Ethiopia Letters (Part Three): North to Mek'ele

(In the following series of posts, I revisit a journey taken in early 2007 to Ethiopia, through correspondence. You can see part one here and part two here.)

February 16, 2007


Friends:

Heading northwards into Tigray, Ethiopia's northern province, en route to Aksum.  First stop is the capital, Mek'ele.  I've opted to fly over enduring a three day busride after hearing a friend's story of breakdowns and a harrowing accident on the less than ideal Highway 1.  I'm excited to get out of the chaos and the stinking diesel of Addis for a while. 

Getting on the flight itself was somewhat unnerving.  I had to pass through the domestic terminal, the aging and soon to be disbanded former international terminal, overtaken by its new shining heir, Bole International. It's as if Bole molted, and I'm in its ruddy shell. The terminal is in a state of terminal decay, frozen in time with its abandoned kiosks and clocks set to a once time in, say, Moscow. Everything is bathed in dust grey light; it is architecture in its twilight years. And I'm stuck thinking: Christ, what are the airplanes going to be like?

But I'm lucky.  If Ethiopia has one thing going in terms of transportation, it's Ethiopia Airlines, one of the more reliable carriers on the continent. The planes were cozy turboprops. And with a decent buna to top it off.

local transport

The flight: magical.  The northern part of Ethiopia is raw and dry, with large flats surrounded by deep carved valleys, and few rivers.  Flats were connected by a spiderweb of mountain trails  - there are few roads of any size. Flashes revealed the metal roofs of small villages, and single dwelling huts dotted the hills in clumps. I saw now what it means to be the most rural country on earth.  

Arrival in Mek'ele was like stepping into a furnace; the weather was even hotter and drier than Addis. The geography is more barren and desert-like, with rolling scrubby hills and the occasional patch of green.  With the cacti, I could almost be in Arizona. 

Mek'ele is about 8km from the airport, the town is similar to Awassa: clean, orderly, with plenty of trees (surely irrigated).   To the north of the city are the famous cave monasteries of Tigray, where monks and priests have practiced for well over a thousand years, and continue to do so to this day.  To the south lies Lalibela, home to the famous rock churches.

detail, Coptic cross

I am only a few hours south of the Eritrean border and the UN presence is high here, which means plenty of gleaming white UNMEE Landcruisers and their ubiquitous black communications antennaes bobbing in the wind.  I've been told that Adigrat, a small town 90 mins north has one of the heaviest UN contingents in Ethiopia, due to the ongoing border tensions with Eritrea.

The locals are exceptionally friendly and there are few tourists about. Most tourists don't hang around long here, using it as a stopover for northward treks.  I'm a tall, blond curiosity as I wander a few local markets casually searching for a memento.  I am intrigued by the little girls with Coptic crosses tattooed to their foreheads and the distinct way that the women here braid their hair.


My temporary home is the Atse Yohannes Hotel, overlooking the main roundabout, with a large stone-tiled patio restaurant that's perfect for people watching and subtlety snapping a few pictures. it's got two international channels - CNN and Al Jazeera - so I get a good dose of the news and more importantly a chance to suss out Al Jazeera, which I haven't had the chance to watch.  After two days, still can't see what the fuss is about.


Yesterday, I struck up conversation with a few locals at an adjacent table and before I knew it I was being whisked away for lunch at one of the local spots. One of my hosts was a restaurant owner in Japan, and was back in his hometown on vacation. I couldn't help think how vastly different Japan must be to this place.  He was fluent in Japanese.


It was Friday and two days before Lent, which meant that for 55 days no one (except the muslims of course) could eat after 3pm. Meat and dairy were forbidden. What this translated into was a lot of gorging at the restaurant.  Everyone was tucking into huge boiling pots of tibs (meat strips cooked with onions and peppers) and gored gored (raw meat cubes served at room temperature). This was a last chance protein fest; a stocking up before long hungry mornings and a simpler vegetarian diet (my preference anyway).  I politely declined the numerous offers of tibs and settled in on a beautiful lentil stew, soaked up with big handfuls of spongy injera.  

main square at night - those fountains worked once, for a wedding.

