Photo Essay: Eritrea (continued)

At 5 a.m., I awake in Asmara, Eritrea's capital, to the sound of the muezzin calling Muslims to prayer before dawn. I'm on the streets before six, when the sound of the cathedral bells fills the dawn sky. The country's population is evenly divided between Muslims and Christians.

Sanctuary: Crowds of Eritrean women gather at St. Mary's Church in Asmara early every morning to pray for peace.

In Asmara, there's no sign of war. Brigades of female street sweepers clean the sidewalks and gutters. Uniformed schoolchildren scurry to class, their long shadows trailing them in the golden early light. The cafes slowly fill with customers reading the morning papers.

I see women in flowing white gauze wraps, all moving in the same direction. I follow them to St. Mary's church. Hundreds of women have gathered at the gate of the church, in the courtyard, on the stairs, inside the church itself.

Their prayers fill the morning air, punctuated by the flapping of wings as pigeons periodically swoop from one cupola to another. These are the Eritrean mothers. They have been immortalized, deified in their culture. Sanctuary: Eritrean women in St. Mary's courtyard

These are the women who offered their sons and daughters to the struggle, who offered shelter, sanctuary to the fighters, who smuggled secret messages across enemy lines. They lament that once again they must watch young Eritreans go to battle. They bear witness to the cost of conflict. They are waiting for war, but they are praying for peace.

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