Of Beetles and Angels Read Online Free PDF Page B

rise of Mengistu and the Dergue and desolation, adults had passed out presents to the children during
Hoyo Hoyo
— money, candy, food, and even homebrewed liquor for the older kids.
    But in our refugee camp, no one could afford to give presents to so many.
    Presents or no, we still loved
Hoyo Hoyo.
On this one day, we embraced what we most feared on other days.
    You can’t hurt us today, oh, fire. We say IMBEE! NO YOU CAN’T! Go ahead. Burn us and our adobes. Take our chickens and goats, and even our gardens.
    For today, we are not refugees, we don’t live in adobes. No, we live back home among our people, and we celebrate our new year, and we dance with you like our forefathers before us.
    When we came to America and heard of a strange holiday where children morphed into all manner of strange creatures, my siblings and I were puzzled. But eventually, we understood. This was their version of
Hoyo Hoyo.
Just like we did, they roamed from house to house and brought smiles to adults. Instead of
Hoyo Hoyo,
they chanted “Trick or treat!” Instead of fire, they flouted vampires, witches, and all of Hell’s creatures.
    Our refugee village in Sudan could not afford presents, but this country gladly showered candy, fruit, even money on its petitioners. And not just a little bit of candy, but almost unlimited free candy — beyond our wildest dreams!
    Declaring Halloween our favorite holiday, we convinced our parents that they should allow us to go trick-or-treating alone. By the second year, we had our strategy all figured out.
    We raced all the way home from school through Wheaton’s quiet streets, arriving home before any of our classmates. After ransacking our parents’ closet for two pillowcases, we started out on our way — usually with hastily designed costumes. One year, I took a grocery-sized paper bag, poked two holes in it, and dubbed myself “Paper-Bag Man.”
    We had two rounds. During the treasure round we did not knock on any doors. We ran from house to house, searching eagerly for baskets labeled “Please take one.” Without pausing, we snatched the baskets and dumped all of their contents into our bags.
    We wondered sometimes, did adults really expect unsupervised kids to take only one piece of candy? What self-respecting kid would do such a thing?
    We started round two right as most kids started their regular trick-or-treating. We joined them in running from house to house, crying out with our
habesha
accents: “Treehk ohr Treet!” We usually received our candy graciously and made sure to say “Tankooh.”
    But we weren’t always nice. Each year, we singled out several round-two victims for some special fun.
    One year we saw two white boys sitting on their front steps. They sat, talking softly, laughing, their bright, blond hair stirring in the early evening wind. Tewolde and I laughed as we sized them up, taking in their neatly pressed clothing and their bright, honest faces.
    The straw basket they guarded dwarfed the youngest boy. But what was in it? What treasures did that basket hide? Lollipops? Tootsie Rolls? Candy bars? We hoped that it wasn’t fruit, so we wouldn’t have to throw it back at their house later.
    We approached the house. When we saw the orange rectangles brimming over the basket’s top, we felt our stomachs growl. It was our favorite: Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. There had to be one hundred Reese’s in that treasure chest. Two hundred. Who knows, it might have even been five hundred! Certainly enough for several months!
    We had seen the two boys once before with their dark metallic bikes. Their bikes glimmered with an even brighter shine than new bikes; we knew that they must have spent hours every day cleaning them.
    Any kid who cleaned his bike every day would be easy picking, so we approached quietly, knowing that this would be fun.
    I slid around to the back of the house, keeping low, making sure they didn’t see me.
    Tewolde approached the house. He stopped out on the