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The only connection between them is the love. Moving to the streets of Sematat and Harnet in Martyrs’ Day eve, one witnesses love connecting a child with a fallen hero. They have only one thing in common; both are Eritreans, they have never seen each other, the martyr never got the chance to tell the child a feeble or a good night story, they don’t share the age factor, but still the child carries the candle in memory of the person, who most probably never saw in his life.
A child is walking down the Harnet Street of Asmara, holding a burning candle, walking slowly so that the candle won’t fall or its light won’t go out. Beside the child is a mother holding a big frame with a picture of a young soldier, which by the look of it you can easily figure out it is a martyr’s.
Imagine what is going on in the child’s mind as he walks along the street holding a burning candle. How the child grasps the whole commemorative ceremony, mothers chanting with the pictures of their beloved sons and daughters in their breasts, tears falling down, fathers holding the palms of their little children slowly marching along the street. All quiet and in memory of a martyr whom they used to know as a child, friend, or lover.
And the child is looking at the candle, as if it responds to him. The child moves carefully, so as the candle will give its blaze until the last moment of its existence. The child is staring at the light, as if there is the story of the fallen, the story of the past, and the story of the future written in the fading blazes of the light.
The sight left me thinking; what does the child made out of the martyr’s day; how does he understand it. How the child relate to the whole, candle, martyr, heroism acts. It may be most of the time that he pictures some person who is extra huge and extra strong, who fights with such brevity and who finally dies for the good cause.
Thousands of Eritrean sacrificed their lives for the love of the children, the love of the family. And the child is walking on the streets of Asmara at the eve of the martyrs’ day, in memory of the fallen heroes, and in gratitude of the love the martyrs gave us.
The martyr died for the love of the unborn babies; for the love of the suffering children. The martyr died for the love of joyous innocent kids. The martyr died for the love of the teenager who was killed in the streets, for the love of the grieving mother. The martyr died for the love of the child, who now carries the candle in memory of the love that was given to him. They share the love; the love that connects the two as if they are together.
So that the connection continues for generations to come. The child and the martyr bonded with an endless love. The love for the country, for one’s family, one’s self, one’s people, so that you die to protect the possessions that are dear and near to your heart, transferred from the old to the young. From the dead to the living, from the adult to the child, from the martyr to the candle, and to the child. An endless rejuvenating circle!
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