THE HISTORY OF A DIFFICULT CHILD

In Ethiopian writer Sibhat’s debut novel, a young girl chronicles civil war and ethnic division in the 1980s.

Selam Asmelash comes into the world with what, says a sister, is “a very large, abnormally sized head.” Her father asks what’s the matter with that, and the sibling, as if a sibyl, replies, “You’ll see.” Selam’s appearance will later prove a cause for schoolyard bullying, but for the moment, thoughtful beyond her years, she decides on a couple of things: She’s not going to walk until she’s good and ready, and she’s not going to be fooled by political rhetoric, as when, still a toddler, she proclaims of the new constitutional freedoms “Comrade Chairman” promises over the radio, “Liar.” Selam is not the only one resisting the alternate realities the regime promotes: Her grandmother, for example, holds up a black bar of soap sold in a government shop and demands of the dictator in faraway Addis Ababa, “He needs to tell us whether this is really soap or his shit in a package!” Selam, the conscience of the tale, finds her bête noire in, appropriately enough, a government functionary whom she calls Rectangle-Head, but there are other foes: the villagers who throw rocks at their house because her family is Protestant; the rebel army that arrives during an uprising against the regime, so quick to commit atrocities that, says Selam, “I am terrified of them even more than I used to be of comrade Rectangle-Head, whom I don’t even think about anymore.” Long since fully ambulatory, Selam, in Sibhat’s touching conclusion, puts aside these murderous squabbles of adults as the childish things they are and decides instead that she’s going to be a star soccer striker, scoring goals for all the dead of her family and village and even one for God, “the madman who created so much chaos while desperate to escape aloneness.”

A moving evocation of life in a time of terror, as seen through innocent eyes.