Abyssinia, Queen of Sheba, coffee and tribes are words that come to mind when one thinks of Ethiopia. This landlocked eastern African country on the Horn of of an immense continent had never grabbed my curiosity until my friend Jan asked me to accompany her there. I debated this travel option feeling unsure since I had not been able to go abroad for some time and wanted to be sure I was going somewhere I really was interested in. And then my friends Michelle and Thomas moved there from China since they had adopted two Ethiopian children and wanted to expose them to their culture of origin. And my friend Hussein from Yemen was working there just to seal the deal it seems. I could not come up with a good excuse not to go, it was written in the stars.
The trip was organized to start with Timket, the Ethiopian celebration of Christmas on January 19th. Dates and times are different there where they continue to use the Julian calendar giving them thirteen months and times based on the hours of 6AM and 6PM. This threw us off a few times starting with our arrival to customs and the clocks read 8AM but our watches said 2AM! In addition our hotel pick up had us scheduled to arrive the following day so we had to stay at another hotel for a few hours before Stay Easy could find a room for us. Our introduction to the capital Addis Ababa was confused, loud and dirty!
The main road, Haile Gebraselassie, was under major construction with a huge gaping rip down its middle in preparation for the "tram" we were told. It seems the Chinese are taking over the infrastructure, the Turkish the cotton industry and the Germans, the sugar cane. This country is exploding with growth and one can hear it at all hours of the day! Jan's room overlooked the eucalyptus scaffolding of yet another hotel being put up right in front of ours. And of course there is always the incessant barking of dogs, pounding music and traffic congestion as we were right next to the hub of the vans yelling to load passengers and disperse them to various parts of this enormous sprawling city. Luckily, we met our guardian angel, "Bill", a French travel guide and entrepreneur, who took us under his wing to navigate the indecipherable maze. He spoke fluent Amharic so was able to get us on the right van crammed with people for just a few Birr, which is their form of money, the bills old, ripped and filthy from millions of hands hanging on to them for dear life. This is a very poor country with no social services except the church, and what a powerful institution that is here. Not just an institution, it is a way of life evident in every fiber of every moment of every person of every day. Starting before daybreak the churches blare out psalms over loudspeakers reminding one of the Muslim call to prayer except that these go on all day if you are lucky enough to be around during one of the seemingly hundreds of religious holidays. And we were, Timket is the biggest, it's their Christmas. This is when the replicas of the Ark of the Covenant, (the original is believed to be housed in Axum in the north) are brought out in a grand procession by the priests dressed in their white robes, holding long coptic cross staffs, covered by colorful umbrellas and surrounded by drummers and dancers and the ululating, clapping followers in a trance of Faith.
We chose not to attend the largest most famous of the celebrations in Gondar or Lalibela or even in Addis at the Jan Meda arena and church. This is where the throngs of tourists go, and Jan and I despise tourists, even if we are that ourselves. Instead we searched out a small neighborhood celebration with Michelle, Thomas and two of the three of their adorable children. What a sight we were! Four pale western clad "farenjis" with two small, adorable, colorful kids oblivious to the stares we garnered.
Jan and I quickly realized that Hussein, Michelle and Thomas were going to be too busy to tour us around the country so we spent a day with Bill arranging internal flights on Ethiopian Airlines, the only company here and they know it evidenced by their outrageous prices! On the streets we rarely saw other tourists and were privy to witnessing daily scenes such as students renting newspapers and reading them in the shade only to return them when finished. The streets were packed with vendors selling fresh squeezed juices, including avocado juice, cigarettes, although I rarely saw anyone smoking, telephone cards, everyone has a cell phone, DVD's of movies, books, maps, gum and of course, coffee. Coffee is without a doubt Ethiopia's forte and it is an involved magical ritual. The story is that a goat herder was out in the mountains when one of his herd ate the berries from a bush and became quite energetic so the herder picked the beans, roasted them and voila, the best coffee in the world! At a small low table the raw beans are roasted over coals then ground and placed with water in a dark graceful clay pot and served in tiny ceramic cups with no handles. And always the gooey incense myrrh is thick in the air so that the exotic mixture tweaks all the senses simultaneously.
