Old Habits Die Hard

Art and writing by Nahom Assefa

The old militant loomed over the fallen woman, his camel snorting in defiance. She dared protest against a supposed liberation mission, which turned into a village raid. The militants ransacked the few remaining resources the obscure village depended on.

He yanked the camel’s reins, stepping back from a man who blocked his further assault on Aziza.

“Pray that we won’t cross paths again,” the old militant sneered.

“Don’t let that bother you,” Ismael replied. “Keep your old habits away.”

The sneer turned into a smirk. The condescension brewed further, “How ironic. The diaspora who can hardly speak our language leading these men.”

“Amanekol chief blood flows in my veins,” said Ismael. “More legitimate than you and your old ways are.”

With a final look of disgust and a promise of blood, the old militant turned his camel away. He ordered the rest of the militants to march toward the southern villages.