Welcome to “First Chapters,” Cosmo’s column where we shine a spotlight on debut authors who you are definitely going to be obsessed with. And what better way for you to get to know them and their books than with the first chapter of their new release. This round, we’re highlighting Bsrat Mezghebe's I Hope You Find What You're Looking For, a mesmerizing look at three women whose lives change when a family member of Eritrea moves in with them in their apartment in Washington D.C.. With the Eritrea's War of Independence reaching new heights, they are forced to look at their past and their futures . Here’s some more info from Liverlight:
From Well–Read Black Girl Books, a "wise and witty, unflinchingly honest and insightful" (Maaza Mengiste) novel that delves into the secret lives of three women on the eve of Eritrean independence.
The year is 1991. Eritrea is on the verge of liberation from Ethiopian rule and in Washington, D.C.’s tight-knit Eritrean community, change is in the air. Thirteen-year-old Lydia and her family are grappling with what peace after decades of war might mean for their future, just as they welcome Berekhet―a distant cousin newly arrived from Ethiopia to attend medical school in the States. With him comes a barrage of new ideas Lydia must confront for the first time, about the stories of nationhood and family she was raised on.
Meanwhile her mother, Elsa, a former rebel fighter, and the family matriarch, Mama Zewdi, must grapple with regrets long buried in the time their country has been at war. Elsa’s path from Eritrea to D.C. was paved with courage and loss, and figures from her past on the front lines of battle begin to resurface. Mama Zewdi, who runs a successful injera business out of her apartment, finds herself reexamining her place in their little family for the first time, while Lydia, emboldened by Berekhet, becomes committed to uncovering the secrets of her and her mother’s past―including the truth about her father, who was martyred in the war.
A loving ode to an immigrant community on the cusp of a new age, I Hope You Find What You’re Looking For boldly asks: How does our past define our present? And what stories must we let go of to be truly free?
Your trip to D.C. is about to begin! Check out an exclusive excerpt below to meet Lydia, Elsa, and Mama Zewdi. Just make sure to pre-order I Hope You Find What You're Looking For so you don't miss what is going to happen next!
1
Lydia had never met Berekhet before or even seen a picture of him. But when a skinny teenager appeared in the Dulles Airport terminal, she was somehow certain that he was who they were waiting for.
From as early as she could remember, it seemed like Eritrea was emptying out, and all the Eritreans in her apartment building opened their homes to relatives and friends fleeing the war. Now there was someone new, and Berekhet’s arrival meant that Lydia would be displaced to Elsa’s room. In what world did a teenager have to sleep in the same bed as her mother?
In the weeks before, Lydia had been forced to empty out her closet and dresser and store her belongings under her mother’s bed. Elsa set out matching sheets and towels and hung nautical-striped curtains purchased at full price. On Lydia’s mirrored vanity tray, she positioned registration brochures from Northern Virginia Community College and a framed picture of Dr. Alazar, Berekhet’s father and Elsa’s uncle, taken when he was a medical student in Italy.
As Dr. Alazar’s only son, Berekhet, was expected to surpass his father’s career. Dr. Alazar even called Elsa, which he had never done before, to tell her that Berekhet was leaving Ethiopia, where they lived, to join her in the States.
“Of course, Dottore,” Elsa replied. She never called him “uncle” and didn’t expect him to ask if she had the space, money, or energy to take his son in.
Lydia expected to be asked. She was no longer a kid, having just turned thirteen. Her classmates received appropriate gifts for reaching the milestone—trips to New York, their own televisions, double ear piercings. A few lucky ones even got their own phone lines. What did Lydia get, besides a customary cake and some new clothes? An announcement that a stranger was taking over her bedroom.
“That’s the problem with you American kids,” Elsa had said to her. “You want a reward for living to see another year. The bar is pretty low, no?”
In the international arrivals hall, Elsa assumed her position next to a bank of chairs that Lydia claimed a seat in. She stood ramrod straight with her hands behind her back, like the freedom fighter she once was. Elsa could lecture, when she wanted to, but mostly she was tightlipped about the things Lydia actually wanted to know: the details of her childhood with Dr. Alazar, her years fighting in the war with Lydia’s father, and pretty much everything that had happened back home.
Lydia looked up from the book she was reading. She caught her mother, as she often did, watching her with an inscrutable expression, as if Elsa either wanted to decipher some mystery or tell Lydia something. On the other hand, Mama Zewdi, who had joined them to welcome Berekhet, always examined Lydia with transparent intentions, reviewing her clothes, posture, and hair, and logging, as carefully as Lydia did, any fluctuations to her weight. She made Lydia change her outfit twice before they left for the airport, finally approving a V-neck blouse and denim skirt, which Lydia feared made her look frumpy. As they waited, Mama Zewdi, who was sitting next to Lydia, turned her attention to the people milling about the hall, angling her head to see if she could spot anyone she knew.
Lydia held her mother’s gaze as she positioned her bookmark and closed the book. With her other hand, she nudged Elsa’s arm. “Tell me again the last time you saw him?”
Elsa readjusted her arms. “I think he was two years old.”
“Can he speak English?”
“How would I know?”
“Do you remember anything about him?”
“Not really.” Elsa shrugged. “I didn’t see him much.”
“Why not?”