In between the coffee stands one also finds the ubiquitous shoe shine boys. A person might be in the same T-shirt they have had on for weeks but their tennis shoes will be scrubbed and painted like new, only to be immediately soiled with with the ever-present choking clouds of dust and diesel exhaust. We were frequently assailed by these young boys and other throngs of children repeating the series of questions they had learned in school; "hello, how are you?", "what is your name?", "where are you from?", "give me a … fill in the blank with pen, food, money or an empty plastic bottle. There were also many poor, disabled, mothers with babies or the mentally ill and it was awful to just not have enough to give something to everyone. Where is all the money pouring into this country going? obviously not to those that need it. We rarely felt unsafe though. The people were friendly and helpful and only twice were we approached by pickpockets who Bill had warned us about. They work in pairs with one carrying a flat piece of cardboard and stands by your side, the other engages you in conversation while the quick little hands empty pockets under the cardboard. We did not see many guns in Addis but there were at least two guards in front of every single store, hotel or shopping center. A man and woman who would check the bags and person of the appropriate gender before entering. We never found out why this was, if they had had attacks or an inordinate amount of thefts, or if they just needed to increase employment. Even private residences had high walls with barbed wire or the glass shards and a guard tower with constant vigilance. At any government compounds we were shooed away by these guards and told in no uncertain terms that no photos were allowed. In fact, no one wanted their pictures taken and would become quite irritated if a camera was even in sight, especially in the very photographic markets which was frustrating to us shutter bugs.
In between our general sightseeing and organizing our trip, Jan and I were in search of food. Now, in the states, I frequently eat Ethiopian food, and I really love it. I had been warned by one of my waiters at my favorite Ethiopian restaurant that the food was not the same and that I should bring plenty of granola bars. And, sadly, they were right! The food is very spicy and the meat or beans are plopped in separate piles on a platter of their spongy bread, injera. Then you use rolls of injera to scoop up the piles with your hands and eat it as neatly as possible. There is rarely a napkin to be had. I can't put my finger on what was different, if it was the spices or just the quality of the ingredients but it just did not taste as good as at home. I did eat it though and mostly I just got tired of it everyday, all three meals… in fact, I can't think of any type of food I would want to eat everyday, all day… except perhaps, pizza. No matter where I go in the world I like to try their pizza, to see that country's interpretation of, in my opinion, the perfect food. My favorite pizza is canadian bacon and pineapple, but here in Ethiopia they don't eat pork and given that it took an hour to get the pizza I am assuming they had to go out and find a fresh pineapple which they did not slice so well, leaving all the hard bits from its center. It was not the worst pizza I have ever had and there was plenty leftover for me to get "to go", the catch? I had to pay for the aluminum foil to wrap it in.
After three days in Addis celebrating Timket, visiting old friends and organizing flights, we left for our organized tour of the southern Omo tribes. This was the main reason Jan and I had come here, we like tribes. Now, this is a difficult decision for travelers; how do I keep my western negative influence to a minimum when visiting people who don't even know they live in a country called "Ethiopia"? We had read that the route we would be on is fairly established, you have to go with a guide, and the tribes will charge for each photo… sounded horrible to be honest. And parts of it were. We flew to Arba Minch and stayed at the Paradise Lodge, a really nice hotel with a breathtaking view of Lake Chamo, Lake Abaya and the volcanic God's Bridge connecting them. The first day we went on a boat ride on Lake Chamo to see the crocodiles and hippos and abundant bird life. There was only Jan and I and our guides on the boat. And there was the man with the Kalishnakov… just in case. At one point we saw a crocodile sunbathing that must have been at least ten feet long… huge! and Jan and I joked that it was probably fake just to show the tourists. So now this man who was supposed to "protect" us "just in case", decides he will prove that it is real by jumping into the water, mind you, without his gun, and he heads toward the giant croc. Well Jan and I are screaming at this point and begging him to get back in the boat! There were many crocodiles already in the water, not to mention the hippos which are the deadliest animal in Africa. The animal was not fake, needless to say, and this crazy man did survive, and we had a really good scare, and a really good laugh.
