The Eritrean Gulag 4

 April 5, 2004

Someone once told me a political joke about the Eritrean president, Isaias Afwerki. The story goes that the People's Front for Democracy and Justice, after being overwhelmed by the large-scale escape of Eritrean citizens across the borders to neighboring countries, decided to open the doors of migration without restrictions. When the regime announced this, the Eritrean Department of Passports and Immigration became crowded with long queues of citizens, and standing at the back of the line was none other than President Isaias Afwerki himself. As soon as someone behind him noticed him, Afwerki quickly left the queue. This kept happening until the president found himself alone at the immigration desk within a short time. The president asked the officer: “Why did all those people back out of proceeding with their travel arrangements?” The officer responded: “Your Excellency, if you’re migrating out of the country, why would the rest of the citizens stay?”

The issue of Eritrean citizens fleeing their country, both military personnel and civilians, is something that the people of Eritrea need to seriously reflect on. But what the People’s Front for Democracy and Justice needs isn’t just a serious pause for reflection, but rather a "political Viagra" to get the blood flowing in its political veins and security mindset.

They need to reassess their reality from various angles to overcome the political paralysis they’re experiencing. However, they first need to get a firm grip on the situation and hold the book correctly if they truly intend to make progress. The massive numbers that have managed to escape since the Front came to power are almost equal to, or have even surpassed, the number of Eritreans who fled during the Ethiopian occupation in a much shorter time span. And beyond the escape of ordinary citizens in those staggering numbers, there is another kind of escape happening: government officials themselves.

Whenever one gets the opportunity to leave Eritrea, they grab their lightest suitcase and never return. The most unusual and creative form of escape, though, is when military leaders flee to Ethiopia using vehicles belonging to international organizations allowed to operate in the security zone between the two countries, established by the Algiers Agreement of 2000. This is often arranged with one of the drivers, who receives a considerable amount of money in return. Rumor even has it that the Eritrean government plans to expel UN peacekeeping forces because their helicopters are being used to smuggle senior military officers out of the country, taking advantage of their freedom of movement.

This rumor was confirmed during my first days in the “Adarsar” prison. What had previously been whispered in Asmara’s social circles became evident. Most detainees were either involved in smuggling citizens across the border or had attempted to flee themselves, with each person having their own story and ordeal.

Sometimes, a group of more than ten people would be arrested together. But what caught my attention today was the story of "Malta," a man whose bad luck never seemed to end. “Malta”—I never learned his real name—is an Eritrean in his late fifties, but he’s physically robust enough to pass for a man in his forties. After a long day's labor breaking large rocks, some of us sat down while others transported them as directed by the prison guards. It was then that I listened to Malta, surrounded by fellow inmates who never tired of hearing his story, no matter how often he repeated it.

Malta's tale is both humorous and tragic. He is a pure-blooded Eritrean from the highlands, with strong ties to Sudan. Like many Eritreans who sought refuge in Sudan during the Ethiopian occupation, he spent several years living there, moving between different cities. He worked various jobs and was so content that he married and had children, who now live in Khartoum. When Eritrea declared independence in the early 1990s, like many displaced citizens, Malta returned home, filled with hope and national pride. He dreamed of stability and was ecstatic that the dream his people had fought for over thirty years—at great personal sacrifice—had finally come true.

He began looking for work, eager to contribute to the development of his country. But as the years passed, Malta, like many others, began to feel that the situation wasn’t much different from the Ethiopian occupation. Each day brought increasing pressure from the government, with exorbitant taxes and fees that gave him nothing in return. Services deteriorated, and prices kept rising. “I was thinking of bringing my children here to continue their education, but what’s the point? There are no opportunities for them. They’ll finish high school at best, and then they’ll be drafted into the military.” The glow of the revolutionary victories before independence slowly began to fade inside him, as it did for others when they faced the harsh reality of the present. Malta decided to return to Sudan, only to be surprised that he couldn’t do so through official channels. Thus, his second escape began.

He headed to the border town of Tessenei, looking for a way to cross into Sudan and reach Khartoum, where his children were. After some time, he succeeded, reaching Khartoum without much trouble and spending several months there. However, he began to dream of migrating to Italy—a destination that holds a special place in the hearts of Eritreans when they think about emigration. Italy’s influence is deeply ingrained in Eritrean society, from the architecture to the language, with many Italian words having made their way into Tigrinya, the language spoken in the highlands. Eritrea had been an Italian colony for a long time, until the end of World War II, when Italy, part of the Axis powers alongside Germany and Japan, was defeated, leading to the redistribution of global territories by the Allies. Eritrea then fell under British trusteeship. It’s worth mentioning here that the Sudan Defence Force played a crucial role in Britain’s battles against Italian forces in Eritrea.

Malta saved up enough money to cover his journey across the Sahara Desert to Tripoli, Libya—a route discovered by Eritreans who had fled to Sudan in their quest to reach Italy. After much suffering, he made it to Libya, where he worked for several months to save for the next leg of his journey to Italy.

He boarded a secret ship with other Eritrean and non-Eritrean migrants, setting sail from Libya across the Mediterranean. However, a violent storm forced them to dock at a Maltese port, where they were discovered and detained by the Maltese authorities, along with the ship’s crew.

