Biniam's Story

Oh, how he loved Christmas! His face would beam with joy at the advent of that blessed day. He had celebrated twelve Christmases before. This one was to be his thirteenth.  

But Biniam had a problem. He was born with a defective heart. A case of loose valve that refused to shut when it should. This was in 1963 and the doctors in Asmara could do nothing to save him. He was destined to die lying in bed with his legs raised a little bit so that his weak heart could pump blood to his head with ease.

He needed his head to think about Christmas and the shepherds who kept watch over their flock. He needed his heart to love the child in the crib and to sing: Oh Little Town of Bethlehem ... Somehow, there was established a bond between his heart and his mind for him to be able to inhale the spirit of Christmas. It caused his heart to throb with joy. “Joy to the world the Lord is come….” He would shout.

Lying in his reclining bed, Biniam remembered the past Christmas days when he was nine years old:

One day, three years earlier, he woke up at night to march towards Betgiorgis with the ‘Christmas looters’ who robbed the forest for the little Jesus. Betgiorgis two kilometers away on the Asmara-Massawa road was at the time partly covered with pine-looking Christmas trees known as tsihdi. These were carefully guarded by forest wardens who were the last people on earth to care about the birth of Christ. For them, the little rascals who cut the trees at night were to be apprehended and beaten mercilessly. For the wardens, the trees meant job security. Cut and destroyed trees could cause trouble with their superiors and they might spend the most un-silent and unholy Christmas night as a result. As far as the looters were concerned, however, those trees meant a merry and a very joyous Christmas day.

The forest wardens were paid to protect the trees, and spent sleepless nights during the first week before Christmas. The looters wished the wardens slept for some time out of exhaustion so that they could steal in peace.  

Biniam got up at 2 am and took out his axe from under his bed. The shuffling of feet and peculiar manner of whistling outside, which was a signal, alerted him to the situation at hand. The looters were ready to leave.

Unfortunately, his big brother told him to forget it. Being only a small child, he should stay at home. Biniam had always been a tag-along kid brother.

“ You will join us when you are thirteen,” said his big brother.

Biniam felt very much disappointed. Of all the numbers to remember, why thirteen?

The next day, Biniam saw a small but beautiful Christmas tree sitting in an empty pail filled with big stones as prop.

“ My beautiful Christmas tree!” sighs Biniam and starts to decorate it with anything that glittered.

“ Where are the angels?” asks one of his brothers.

“ Here they are,” he says with pride.

“ But angels don’t stay on the ground, they fly.”

So Biniam has to let them hang from the branches of the small tree by thin threads.

The three wise men are all there. One of them is black. Biniam never understood the reason.

Martha, the three-year-old sister of Biniam feels a bit sad as she contemplates the small and lonely tree.

“ What’s the problem Martha?” inquires Biniam.

“ Poor tree. You left its mother in the cold.” sniffs Martha.

Wrapped candies were made to hang on the branches. The problem was that a few days after

Christmas the candies would as by magic be transformed into pebbles. What happened in between? The little kids sneaked into the room and unwrapped the candies and replaced them with pebbles. Stealing went on despite the spirit of Christmas. But it was just a childish prank. And the Lord was disposed to forgive sins on that special day.

In the evening everybody gets around the tree and sings: Joy to the World, O come O ye faithful, What child is this, etc. Then all leave for church for Christmas Eve Mass.

Biniam wakes up from his journey in time and space. He looks around. The Christmas tree has not yet arrived. It is one week before Christmas. Biniam is now thirteen and could have joined the gang this time. But his heart is too weak to carry him to the looting site. His only wish is therefore to stay alive to be able to celebrate his last Christmas in peace.

“ If I die before Christmas, I can still celebrate it with Jesus in heaven,” he thinks. But still he wants to see the Christmas tree by all means. So he starts to sing Christmas songs as if that holy day could listen to his beautiful voice and come in haste to join him for a last rite.

He recites Biblical verses related to the birth of Jesus. He utters the words in a loud and vibrant voice that astounds his listeners. A child with a heart condition can hardly get the force to shout like that. But his heart is now full of love for the world, because Christmas is for cheering cold hearts and lighting gloomy spirits.

And indeed the family feels very much elated and begins to sing along with him.

“ If he so loves Jesus, how come there is no miracle from on high?” whispers some whose hearts are sitting on shifting sands.

“ Maybe, it is of his own choosing,” reply those whose hearts stand on solid grounds. 

That night, Biniam’s heart falters and he has to be taken to the hospital. Only his love for Christmas infuses strength into his strained heart muscles. It looked as if his little heart was pounding inside his chest with enough force to last till Christmas day.

Once in hospital, he could not sing. So his brothers had to sing for him. Biniam wanted also a Christmas tree to be put close to his bed. The family somehow managed to get a small plastic pine tree and put it on his bedside table. It was not like the one at home. It smelt plastic and had no life. This saddened Biniam to some extent, but there was nothing else to do.

Biniam used to sing with the church choir before his illness. He remembered one Christmas Eve when he was given a verse to recite while holding a spark rod that burned hot. He forgot his line and kept blabbering too long for the rod to burn his fingers. The verse was: Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. Biniam could never forget that verse. He paid for it with his burned fingers.

He remembered the night his aunt Tiblez arrived on Christmas day from the countryside. She brought with her five pieces of henbasha (leavened circular bread) and a chicken.

“ What is this?” she asked pointing at the small pine tree.

“ It is our Christmas tree,” explained Biniam.

Aunt Tiblez had never seen a Christmas tree before. It was not her fault. Christmas trees were later introductions by Italians or the Nordic evangelists.

“ What will you do with it when Christmas is over?” She wondered.

“ We will burn it to bake our ingera or kitcha,” replied Biniam.

“ Wei gud! (Well, I’ll be damned!)” sighed aunt Tiblez

Biniam’s heart condition worsened with each passing day.

“ I am dying on the day that the baby Jesus is born,” he thought and began to brood. It was Christmas Eve.

“ Come on, you can sing along with us,” suggested his brothers.

“ I can’t,” whispered Biniam. “I have problem breathing.”

“Try!”

“ Never mind, just go to the Church for the Mass. You can come tomorrow.” His words were faint.

“ We will keep vigil through the night. We can’t leave you alone, ” replied his brothers.

“ Merry Christmas,” he smiled.

Martha sensed something wrong with the way he breathed, and simply said: “ Merry Christmas to you.”

The next thing they knew, he was gone.  Probably with a multitude of the heavenly host. That’s what Martha thought.

Society and Culture No. 6

Aunt Tiblez had never seen a Christmas tree before. It was not her fault. Christmas trees were later introductions by Italians or the Nordic evangelists.

“ What will you do with it when Christmas is over?” She wondered.

“ We will burn it to bake our ingera or kitcha,” replied Biniam.

“ Wei gud! (Well, I’ll be damned!)” sighed aunt Tiblez