We then went to visit our very first tribe, the Dorze. They are known for their "bee hive" style huts. They were a lovely family who showed us how they make bread from "false banana" trees. These trees are everywhere and they use every part of the plant for something, from the pulp for bread, the broad leaves for cover while cooking, and the threads wound together for a really strong rope. There are also many fruit producing banana trees in the area but this false banana tree is equally useful, if not more so. They also shared their homemade "beer" with us which is made from barley and an ingenious distilling system of clay pots and bamboo tubes. I tried it and it was strong but tasty. Everyone drinks this stuff. And way too much of it.
The tours will not take tourists to tribes in the afternoon because by then the people are too drunk. One of the negative side effects of tourism on the local culture is that now they get money from us and spend it on booze, reportedly, this has gotten really bad over the past few years. The times are changing and unfortunately not all for the good. We did stop at a market on the side of the road that was wrapping up and everyone was sitting around drinking, in moments a huge fight broke out and we hightailed it out of there. Many of the men carry Kalishnakovs which they import from Kenya. They say it is to protect their herds of cattle and goats from "dangerous animals" and they must have permission from the "authorities" to own them. I'm not sure what the "dangerous animals" are, I think the biggest thing left down here is a coyote. The lions "immigrated" to Kenya according to our guide, Abay. Abay is funny. He is 28 years old and has dread locks. He says he is not a Rasta, that he just dresses like this "for fun". Our driver is Burhane, and he is quiet, a great driver over impossible roads, doesn't speak English, but smiles sweetly always.
The towns we visited on the Omo tourist route were Jinka, Turmi and Konso. In each town there is a particular tribe associated with that area and each tribe is known for a particular custom such as the Mursi known for the women using the lip plates. The problem with visiting these people is that you get the very strong sense that it is fake, and that they only want the money for the photos. Jan and I did not like this at all, so we tired to get our guide to talk to the local "scout" to talk to the people to explain that what we really wanted was to get to know them. This did not got over too well. But it was fascinating to see all of us trying to understand each other and this new concept of interaction face to face and not hidden by a camera lens. We tried to share names and ask questions and have a few laughs, but it was difficult. We did not want to pay certain individuals for a picture, we felt that was not fair so we offered to pay everyone a certain amount each and just do a quick video scan. No one was happy. I did feel a tiny bit reassured when I was told that the majority of the tribes live far away from the tourist route and that these are the "poorer" ones who have chosen to make money in this way instead of with farming or cattle. I can only hope the others keep away from us for as long as possible. The system needs to change. For example, tourists could pay a set price for a visit and it goes to the group or area leader and is distributed fairly amongst the entire tribe. And like Papua New Guinea, if the people are told that by maintaining their cultural heritage they can contribute to their assets and improve everyones standard of living with say clean water, health care and food, then perhaps, we as tourists could have a positive influence rather than what we are doing now. And yes, the Mursi women have huge lip plates. Supposedly this was to keep other tribes from kidnapping the women, now it's just a picture. On the drive back from the disappointing Mursi we ran into a street celebration for Timket. What a wonderful serendipitous surprise! We jumped out of the truck and joined the crowd clapping and singing and following the priests with the Ark, the crosses and the umbrellas and we realized, this felt more real than the tribe we had just left.
It is the dry season in Ethiopia now, so all the rivers are empty and the few that are not have many people gathered bathing, doing laundry and watering the livestock. They also dig deep holes to find the water and then fill huge yellow containers, load up a cart and poor pitiful donkeys carry this load up and down the hills. One of the hotels we stayed in filled our shower tanks with this water. In general the hotels are a bit rough. Cold showers, hot rooms, no fans and even if they did have one the generators for the electricity are turned off at night. All the beds have mosquito nets since malaria still occurs down here, and yet, the windows won't have screens so you can't open them! I've noticed many times in Africa that the people seem to not like fresh air so they close windows or cover their heads with scarves. I've heard they not only think it can cause illness but can also carry evil spirits. As frequently happens, this very Christian country has that odd combination with animism and spiritual superstitions. They still go to shamans for blood letting, scarification, genital mutilation, or even just flat out killing a child because its teeth are crooked or its a twin and therefore "cursed". There are parts of Ethiopia where the Muslim religion predominates and you will see mosques across the street from the church and definitely hear the battling calls to prayer. Ethiopia is an unusual country for Africa in that it did stay Christian for the most part and it was only briefly invaded by Italy and Mussolini in 1935, which is why the only other food choice besides the typical Ethiopian meal, is pasta.
