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Timar agreed and on the said day went to the rendezvous. After searching for the his office in a maze of corridors and dark stairs in a renovated building, she could finally locate it. No pointing signs on the walls. No names on doors. For all she cared it could have been a suicide-bomber or a vampire.

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Could it be that Timar, with her casual dress and easygoing manners, brought forth all the negative forces in the secretary? What do you want? The secretary smelled a rat. What could the boss have in common with a creep like Timar? Do you have appointment with some girl? When she got a positive reply, she waved Timar to proceed and followed her every step with her inquisitive eyes. Kafil, who was also known as Weddi Russom, sat behind an oversized table talking on the phone, interspersing his sentences with Arabic loan words.

He would laugh now and then, showing his rather yellowish teeth, a result of too much tobacco and alcohol. He looked like he owned the country and the inhabitants thereof. After the usual greetings, he bade Timar to sit down and in the course of the conversation that followed he said some lofty words regarding her mother, how they came to know each other, how much he loved her, how much he was devastated when she was killed in battle, how she died like a hero, etc.

And then he put several questions to her, with a view to getting as much information as he could for his daily report. Timar was careful not to say anything about Weddi Mannu. She told him about Tesfai, how he was tortured as an EPLF agent by the Derg soldiers and how later he managed to escape from prison to finally disappear completely from her sight, but not from her heart. And whom did he work for? I see……you mean he was your lover? But he was simply lying. The EPLF never considered the non-combatants as real citizens.

The new independence seemed to have been tailor-made for them only. Eritrean youngsters who had stayed with the enemy during the armed struggle were expendable, to be used in battles and skirmishes that the bellicose government in power helped to bring about. Rule by the people, from the people, to the people.

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But the PFDJ-style democracy he was bragging about was, to tell the truth, the antithesis of democracy where opposition in all its forms, even in the form of thoughts and dreams, was forbidden. It was said of the EPLF that even non-opposition was frowned upon in the field. Keeping quiet was a prelude to an oncoming opposition! A lull before the storm, to put it correctly. He told her that there was more freedom of thought and freedom of movement in Eritrea than in all the countries of the worlds combined. He told her that Eritrea would soon be the Singapore of Africa.

Timar wanted to leave before she had her brain blown up with so much lies and propaganda. Kafil, however, wanted another similar meeting. But Timar knew that subsequent meetings would probably lead to easy familiarity and intimacy, which could again pave the way to fresh ideas and indecent proposals. She said good bye and left. As she walked across the room in her unique gait, the secretary was still chatting on the phone.

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  8. She then looked up and nodded at Timar mechanically with a haughty and arrogant movement of the head. Good bye ex-whore! To make a long story short, Timar did finally get married to a rich man from Jeddah by the name of Iyassu, twenty years older than her. Haregu was, of course, the matchmaker. The wedding feast took place in EmbaSoira Hotel. Kafil was naturally invited as Haregu wanted to play it safe.

    Kafil arrived with his secretary, who had previously mistaken Timar for a simple whore.

    But when now she saw her in her best, looking like a morning star, she turned green with envy and red with anger. She became much angrier, however, when she noticed the stupid Kafil going bananas over her. She hated the Revolution. She would see more of it later on, enough to make her cross the border to Ethiopia. During the Tigrinya dance at the Imperial Hotel in which the suwa local beer and the whisky did their part, the band played the whole night, the singers howled and barked.

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    In the din and clamor, one prominent member of the Party chanced to catch sight of Timar. Weddi Mannu was also there. Dancing and drinking. Drinking to forget his past sins. Drinking more and more to forget that he was a turncoat. As he shuffled his feet and shook his shoulders to the beat of the drum, his mind must have wandered to the early days when he, as an EPLF fighter, drank dimu dimu high octane rice-based drink brewed in the field, and compared to which the common whiskey is but an apple juice following a bloody victory or a bloodless retreat.

    The EPLF fighters danced to celebrate any occasion. Any incident was worth dancing. Now, it has even become an obsession! The nation that dances together, stays together! When the music turned into tango, Weddi Mannu asked Timar to dance with him. She accepted rather half-heartedly, for she neither knew how to dance the tango nor was she in the mood at the time. As Weddi Mannu hugged her and drew her close to him, Iyassu, the bridegroom, never showed any kind of irritation.

    If it were in his power, Iyassu would have easily offered Timar to the Boss for an overnight enjoyment. But Timar was not happy.

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    She felt very much irritated. She never liked dancing much less with people in authority. She hated all those who were steering the country to its doom with their irresponsible and adventurous policies. He kept dancing every round. Finally, the suwa getting the better of him, he asked her to go upstairs with him, to the hotel bedrooms. Timar refused categorically. He tried to grab her by the hand and drag her along. The friends intervened and asked her to disappear among the dancing crowd or if that failed to go to her wedding suite.