“We didn’t live with each other. Dr. Alazar put us up in a separate house.”
“But you weren’t always around?” Lydia shifted in her seat so that her feet were nearly touching her mother’s. “Like the way that Mama Zewdi spends so much time with me?”
“Lidu, I was slightly older than you are now when he was born. I was busy with school and then . . .” Elsa waved her hand in conclusion, as if the gesture summarized everything that happened after.
“And then you left to join the war.”
“Yep.”
“You were eighteen when you left, right?”
“Yes, Lidu. You know this,” Elsa said, her voice growing weary.
“And you didn’t tell Dr. Alazar you were leaving, right?”
“No, I didn’t. But things were different back then.”
“I think that’s him!” Lydia pointed at a young man dragging a suitcase with broken wheels. Berekhet was dressed like a waiter, with a white collared shirt and black dress pants that stopped inches too soon. Like most Eritrean men, his bony shoulders were narrow, making his slight belly appear bigger than it really was.
Elsa waved. “Berekhet!” she called out. He didn’t smile as he made his way toward them, but he looked closely at Lydia as he leaned forward to accept Elsa’s embrace. Lydia averted her eyes.
Mama Zewdi snatched the limp carnations Elsa had just thrust into Lydia’s hands, replacing them with the bouquet of yellow lilies she had gushed about purchasing on the drive there.
“Go kiss your brother,” she said to Lydia in Tigrinya, pushing her forward.
Lydia hesitated before approaching Berekhet, thinking that he wasn’t the ugliest person she had seen but that he had a face that made her want to figure out what was wrong with it. Maybe the proportions were off. His eyes bulged well beyond the grasp of their lids, the tip of his nose wider than the bridge suggested, his chin propelled forward by a greedy underbite. When he smiled at her, the first smile he offered since being greeted, he looked even stranger, all his features seeming to want to touch each other.
Lydia pressed her cheeks to his, unwilling to lift her arms and return his hug. Mama Zewdi snatched the lilies back and pressed them to Berekhet’s chest, ululating so loudly that the family next to them flinched.
“I am Zewdi Naizghi Weldegebriel,” she declared. “Weldegebriel is the brother of Deres, who is the father of Ghebrealfa, your father’s father. So, my grandfather is the brother of your great-grandfather.”
She punctuated each statement with a kiss. Berekhet looked at Lydia as if he wanted her to rescue him, but it was Elsa who finally intervened, taking Mama Zewdi’s hand out of his and leading him toward the exit to the parking lot, saying that he must be very tired.
“Of course, of course,” Mama Zewdi agreed. “Come along, Lydia,” she said, reaching out her hand to hold Lydia’s. “The poor thing must be exhausted.”
Lydia was grateful that Mama Zewdi had invited herself to come along. Her mother didn’t like to talk while she drove, only commenting on drivers who sped or followed too closely. But Mama Zewdi always had something to say. As Elsa maneuvered out of the lot, she twisted around in the passenger seat to ask Berekhet about the health of his father and the rest of the family back home.
“I never met your father, but I hear he is a serious, hardworking man,” Mama Zewdi said. “Right, Elsiye?”
“Your father showed what can be done with opportunity,” Elsa said, eyeing the eighteen-wheeler in the next lane. “Just stay focused and you’ll do fine.”
Berekhet responded in Tigrinya, with as few words as possible, his chin pointed toward the window. Elsa’s van was full of items for her food cart, so they put his luggage in the backseat, forcing him and Lydia to squeeze close together. Lydia tried to make sure their limbs didn’t touch. She placed her book on her lap, noticing that her thighs were bigger than his.
“I hope you don’t feel homesick already, Berekhet,” Mama Zewdi said. “There are so many Habesha in our building, let me tell you. You aren’t going to feel lonely at all.”
Berekhet nodded as she went on. Lydia had a feeling he wasn’t really listening. She snuck more glances at him, trying to detect any resemblance to his father, whom she saw only in photos. Besides being fair, they didn’t look much alike.
“We have so much to be grateful for,” Mama Zewdi continued. “You’re here, and independence is close. Everyone says the war is going to end any day now. Isn’t that right, Elsu?”
“That’s what everyone is saying,” Elsa said.
“Are you hot, Berekhet? It’s only the first of May. Just wait until the summer starts. This part of America is a swamp. It’s not dry like back home. Stand in the shade here and you’ll still sweat . . . Elsa can tell you. She’s stuck grilling meat in that box all day, poor thing. But you know, air conditioning isn’t good either. It gives you headaches, be careful. Lydia, why aren’t you talking to Berekhet? Ask him if he’s happy to be here.”
“I don’t know how to say that in Tigrinya.”
“Yes, you do,” Elsa said.
“She understands Tigrinya,” Zewdi explained. “But she gets shy with speaking.”
“I am happy to be here,” Berekhet said in English, sparing her. “Very happy.”
Excerpted from I Hope You Find What You're Looking For: A Novel by Bsrat Mezghebe. Copyright (c) 2026 by Bsrat Mezghebe. With permission of the publisher, Liveright Publishing Corporation, a division of W. W. Norton & Company, Inc. All rights reserved.
I Hope You Find What You're Looking For, by Bsrat Mezghebe will be released on Feburary 10, 2026 from Liverlight. To preorder the book, click on the retailer of your choice:
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