The Illusion of Peace

Yesterday, I heard that flights to and from Tigray have been suspended. My family, panicking as usual, told me to travel by bus.
I said what I always say: Nothing is going to happen. Because every time there's news of terror, we're told it's serious.

"No, this time it's different."
They say that every time.

It has been three years since the war "ended," yet this cycle repeats itself every other week, every other month. Is this supposed to be peace?
And guess who benefits from this?

First: business owners. Prices skyrocket overnight. Some goods mysteriously disappear, only to reappear later at triple the price. Pure coincidence, of course.

Second: Ethiopian Airlines. Everyone rushes to book tickets. Prices go up officially or unofficially. Tickets are resold at ridiculous rates, and original buyers are told they "lost" their seats. Meanwhile, the same seats are sitting there, resold for more money.

Third: People with loads of cash. When banks and ATMs run out of money, people with cash take commissions. Need 10,000 birr? Transfer 11,000 or more. Otherwise, no deal.

Every time I say I'm going home for break, people tell me I shouldn't because it's "not safe." But I go anyway. And I know so many others don't. Not just to Tigray, but to Amhara, Oromia, and other regions. For many years.

Don't people from conflict areas deserve to see their families? Don't they miss their loved ones, their cities, their villages? How many more years of living in terror, fear, and hopelessness are we supposed to endure?

This is what the aftermath of war looks like.

The war may have ended on paper, but in real life, it never really does.
Because trauma doesn't end following a ceasefire; neither does