The next tribe we visited were the Ari. These folks had fairly permanent housing and a local school. They dressed in western clothes but continued to practice the old customs of making injera over the fire, distilling beer with clay pots and bamboo, and even fashioned metal tools over a fire with a bellows made from goat skin!
We visited the school and got to see the kids having an afternoon snack by throwing stones into a mango tree to get the fruit… very healthy! The countryside is covered with mango, papaya, bananas, grains, corn, coffee and the widely used "moringa" tree leaves. Recently there has been an increase in the cultivation of cotton by the Turkish and sugar cane by the Germans and you will see enormous fields being worked by the locals… swing low sweet chariot.
The next stop was the town of Turmi and it was a very, very long drive. Luckily there is just so much to see on the way! We passed many Bena tribe members with their beaded head bands and necklaces, clothes made from animal skins adorned with cowrie shells and hair twisted with ochre and butter. Occasionally we would see an older man with a bright white feather atop his head and we were told this signifies he has "killed a dangerous animal"… again, not sure what that would be, and these days I assume it was with a gun, not a spear. We also passed many trees with "bee baskets" hanging from the branches. Honey is used to make the delicious wine, Tej. In the states it is thin and clear, here, it is thick and really strong! If you pass a place that has a stick with an upside down can on it, that means it is a bar… and there were many of those.
Having finally circled around to Turmi, our hopes were high that we would be able to see the Hamer tribe and their now infamous celebration of a boy becoming a man by bull jumping. Evidently the tribe elders carry cell phones and will contact local guides to notify them of an upcoming event, they in turn let the tourist group guides know the time and location. In the middle of lunch we were suddenly whisked off on a long ride through the countryside on bumpy sandy paths until we reached a group of other tourist jeeps. We then hiked rigorously through the brush for quite awhile in the blaring sun and at least 100 degree heat. Eventually we began to hear women ululating, clapping and singing. We arrived to a dry river bed with a group of western tourists huddled under a tree perched in its roots riveted watching an ancient display of the Hamer women randomly dancing with large ankle bells jingling and blowing copper horns. They were loudly lamenting the loss of a boy to manhood. These women were partially clad in leather, beads, shells and on closer inspection one could find the creative use of outside remnants incorporated into their decoration, such as a long lost key now dangling from the back of the thick metal neck hoop that signifies a married woman.
Some had three rings, which is the maximum amount of marriages a woman can have in this tribe (and perhaps the most a small neck can bear). Most of the younger women wore old T-shirts rolled up to expose their bellies but cover their breasts, surely influenced by misguided missionaries who should focus on improved health standards rather than projecting their own shame and insecurities onto these beautiful proud bodies. The women were sweating and the red ochre clay they had covered their hair and bodies with ran in tiny rivulets down their faces and arms. They would come up to the group of white ghosts and gesture for water with sad desperate eyes. We had been told we were not to share our water and this was dreadful! But we could see that they did in fact have their own plastic bottles filled with either muddy water or their homemade beer, difficult to tell the difference. Soon, three very tall men advanced from the bush with long switches, the women became even more hysterical and would run up to these men begging to be whipped. The men would test the flexibility of the branch then rather nonchalantly with very little expression, swat the girl in front of him. She would bow and beg for more even as blood ran down her back. This went on seemingly forever. It was painful to watch but mesmerizing and the women seemed to be enjoying it! We could see old scars on the older women from years of celebration. When I say "older", I have no idea of their ages, and seemingly, neither do they. I have seen a knot tying strategy to count days, but did not hear of a way to mark the years.
