Sweden – Journalisten, October 25, 2024
On October 27, journalist and author Dawit Isaak turns 60. It is the 24th birthday without his family. He has been imprisoned without trial in Eritrea since 2001. Here, his daughter Betlehem Isaak writes how she would like to celebrate him. “He loved to celebrate his birthdays.”
“You have to pray, pray and pray.”
It is summer in Gothenburg and an elderly Eritrean man comes up to me as I am on my way home from yoga. The man has large light brown eyes that turn green in the backlight. He and my father went to the same primary and secondary school, he says.
“God is always with those who have nothing, and we have no homeland, and you, you have neither a homeland nor a father,” the man says.
I smiled and nodded, but disagreed. God is always present when I talk about Dad with other Eritreans. Maybe as a comfort, as a reminder that God sees evil and that God punishes those who do evil.
“Your dad was always number one, sometimes he came second but it wasn’t that often,” the man tells me. In Eritrea, academic merits are ranked from 1-3. The top three students are displayed, given medals and diplomas, for encouragement and as role models.
It’s been 43 years since my father graduated from high school and 23 years since he was imprisoned. He has celebrated 24 birthdays in captivity. He loved celebrating his birthdays, loved eating out, loved reading, Dad loved us. He loved life.
It’s fall in Gothenburg and I’m dreading the combination of wind, rain and cold, I’ve started to put on my coat. Jenny Ohlsson is lively, chatty and nervous as she arrives in a t-shirt with her jacket in hand. She is the new Swedish ambassador to Eritrea. We meet at one of my favorite places. She eats salmon and I eat vegetarian.
“It’s urgent”, I say to Jenny. “I know,” she replies. “Dad should have been free yesterday, last year, he should never have been imprisoned and once he was imprisoned it shouldn’t have taken you eight months to react.” Not Jenny’s responsibility, I know, but I’ve made it my thing – to be the one to remind them that I’m on top of what they’ve done and not done.
“You have to feel like it’s life or death,” I say before we part, I think she understands. We hug.
I walk towards the yoga and swallow as if the tears will soon start to flow, but I have no tears left. I’m not even angry. Instead, I have become – determined. It’s hard but I try to see it from an outside perspective, like there is something concrete for me to solve.
Dad is alive, dad has to come home. Dad cannot and will not spend another birthday in captivity. Someone has been freed, he was also a poet and journalist. He was in prison for 21 years. Finally, he has been freed, it is written in the Eritrean social media. His name is Osman Saleh. I get happy, my hope is always there but sometimes it is on hibernation. Now it lights up again.
When will the others be freed, when will dad be free, I think silently.
