful bid
for the control and useful occupation- generally the eldest
uncle of the child will try to arrange some lodging and food for
a type of indentured slavery. Or the children are killed for sport
by the gangs, kidnapped for body part farms, or slave labor.
Though the one situation which as cold hearted as it may

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sound is the policy of simply shooting the kids and burying
them in mass graves. It solves their care and feeding, it
decreased the population and keeps them out of gangs later in
life.
Abiel was one of the lucky ones from the standpoint of
murder, but looking back many years later he would wonder if
the amount of emotional backlash and formidable negative
self-image issues were worth being “with family”. Except that in
the case of Abiel, his uncle being a less than human and more
like the predatory jackal which hunts not always for food but
also for sport.

Chapter: 3 Adoption”
or “Least of the Big Burdens”
-Life Lessons Learned Early-

My God, my God, why have you forsaken

me? Why are you so far from saving me, so
far from my cries of anguish? -Psalms 22:1

Chapter: 4
Defining War with Words
-A Small Glimpse into Madness-

Chapter: 5
Gang Life vs. Life in a gang
-Two Choices without Options-

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 Chapter: 6
Even Amidst the Denizens of Hell
-There is pleasures available for a price far too steep-

Chapter: 7
Hell, is Spelled E.L.P.F.
(Eritrean People’s Liberation Front)

Chapter: 8
Foxholes are:
A) Homes B) School C) Smelly Hole in the Ground?
The Answer = During War, All Three

Chapter: 9
War and Scripture
-Always the Same but always Them!

Chapter: 10
The Long-Term Consequence /
Short Term Solutions

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 Chapter: 11
Redemption has a steep price,
But Violence is
Offered for Free.

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