Eventually, a group of older men, some in bright shirts and hats, met to paint the face of the young boy whose passage we were all here to celebrate. He looked perhaps eleven, maybe thirteen, barely came up to my shoulder. "This is a man?" I had to ask myself. He looked terrified. We all moved to higher ground and the brahma bulls were gathered. The women continued with their dancing and singing and horn blowing and in a long line they circled and circled the cattle until seemingly in a trance like state the cows simply stood still. There was a brief gathering of the men around the boy, reportedly imparting his new responsibilities as a man. Then, thankfully, about six of the smaller bulls were pulled out of the herd and lined up with a men at each end holding its horns and tail. I did notice that they seemed to be aware of the larger or more aggressive bulls and did not use those. And then this oh so thin, small, wide-eyed boy, completely naked save a small piece of rope tied around his chest and waist, prepared to run toward the bulls. Six times he ran, jumped up onto the backs which seemed at least his height, and quickly crossed over to the other side. Only once did he stumble and still we all cheered him on. And then… it was over, just like that, and we all left… in awe, in silence, dumbfounded by what we had just been so generously allowed to witness, granted, for a $20 entrance fee. I can only hope the women get the bulk of the funds, but I seriously doubt it.
The next day was a bit painful, really, how were we ever going to top the Hamer bull jumping experience? We briefly visited the Karo tribe which are known for body painting, which few had, and that they are becoming "extinct", probably leaving to work in the adjacent sugar cane and cotton fields. Their village was high on a mountain side overlooking the meandering, muddy Omo River.
What was noteworthy was the mixed agriculture planted on both sides of the river. For all the things that can grow here it is confusing as to the lack of taste and variety in the meal choices. We were heading back north now and finally got to stay in a clean room that looked like a hut, the Kanta Lodge. It had a lovely view over the terraced valley as the tribe in this area is the Konso, and terracing is what they are famous for. In fact, their village has become a Unesco Heritage site and that distinction is well deserved. On a mountain there are three levels. The top filled with the thatched round huts, enclosed with high stone walls, a labyrinth of walkways, doorways marked with twisted cedar trees, the animals and owners living together in surprisingly clean "yards" of sorts.
As the population swelled on the top level, a second and then third circle was established below, each equally complicated with the paths and massive stone walls, literally, rocks piled high and somehow staying in place. There existed an entire societal hierarchy including a justice system. On each level were community houses where group decisions were made, for example if someone was accused of a crime within one circle they would meet and deal with it in that level not involving the other levels. If the accused denied the crime they had a swearing stone that was stood on to "swear" his innocence. If more than one level was involved, the whole community met to listen and judge. From what we heard the worst punishment was to be banished from the community. Each level also had a tall clump of dead trees lashed together called the generation tree, to indicate how many generations existed in that circle. And there was the maturity stone, a round heavy rock that if a boy could lift and toss over his shoulder, he was a man. A bit easier I'd say than running over backs of bulls.
As we continued to head north toward Addis, we stopped in Arba Minch to finally witness the enormous markets that occur regularly around here. Everything was laid out on the ground, or in makeshift huts; all sorts of food, grains, spices, pottery, baskets, jewelry, textiles, clothing, and plastic shoes… hundreds of multi-colored plastic shoes. Evidently, all those old plastic water bottles are melted down and shoes are made… how's that for recycling! In the evening we went out for our final drinks with the guys, Abai and Burhane as our time together was drawing to a close. The small street we were on appeared to be a red light district, but they assured us it was not. We entered a traditional dance and music bar and it was painfully loud! The traditional instruments, a Krar, is a five string guitar of sorts and then the Kebero, a large drum, both were hooked into microphones and really lost the "traditional" feel. A woman in traditional dress, white cotton long to the floor with colorful embroidery along the edges, came out to sing, again, way too loud. She would stand in front of the customers, namely us, and the routine is to actually sing to and about the people she is addressing, which of course we could not understand. Hopefully, she was saying nice things. She did not do the dance, the Eskesta, which I have seen many times and emphasizes the neck and shoulders with a beautiful but unnatural popping and syncopation.
One of our final stops on the way home was in Shashamane and the Rasta compound. What a joke. Haile Selassie was known as Ras Tafarian before he changed his name. Supposedly when he visited Jamaica they had been in a long drought and as his foot touched the ground, it started to rain. So, they revered him as a god of sorts. He in return designated this area for any Jamaicans who wanted to be part of their "homeland". What has happened it seems is that whoever wants to be able to smoke dope legally can come hang out here. It did not feel "spiritual" in any way. And finally we stopped at a very ritzy resort on a volcano lake, which there seem to be quite a few of these, both lakes and resorts. As always in these developing countries I am disappointed that the few have so much and the many so little. I don't hold out much hope for mankind if we cannot figure out how to distribute our resources more fairly.