The Maltese authorities decided to deport Malta and others back to Eritrea within three days. Upon arrival, he was immediately seized by Eritrean intelligence and thrown into “Tiraki” prison in Asmara, where he spent several weeks. From there, he was transferred to “Nakhra” prison, located on an island off the Red Sea coast, where he endured six months of torture and hardship. He was then relocated to western Eritrea over eight months ago, ending up in “Adersar” prison, where he suffers from forced labor alongside other detainees. The guards and prisoners alike call him "Malta," and he doesn't even know if he’s been formally sentenced. Like others, he’s told that his trial was handled by the intelligence services, without ever standing before a judge or having a chance to defend himself.

Malta considers Adersar prison a "vacation" despite the hardships, which don’t compare to those of Nakhra. Built by the Italians during their occupation of Eritrea as a place of exile and torture for anti-colonial dissidents, the prison is located on a small island in the Red Sea archipelago. The Eritrean intelligence found it a suitable location for the same purpose for which it was originally built.

Nakhra’s two key features set it apart from other prisons under Eritrean intelligence. First, the extreme humidity and heat during the summer months, typical of the coastal climate. And second, the presence of lobsters—marine crustaceans of the crab family. They come out onto the rocky shores at night, especially on moonlit nights, and make sounds resembling the cries of children, which deeply disturb the prisoners. Most Eritreans are unfamiliar with the sea and its creatures, and their relationship with seafood, especially fish, is a relatively recent development. This lack of knowledge about the sea and its creatures made the prisoners suffer greatly from the cries of these lobsters, which filled them with despair, leading some to attempt suicide. They had no idea where the eerie sounds of childlike cries were coming from, as they weren’t allowed outside their cells or barracks at night.

 

April 6, 2004

Today marks the anniversary of the April Uprising. I met Amer after we finished a long, exhausting day of work. I rarely saw him because his block was separate, along with the other Sudanese prisoners. I only encountered them when our jailer subjected us to hard labor. Amer, surprised, asked me, "Didn't your people come to release you?" He didn’t know that my "people" had no idea where I was or what had become of me. But I answered, "They will come for sure."

A long series of thoughts ran through my mind, a mental reel containing both long and short clips about the relationship between our political organizations and the People's Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ). In my view, this relationship is opportunistic, built on mutual hostility toward the ruling regime in Khartoum. It’s opportunistic because our political parties claim to support democracy, advocating for it, fighting and even going to war in its name—calling for the restoration of political pluralism, freedom, and the repeal of emergency laws. They demand the release of political prisoners, yet they align themselves with a political force that practices oppression and torture against its own people. This regime neither believes in democracy nor in political freedoms, nor does it tolerate free speech, freedom of movement, or any other basic rights.

A one-party state with a single newspaper and an autocratic ruler is unlikely to offer anything positive when it comes to democracy or public freedoms. The relationship between our political forces and the PFDJ is guided by a shared opposition to the Khartoum regime, but it conflicts when it comes to issues of democracy and freedom. This topic deserves its own discussion.

As for Aamer, whom I mentioned earlier, he is Sudanese from the city of Kassala. The Eritrean intelligence services arrested him a year and a half ago along with his pickup truck ("box") inside the border town of Teseney. They accused him of attempting to smuggle Eritrean citizens across the border into Sudan. Aamer spent his first year in Teseney prison, where he was subjected to lengthy interrogations and torture until he signed a paper he couldn’t understand. After that, he was transferred to Adar Sar prison, where he has been held for over fourteen months.

He told me that things have improved for him recently, as they allowed him to stay above ground after spending a year and several months underground. There were whispers among the prison administration that his time was nearing its end. These days, he’s being treated as the head cook in the prison, along with two other Sudanese, Isaac and Abdu. When I laughed at this, Amer laughed too, but with a bitterness that surpassed what I felt many times before. There were two kitchens, built from straw and tree trunks—one for military prisoners and the other for civilians. These kitchens weren’t even worth the sweat and maybe blood shed from whip strikes, which were endured to gather the materials for their construction. Under their roofs, where sunlight filtered in all day, there was little to speak of in terms of cooking. Meals were served twice daily—once at midday after a grueling day of labor and again just before sunset, at the end of the workday and before heading underground. The meals were merely dry bread, enough to make the late Moroccan novelist Mohamed Choukri weep in his grave. Added to that were large quantities of water mixed with a few lentils or a few cans of shiro or zigini (Eritrean dishes). This mix was boiled in two large pots to feed over 400 people at times. The worst moments in Adar Sar prison were when we had to line up outside by the kitchens for the daily meals.

Amer said to me, "Despite the filth in the kitchen, I feel a bit freer. I get to stay above ground for longer periods." He is now spending his remaining days on the surface.

Amer spent all this time between Teseney and Adar Sar without being allowed to contact his family or anyone else. In Eritrean intelligence detention centers, inmates are forbidden from meeting their families, and the location of detainees is kept secret, regardless of the reason for their arrest. This rule applies even to Eritreans, let alone foreigners. Today, I discovered the presence of one Ethiopian inmate, though I can’t recall his name, and there were five other Sudanese here before I arrived.