She sings tizita...

She sings tizita while I watch from a table at the front. There is sorrow there, and heartbreak, of course. But there is hope and independence, too. 

On this night, the Eritrean air is hotter than on most, and while we lie still, body-to-body, steam rises from her skin like a lullaby from Mekurya's horn.

Tomorrow, she will head west towards Senegal, while I stay with our children, who understand better than I that only time can bring back our beautiful mother.

She sings tizita

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