------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [u][b]May 22nd: The Semien Mountains, Within the Woreda of Debarq[/b][/u] ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [i]Fitawrari[/i] Ergete Galawdeyos imagined himself the George Washington of Ethiopia. He was a revolutionary, a carrier of the flag of democratic liberalism in the ancient highlands of the Habesha people. Of course, he wasn't really a [i]Fitawrari[/i]; that title was a military office now, something like a brigadier general. In older times it had been a baronial ranking within the aristocracy. No government had given him the title. And, of course, he was no George Washington either. His self image differed wildly from how others saw him. Ergete walked boldly onto the property of a local [i]Nagadras[/i]; one of the bureaucrats charged with managing regulation and taxation in the bustling market at Debarq. The man wasn't home. His nice country estate - a mud-brick affair with hints of Italian architecture - sat on top a hill not far from the pen where he kept his cattle. Only a few thin cows were in there now. Despite his genteel self-image, Ergete looked like a wild man, his beard and afro overgrown and wooly, his cotton clothes covered in trail dust, and an Italian-made [i]Berthier[/i] rifle slung across his back. In one hand he held a hammer and nail. In the other hand he had a copy of the [i]Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen[/i]; that old document that heralded the French revolution centuries before. The mansion was quiet. He approached the door confidently, as if it were his own house, and when he stepped up onto the slate-wood porch, he brought the hammer up. The door rattled when it struck. A few strokes and the Declaration was solidly in place. He was almost done when the door opened, and a surprised looking servant stared him straight in the face. Ergete punched the servant, the hammer clenched in his fist as added weight behind the blow, and the startled man sprawled out on the floor. If there were more than just the one man home, they might have guns. Ergete booked it back down the hill and jumped on his horse just as a stampeding herd of cattle rumbled past. Ergete wasn't a lone vigilante. He had followers. And though Ergete thought of these men as his liberating army, most of them realized what the rest of the countryside around Debarq already assumed; they were Shiftas. Shifta is an open ended term in cultures of East Africa. To Ergete's credit, a Shifta is part revolutionary, and many a revolution in Ethiopian government came about at the end of a Shifta's sword. But the term also described banditry and outlaw behavior. They were the minutemen, the cowboys, the outlaws, and frontiersmen, all wrapped up into one, products of the fact that government's grip was loose outside the major cities. Bullets flew from second story windows. There were more servants after all. Ergete brought his horse to a gallop, pivoted, and shot back. The men driving the herd from behind also returned fire, but the ones riding in front or along the side kept to their duty, making sure the frightened cattle stayed on course. The servants, lacking horses, didn't follow. Ergete and his men kept the herd on the run until they were well off the road, riding toward the cloud-sheathed Semien mountains rising like columns holding up the eastern sky. The cattle calmed down when they reached a deep gully trickling with a thin stream of water. "See any [i]Neftanya[/i]?" Ergete asked Mahetsent Lekonk, his right-hand man. Mahetsent had rode with Ergete's father as a boy. Now Mahetsent was a greybeard nearing sixty, and a good counselor to his [i]Fitawrari[/i]. "No." Mahetsent said. He'd rode up from the back. "It might be too late for them to leave their farms and organize, unless they want to search these hills by torchlight. Tomorrow though, they will be crawling over this place like ants." "We'll follow this stream a little further before we cross the next ridge. That was cleanly done, friend." "The gunfire was unnecessary." Mahetsent chided. Ergete slapped his friend on the back. "You cannot milk a cow without spilling a little on the ground. I don't like to fight against the people, but the people don't know what is good for them yet. They stand in the way of their own freedom, and of ours." "They won't thank you if you shoot them." Mahetsent said quietly. "Even if we shot a man's arm off, he'll thank us anyway when he finds out how sweet freedom tastes. You can live with only one arm." The foothills grew taller until they became small mountains, their tops crowned by rocky cliffs like walls built by God. This land was God's country, a monk would agree with this sentiment just as quickly as a peasant or an Emperor. The hope of the Christian faith was spoken by the babbling of mountain streams and the fresh green grass growing close to the ground. Even the men who realized they were bandits wore crosses. Weren't they in the tradition of David? Of the Maccabees? The sun was setting in the west when the first of the Shifta's noticed they were being followed. News traveled quickly around the ambling herd of cattle, and soon the commanders knew it