Hanna Petros Solomon breaks down in tears as she recalls how she and her siblings effectively became orphans 25 years ago when their father was arrested in Eritrea and jailed without trial. Their mother was subsequently detained – and no-one has heard from either of them – or of them – since. “He had a towel on his shoulders like a sportsman,” she tells the BBC about the last time she saw her father when she was 10 years old, and he had gone out for a jog. “He used to work out every morning.” Her parents met when they both fought in the long liberation war that saw Eritrea gain independence from Ethiopia in 1993.
Her father Petros Solomon had been one of the senior leaders during the war and is regarded by many as a national hero for his critical role. After independence, he had served as defence minister, then foreign minister and had been heading the fisheries ministry when his troubles began. That was in May 2001 when he and 14 other high-profile politicians signed an open letter to President Isaias Afewerki calling for the implementation of a constitution that was ratified after independence and demanding national elections. They became known as the G-15.
Isaias, the leader of the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF) which had fought against Ethiopia, did not take the criticism well. Unbeknown to Hanna, her father had been dismissed as a minister, though he still went out early to get some exercise each day. It was not until a few days after 9/11 – when the world was distracted by the al-Qaeda attacks on the US – that the country was to discover the full extent of Isais’s displeasure in what became a watershed moment in Eritrea’s history. In the early hours of 18 September, the security forces positioned themselves outside the homes of 11 senior government officials in the capital, Asmara, on the president’s orders.
Petros was picked up by security agents as he left in his tracksuit. The family had no idea what had happened to him. Hanna and her three siblings went to stay with their paternal grandmother as their mother, Aster Yohannes, was away studying in the US. It was only some days after Petros had disappeared that things became clearer, says Hanna about the painful memories.
“My classmates told me that my father sold out his country. “That is when I understood how serious the situation was, and how people framed my dad and his colleagues who fought for the independence of their country. I was hurt.” In the US, Aster was shell-shocked by what had happened – and was in a very bad way. She asked government officials if they could issue the children with passports – but they refused, telling her to come home.
After agonising about the situation for two years and reportedly receiving assurances from government officials, she packed her bags to return. Hanna and her siblings desperately wanted her back – but they were also worried. “I told her on the phone: ‘What if they arrest you?'” Hanna remembers. “She insisted nothing would happen to her, saying: ‘I haven’t done anything wrong, and am only coming to raise my children.'” Hanna says she learned later that President Isaias himself had promised Aster that she would be safe.
But while the family waited at Asmara International Airport on 11 December 2003, she failed to emerge through arrivals with the other passengers. Their hopes began to wilt along with the flowers they had brought: “It was a long, long wait. Eventually we gave up and went back home. “First we called to the US, friends and relatives told us they saw her off at the airport.” Then ominously an official called from the airport asking Aster to collect her luggage.
That is when they realised she had arrived in the country but would not be coming home. All pleas and requests for information fell on deaf ears in the months that followed. Instead Hanna’s grandmother was warned by authorities to stop inquiring. The family later heard that Aster was being held in the infamous jail known as Karshelli in the heart of Asmara.
Hanna’s father is believed to be detained, with the others arrested on 18 and 19 September 2001, in the remote, hostile and highly secretive prison known as Ela-Ero, located in eastern lowlands north-east of Asmara. Accused of treason, none of them has ever been brought to trial or allowed to see their relatives. At around the same time, the government also shut down all the fledgling independent newspapers and detained their editors and journalists – also believed to be imprisoned in Ela-Ero. The Eritrean government – including its embassy in the UK – has not responded to the BBC’s request for comment regarding the whereabouts of the prisoners or whether or not they are alive.
Hanna, like many thousands of young Eritreans fleeing conscription and in search of better opportunities, left the country – travelling secretively over the border without a passport. Now 35 years old, she is married and lives in the US, working as a trauma specialist – but still feels traumatised herself by how she lost her parents. As she stares at old pictures of her parents, she worries her memories will fade of the happy times before their arrest – the laughter, the family gatherings, the birthday parties: “My dad always wanted to gather people in the house, they were good days.” She also hankers after her mother’s “unmatched” egg and potato sandwiches. On trips down to the coast when her father was the minister of fisheries, Hanna remembers him organising singing competitions in the car: “He would ask us to sing one by one and whoever won would get a present.” One of his favourite songs included the lyrics: “I had a sweater, a blue sweater, that my sister took” – which reminded him of his sister who was also a freedom fighter and had been killed during the war.
She also has memories of her mother loving music – playing and singing hits by Abba, Dolly Parton and Whitney Houston. Until her father’s arrest, Hanna remembers September as being full of hope with its three big Orthodox Christian festivals, including the Geez New Year. Now the month brings her no joy. Ibrahim Sherifo knows exactly how she feels.
Both his parents, who were senior members of the ruling People’s Front for Democracy and Justice (PFDJ), were among the G-15 people arrested 25 years ago. He was 13 years old at the time “For me 18 September 2001 is a dark day, but not only for me, it is a dark day for Eritrea and its people, because it is the day when law and democracy was detained,” he tells the BBC. He is now 38 and living in exile in the Netherlands, where he was granted asylum, and is pursuing an MA in political science – following in his father’s footsteps. His dad Mahmoud Ahmed Sherifo was the local government minister and de facto deputy president before his detention.
Ibrahim was with his mother, Aster Fissehatsion, staying with her sister when he remembers security agents knocking on the door early in the morning and taking her away in her pyjamas. Worried about his father, Ibrahim immediately ran to his nearby house but was told he had already been picked up when he had gone out for exercise. Both Hanna and Ibrahim say they are forever grateful to the friends and family who offered them care and supported them as they grew up without their parents, despite the risks. They are also proud of what their parents stood for and daring to call for reforms.
“They had conscience and couldn’t observe idly while what they fought for what had been hijacked by Isaias and his coterie,” says Ibrahim. “As a family, we should be informed whether they are alive or not,” he adds, accusing the government of wanting to erase all memory of the political prisoners. Hanna also wants the plight of the many others whose relatives have disappeared over the years to be heard too. Human rights groups, including the UN, consider the G-15 prisoners of conscience and have been calling for their release.
President Isaias, now 80, has still not implemented the country’s first constitution – approved in 1997 – and remains in power without ever holding an election. Hanna recalls that on the eve of her father’s disappearance, she had a “bad feeling” – and had crept into his bed and tied his legs to her own with string while he slept. “In the morning he woke up to find he was tied up and to release himself he pulled my legs and I woke up. I begged him not to leave but he assured me that he would return [after his run].” Describing the years of sorrow since, she says it is like living in the deep sea.
“Sometimes it is calm and you can float, but other times the sorrow comes back to you like a wave and drowns you deep down. “Sometimes you lose hope and you are out of breath.” Asked what she would say if she could get a message to her parents, she replies: “Don’t worry about us. “Like you survived the struggle through sheer steadfastness, we hope you can pull through this too and return to us.” Three decades, one leader – how Eritreans had their hopes dashed Why Eritreans are at war with each other around the world Go to BBCAfrica.com, external for more news from the African continent. frica, external or on Instagram at bbcafrica, external
