Up and Down the Streets (in Keren, Eritrea)

In Keren, the pace of life meanders up and down the dusty streets. 

No one rushes to the store or hurries to have dinner ready on time. 

Time is just something that passes while life takes place. 

Dinner will be cooked and served, tasks will be accomplished…

all in good time, but almost never on time… 

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In those days, the days before Internet, we walked a mile to the post office and back just to see if we had received a letter in the mail. 

Sometimes we made the trip twice a day. 

In those days, the days before cell phones, if we needed to meet someone, we would walk to the center of town, sit at a sidewalk cafe, order a cappuccino, and wait. 

Before long that person, whoever it was, walked by. 

They would sit down with us for a chat and a drink. 

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Only a handful of years before we arrived in Keren, the city was a victim of a 30-year war,  and no one knew when it would end. 

Inhabitants painted their houses dull shades of brown so as not to garner the attention of the MiGs—fighter jets flown by the enemy. 

People stayed indoors so as not to be caught in a skirmish 

or to be the unfortunate one to step on a landmine 

or die in an explosion. 

Fear roamed up and down the empty streets.

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But now, freedom captured the weary hearts of Keren’s inhabitants 

and along with freedom came richness in time. 

When the sun made its way to the lower part of the horizon 

and the hot air cooled to a pleasant breeze, 

the people of Keren filled the streets. 

Not because they had to, 

but because they could. 

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Conversation danced in the air 

and joy in the hearts of the people. 

Brightly painted houses conveyed the hope of a new way of life,

a life that didn’t involve cowering under fighter jets.

The war took away wealth, opportunity, family members, but not the spirit of the people. 

And what they didn’t possess in resources, 

they had in time itself.

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In Keren the pace of life meandered up and down the dusty streets. 

There was always time for tea…or coffee. 

There was always time to lend a hand, 

to drink a cappuccino, 

to share a story, 

to walk someone home. 

There was always time for another person.

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Life gets busy. 

Nowadays the Internet, phones, schedules, and “to do” lists keep us on the go. 

When I recall those days in Keren, I long to be “rich in time” again. 

Maybe I just look at the past with rose-colored glasses. 

Maybe I’m forgetting the frustration with inefficiency, or the loneliness when, after walking to the post office, there is no letter in the mailbox. 

Maybe it has slipped my mind that sometimes we felt irritated when we couldn’t find the person we needed to speak to because they left town for the weekend and didn’t walk by the shop where we sipped our coffee…waiting. 

But part of me thinks the exchange was still worth it. 

I still like that slower, it-will-happen-when-it-happens-let’s-sit-and-have-a-chat mentality. 

The pace of life that simply meanders…

like it did…

up and down the streets of Keren.