Ethiopia: “The world erupted around me” – a landmine survivor’s story

My name is Tesfay. I come from Korem, a town in Southern Tigray. Sadly, my experience is not unique. I hope it helps shine a light on the devastating impact of landmines – and the strength of those who survive them.

I remember that day as vividly as if it happened yesterday. It was a bright morning, like so many before it. I had taken our cattle to graze in the forest, a task I’d done countless times. After leaving them there, I headed back home, choosing a slightly different path than usual. That’s when it happened.

I didn’t see it. It was hidden, buried on my way. I stepped on something, and as I lifted my leg to take the next step, the world erupted around me. The blast struck my leg with violent force, and shrapnel shredded my hands. In that instant, I was consumed by panic – a deep, overwhelming terror.

Locals quickly came to help and rushed me to the Korem Hospital. I was incredibly lucky: a doctor traveling from Korem to Alamata happened to pass by. He saw what had happened, immediately stopped his journey, and personally drove me to the hospital.

Five days later, the doctors in Korem discovered that a bone in my leg had to be removed. I was referred to Dessie Hospital, almost 220 kilometers away. Thankfully, after further examination, the doctors there assured me that there was no immediate danger. I returned to Korem Hospital, where I spent a grueling two months and ten days receiving treatment. It was an agonizing time. I could only go outside for 30 minutes a day to breathe fresh air. Because of my condition and the cold weather, I was unable to stay outside the hospital any longer. The rest of the time, I was confined, enduring relentless pain.

After Korem Hospital, I was referred to the Mekelle Orthopaedic and Physiotherapy Center, which is supported by the ICRC. This marked the beginning of my physical rehabilitation. I was fitted with my first prosthesis. At first, it was unbearably painful. But over time, it became a vital part of my life, restoring my mobility and independence.

Before the explosion, I had dreams: finishing school, finding a job, supporting my parents. I tried returning to school, enrolling again in Grade 9. But it proved incredibly difficult to keep up: the medication, the long walk to school, the pain – it all wore me down. What once felt like a clear path suddenly seemed impossible to follow. Lessons blurred into noise, and I returned home each day having retained nothing. My dreams, once so vivid, faded away. But I kept pushing forward. Despite everything, I managed to finish Grade 9.

My emotional state was shattered. I felt lost. The vision of my life after the impairment was completely bleak. I even contemplated suicide. I was living with my sister, who became my pillar of support. She did everything she could to uplift my state of mind, including buying a computer for me to use at home.

The ICRC-supported prosthesis service in Mekelle marked a turning point. Improved mobility gave me a glimmer of hope and a renewed sense of purpose. I began helping friends who owned music shops by copying music and films onto mobile phones. It was a small step, but a meaningful one.

Despite gaining better movement, the biggest challenges I faced were societal discrimination and stigma. Whenever I tried to begin something new, they were always there.

For example, I once attempted to offer transportation services using someone’s small three-wheeled taxi. We agreed to split the daily earnings. But whenever people noticed my leg, I’d hear whispers: “How can this person drive us? We shouldn’t use his car.”

I did everything I could to hide my impairment, pretending I had no disability. I wouldn’t even let the taxi pull up too close, just so people wouldn’t see my leg. I waited inside, hidden from view, hoping for customers.

But that didn’t last. The community around the transport area eventually recognized my disability. And there were practical limitations too: I couldn’t offer additional services, like loading goods, which could have helped me earn more. Because of that, the taxi owner eventually chose to stop working with me.

My experience, like so many others, highlights the urgent need for continued landmine clearance, survivor support, and inclusive policies. Access to physical rehabilitation is essential, but it’s just one piece. We must also confront the societal barriers that prevent survivors from fully participating in their communities and realizing their full potential.

I hope my story resonates and inspires us all to build a world free of landmines. A world where every survivor of a landmine or an explosive remnant of war, regardless of physical ability, can live with dignity and opportunity.