too. "There are men up there." Mahetsent said quietly to Ergete. He turned around and stared in the direction of the sun as it fell over the horizon. "I can't see them, but some of the younger men reported seeing shadows." Ergete turned his horse around. The western sky was the color of fresh blood, fading into the blue like a bleeding wound in a pond. "Thank the lord for young revolutionaries, because I can't see a thing." He paused, "Post a watch." "If that is them, they have the sun at their back." Mahetsent said, "They'll see us easier than we see them." Ergete paused a moment more, struggling one more time to spot their enemy. "We're going to keep the herd moving tonight. We know this part of the country better then they do." "We'll lose some." Mahetsent warned. "We'll keep the rest." Ergete responded. He rode to the front while Mahetsent went the other direction to relay his instructions. They traveled quickly despite the dark. It was easier in the river bed, still dry enough to travel, functioning as a road leading them in the right direction. It bent around a ridge and started to dissipate into the hills. Ergete wasn't boasting when he said they knew this land. The middle path led to a low place that acted as a sort of pass over the next set of mountains. From here on out the road was harder. Torches went up, one after another, as the Shiftas found the material to make them. Ergete hadn't wanted this; torches made their procession easier to spot. But a leader had to make sacrifices to the wisdom of his people. They knew this land as well as he did after all, and it would be rough going. The path grew narrower and rockier as moonlight became their only guide. Ergete recognized that the path was becoming too narrow. He split the party, sending them around two different sides of a ridge. They were not far from home, so even though they were slowed down, their tensions eased. Shots rang out somewhere in the distance. The tension snapped back into place, and guns came out. The cattle were spooked, sped up, and the Shiftas found themselves trying to settle the animals and watch for an attack at the same time. Ergete looked up at the towering rock-face above, but only starlight peeped down through the knifing crags. If there was an attack on the other column, they couldn't do anything about it now. They had to move on. "Look out!" he heard someone shout. His head whipped around and he saw a cow tumbling down at him. He didn't have time to dodge, but his horse did, and it reared back just in time to let the limp side of beef roll beneath it. When it came to a stop, it stood up and dumbly rejoined the herd, and the procession moved on. The night passed without another incident, having only heard three shots. They arrived at their camp an hour before sundown. The Shifta camp was essentially a nomad village. Women and children lived there, going about their day to day chores from flimsy huts and tents. They welcomed the men cautiously, recognizing the party was small, looking for the ones they knew and loved. The older children were prepared for the cattle, and they helped move the animals into temporary pens made from sticks. "[i]Fitawrari[/i] Ergete" an old man in the dusty white robes of a priest greeted. "Hold on, [i]Abba[/i]." Ergete announced. He looked at his scattered men and raised his gun above his head. "Soldiers! Your comrades are still out there! Follow me and let's find them." A manly bellow rose up. Rifles and swords clattered. They formed, still on horseback, and rode back the direction they came, half expecting that around the next bend they'd find the [i]Neftanya[/i]. Instead they saw cattle. Riding alongside were their comrades, Mahetsent leading them. This elicited another cheer, joyous this time, and they lead the cattle together into the camp, to the excitement of their wives and children. "Did you lose anyone?" Ergete asked his older second. "No" Mahetsent looked puzzled, "It was a pleasant night." "We heard shooting." "Oh yes!" Mahetsent laughed, "One of our men went after a wolf. We had to tell him to quiet down. He thought they were after the cattle." Ergete slapped him on the back. It was a good moment. The soldiers sat their horses proudly, their wives and children grinning like lions, their prizes paraded in front of them. This was his people. He loved them. He wanted to see them thrive, to break the chains of old feudal government, and build the United States of Africa of which he dreamed. The dusty priest came up, clapping to the tune of a hymn. "God has blessed us." Ergete dismounted. He strapped his rifle to his saddle and turned to the little man. "God has blessed all of us." the priest said, "You don't know how many lives you have improved." "I have the men ready" Ergete looked toward the second cattle pen where some of the younger men were mounted and waiting. "Do you have a place for them?" "Yes yes." "Good." Ergete smiled, "Don't eat them all by yourself. We wouldn't want you to get fat." The priest's face became dour very quickly, "You know I will give them to the people." Ergete laughed, slapping the priest on the back. "Of course you will, [i]Abba[/i]. They will be grateful to you. I am grateful too."