After a much needed rest in Addis and repeated showers to remove dust from places dust should not have to be removed from, we headed north to Lalibela. This small mountain village was named after king Lalibela who decided to put to work thousands of now unknown people to build eleven rock hewn churches in the 12th century. It reportedly only took 23 years which is a testament to those who throughout history have slaved away to build monuments that then in name only honor the one who supposedly came up with the idea. These churches are indeed worthy of having been named yet another Unesco Heritage site. What is so noticeable in Ethiopia and especially here is that these places are not just historical sites, no, they are alive and active still today. We were fortunate on our visit to catch a ceremony at St. Mary's with all the priests in their regalia and the parishioners praying, singing, and kissing crosses as they passed by.
It is interesting to note that each area church has its own unique design of crosses, all are made in heavy silver and carried on long staffs by the priests. Rock hewn means that these churches are not free standing but are actually part of the mountain stone. They are enormous on the outside but when entered are dark and small with walls of stone many feet thick. Inside one finds ancient paintings and tapestries, illuminated by thin shards of light sneaking in through cross shaped openings in the stone above. There is always a thick curtain blocking the innermost sanctum that houses a replica of the Ark of the Covenant where only priests are allowed.
The churches are connected to each other by circuitous pathways, caves and stairs. Surrounding this magical area are miles of mountains with their varying shades of green and gray. The air, as always, is thick with burning frankincense and myrrh, coffee, food, open sewage and diesel. The poor have flocked here to try and eek out a living from the hundreds of tourists who visit. At least five new hotels were in the process of being built and already there exists one odd restaurant, Ben Abeba, owned by a Scottish woman and an Ethiopian young man. The design reminds one of Gaudi with its free form style which is supposed to be a continuation of the mountain form on which it sits.
With an astounding 360 degree view and food that has been cleaned with boiling water, this is definitely the place for foreign tummies to get their fill, safely. The few roads are unpaved and hilly like San Francisco with only two Tuk-tuks available to save the old and weary at ridiculous prices. And the children here are particularly bothersome with their repeated requests for presents or money. I must admit that at times I wish I could just blend in and observe without the constant attention that my glaring difference attracts and yet know that it is just that difference that draws me to such places.
From Lalibela we flew to Gondar which is another historical site known for the castles built by a series of emperors such as Fasilides in the 15th and 16th centuries. Gondar is a much larger city and I found the historical sites to be less moving perhaps because they were so immersed in the modern day hustle and bustle. During Timket they do still fill Fasilides enormous stone bath with water that nearly sucks the surrounding rivers dry, so that the Christian faithful can again be baptized en masse along with hundreds of tourists who now flock to Ethiopia for the Christmas celebration.
Jan and I had purposely reversed our tour so that we would miss the throngs of tourists and I am glad we did. I could feel myself becoming tired to my very core, tired of the heat, the noise, the food, the thick dirty air… and then there was the St. George celebration right across from our hotel. From 5AM until 3PM there was non-stop loudspeaker deafening prayer and singing, very little of which was in tune. I realized I am very content as a quiet wannabe Buddhist and devout Athiest. I do so appreciate the masses of this world needing their hope, faith, ritual and tradition to assuage their fears but must it be done so loudly or violently?
We finally headed back to Addis where I could say my good-byes to my friends, pack and re-pack, throw out un-needed items and pack again, get a much needed massage and not so needed but much appreciated pedicure for some very calloused, cracked and filthy feet and one final visit to a nearby, enormous church. This time we actually got to go inside for the service and three simultaneous weddings since it was Sunday. This was quite enjoyable with music, singing and dancing, the church was elaborately painted with bright lights, candles and stained glass windows, and the people were very friendly and would push us forward for better views. In fact, if there was one thing that stood out to me throughout Ethiopia it would be just that, how friendly, helpful and humble everyone was.
These are a strikingly attractive people with a long powerful history, with an amazing amount of diversity who seem to be trying to live in peace with each other. They are moving and changing and growing at break neck speed and I can only hope, and perhaps even pray, that they can hang onto that very special quality, spirit and yes…that soul of Abyssina.
