Notes from the Hyena's Belly: An Ethiopian Boyhood
by Nega Mezlekia
Overview
From the Publisher
Part autobiography and part social history, Notes from the Hyena's Belly offers an unforgettable portrait of Ethiopia, and of Africa, during the 1970s and '80s, an era of civil war, widespread famine, and mass execution. "We children lived like the donkey," Mezlekia remembers, "careful not to wander off the beaten trail and end up in the hyena's belly." His memoir sheds light not only on the violence and disorder that beset his native country, but on the rich spiritual and cultural life of Ethiopia itself. Throughout, he portrays the careful divisions in dress, language, and culture between the Muslims and Christians of the Ethiopian landscape. Mezlekia also explores the struggle between western European interests and communist influences that caused the collapse of Ethiopia's social and political structure--and that forced him, at age 18, to join a guerrilla army. Through droughts, floods, imprisonment, and killing sprees at the hands of military juntas, Mezlekia survived, eventually emigrating to Canada. In Notes from the Hyena's Belly he bears witness to a time and place that few Westerners have understood.
My thoughts
I loved this book. I read it in the course of a couple of days because I could not put it down! It does start out with a few laughs because what the author describes is so foreign to most of us, and the author writes with a sense of humor. However the book is not by any means all fun and games. It is real life that Nega describes, and he lives in terribly violent times in Ethiopian history. He lives through famine, times of corporal punishment in school like we have never known, his government being overthrown, guerilla factions taking hold, the threat of Communism, and a tremendous world of spirits and superstition.
Prior to this book I read Sister Genevieve, a book about a nun who started a school during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. Half way through the book it occurred to me that I had a pen pal in Northern Ireland who would have been living what I was reading. She'd have been my age, going through absolutely terrible times. Likewise as I read this book, I realized the author is about my age, and half way around the world from my friend in Northern Ireland, he was going through his own hell. Me? I was in-between the two of them, eating smarties, wearing my little dresses to school, trying to decide if Calvin was cuter than Bobby who was at least as cute as Pat. It doesn't seem fair. How could I have had such a richly blessed life of security and comfort while they each suffered so much? How someone like this has the courage to keep going with life is a testament to their bravery, their resolve, their wisdom and honor.
I have to say that this book has opened my eyes to the real world. It makes me cry for everyone in today's world who suffers. I will never understand why peace is so elusive. Today I pray for our world.
Favorite Passage
About forty-five minutes into our trip, we reached a scenic region where the houses clung to the face of the mountain on one side of the road, and distant villages dotted the green landscape sixty metres below us on the other. Shepherd boys occupied strategic posts high on the cliffs, very much like a defending army prepared to launch an attack on a hostile convoy. The driver pulled over to the side of the road, lifted a duffel bag from behind his seat, and called the boys down.
They recognized him immediately, clambering down the cliff face like wild monkeys descending on some unexpected bounty, arms extended before them, laughing and charging ahead of one another. When they reached our driver, some shook his hand, others bowed and kissed his fingers; all stood around with an undisguised air of anticipation. The driver took the time to inquire about their health and well-being, how this or that boy's mother fared (despite the fact that he had most likely never met her), then opened his bag and dispensed his gifts of sweets, toys and soccer balls. They were happy beyond words and jumped up and down with glee.
I was touched by this display of generosity, by the spectacle of this angelic character who made a difference in the lives of poor shepherd boys. When I couldn't restrain my curiosity any longer, I walked to the driver's seat and asked him why he was so kind. A shadow fell over his face. In a serious tone of voice he admitted to me that he had no choice. Perched high on the cliffside, stones at their feet, the kids could really damage buses.
The shepherd boys' skill in using slingshots was surpassed only by their mountaineering genius. Although this highway was the main artery connecting the southern regions with the nation's capital, it saw only light traffic, and the frequent travellers were easily identified by the boys. The prudent commuter paid a simple toll.
