Final Landing

Abstract

Final Landing Saba Sebhatu (bio) Oscillating between Asmara, Eritrea, and Washington, DC, the narrator reflects on the power of cultural preservation in the Eritrean diaspora, “a country vying to live inside and outside of itself.” Walking home, the red night sky is crushing closer to earth. Stars splashed across the night, thousands of them, in a haphazard way. The altitude here elevated, in what is known as the hills; the highlands are quiet. Streetlights flicker, and suddenly entire city blocks go dark. Streets and sidewalks begin to merge; pedestrians navigate a labyrinth of solar-powered streetlamps. Headlights and taillights slice the night, beaming toward their destinations. This late, the only places open are smoky bars or cafés with half-open storefronts. By eleven, the city has gone to sleep. Click for larger view View full resolution GIRMA BERTA (ETHIOPIA), ASMARA XII (2018), DIGITAL ARCHIVAL PRINT, 45 X 60 CM / COURTESY OF ADDIS FINE ART ________ My eyes are wide open and have forgotten the weight of sleep. I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling in my room. I stare blankly at the plaster above me. On this particular morning, the sound of raindrops is tapping against the glass window. [End Page 44] My head is resting on a pillow and my neck is tilted sideways; for a moment, the rain distracts me; I notice the window, adorned with beads of raindrops. My focus returns to the ceiling. A long crack runs across its center at a diagonal with tinier cracks splintering at the sides. The crack appeared after an air bomber flew directly over our home. Nearly three decades later, it hovers over me. The capital city towers, surrounded by a plateau; its elevation miles high. A body feels cavernous here, a lightness of head and heart. The wind pierces the sides of your torso like a thousand needles penetrating bone. The bones always remember the unforgiving coldness. Midway to morning, the city awakens to prayer calls, a church, a mosque, suffusing the air, harmonies lingering in the dark as people sleep. Occasionally, a commercial jet lands late at night. Later, it ascends, its red lights in tow, flashing in the sky. Gheza (ገዛ) translates as both house and home. The four houses that existed for over millennia in the surrounding area of Asmara were known as Gheza Gurtom, Gheza Shelele, Gheza Serenser, and Gheza Asmae. Four women, from each of the four villages, eventually united the four houses to protect themselves from intruders. The four houses that united (feminine plural) became the city, Asmera, known as Asmara. I lay here, a city hovering in the clouds. ________ The city’s distractions are endless. I walk faster this time, pushing through the elements, the heat, and moving swiftly in between a relaxed shoulder to my right and a stiffly eroding, milky pink pastel-colored wall on my left. Watching an old man limp uphill makes me anxious. A car suddenly stalls, and the driver comes out to fill his gas tank with a liter of petrol. The rocks and unpaved road make a noise beneath my boots, eventually cracking the bottom sole of my right boot. Two young girls pass by me, one with a backpack and another in a long dress. This calms me and I am unsure why. A woman across the street is alone and appears pensive; perhaps she is waiting for someone. When her date finally arrives, she shrugs her shoulders back in a rowing motion, sliding what would have been what was left of the conversation of herself. I hear a friend’s voice in my head. You don’t read what they say. You read their intentions. The city is a revolving door of old friends and new strangers; timelines run through it like lacework, looping eventually. Continuity found in surprising and unfamiliar spaces. Over time, the city feels transient. Lines are drawn and emboldened, running parallel, perpendicular, intersecting through ceilings, walls, floors, windows, accented by humans. Sparse and subtle like punctuations at the end of sentences. Odd and charming, the architecture reflects a multitude of styles. Patches of gray and black stone slabs appear with mortared walls, lining the bottoms...