Nighttime activities included the required bar crawl, followed by the jotting down of some of their wonderful names:  'Milk Bar'; 'Khidi (kiddy) Bar'; 'My Place'; 'Your Place'; 'Badme Bar', 'Bar Bar'; and finally, just 'Bar'.  I was serenaded to (by men) to their favourite singers, none other than Celine Dion and Brian Adams.  I assumed some kind of magnetic attraction to some of these gentleman, who demanded my attention constantly.  And of course the questions and opinions loomed as soon as they heard my English:

"You are from Canada? I love George Bush!"

"You are from Canada? I hate George Bush!"

"You are from Canada!  I love England!"

"You are from Canada?  Ah, good country" 

One of the other great highlights was sitting around watching Ethiopian Idol.  Yes, there is an Ethiopian version, where men and women show off their great (and often not so great) traditional singing and dancing skills.  I watched the American version for the first time in the UK, and the ranking panellists were loud, garish and often plainly brutal to these aspiring singers.  Quite different in the Ethiopian version; the panelists were all men and very soft spoken.  Still the same was the stricken look on the contestant's faces.  Classic.

Aksum, home of the famous Stellae, is the next stop...

Ethiopia Letters (Part Two): Awassa and Beyond

(In the following series of posts I revisit a journey in early 2007 to Ethiopia, through correspondence. You can see part one here.)


February 3, 2007


Friends:


I've just returned from a four day trip into the Sidama region, home to some of the world's finest coffee plantations.  


German Martin suggested it.  A good getaway from the city was what he needed; he knew of an old colonial resort with bungalows and asked if we wanted to join. The destination: Awassa, a midsized town about 300kms south of Addis. To get there we would travel the gradually arcing highway 6, one of the main paved roads that eventually winds its way down to the Nairobi border (I think the same highway that Paul Theroux describes during his own journey through Ethiopia in Dark Star Safari). This would take us down into the great Rift Valley, which cuts across Ethiopia and gives the country its reddish lakes - Ziwa, Shala and Abaya.  We cruised out of Addis in style this time  via Martin's old green mercedes, with its plush seats and plenty of power to overtake the wobby-axled lorries.  

The Great Rift Valley

It didn't take long for the change of scenery and soon the the hubbub of peripheral urban sprawl, littered and dusty streets gave way to smaller smoother roads, wide open plains, big sky and classic flat-topped acacia trees (more like the classic wide panoramic Africa that I pictured in my head). The grass is parched, hardy and like little thick spears.  The driving dangers changed from donkey carts and toyota corollas to just donkeys and the occasional traffic congestion (two cars) due to cattle herds.  Ethiopian donkeys appear to enjoy bolting out of the bush and picking the middle of highway in the bare sun as a good spot to rest.  Best to drive slow and wide.  And don't forget about those lethal acacia spikes that are tough enough to puncture a tire.

Highway 6 heading south

the gloriously lethal acacia tree

 Awassa is a university town of about 200,000, where the streets are impeccably clean and everyone seems to ride the classic style Indian-made bicycles.  The town runs along Lake Awassa, where the crowds congregate to promenade along the shore path, selling wares, meeting loves, eating snacks. These are Ethiopia's wetlands, packed tightly against the dry plains and red soils, and are naturally a habitat for birds of all sorts.  Here I saw iridescent kingfishers snatching minnow sized fish, while magnificent long beaked black and white coloured storks with huge wingspans  shuffled around on flat feet like penguins.  

Our little resort was in fact more of a decaying colonial villa with tin roofed bungalows on a sprawling unkempt acreage. Everything gracefully run down; the evidence of an ancient pool at the centre, now home to a mosquito factory. The ever-present cockroach.  I tucked my mosquito net tightly around the bed.  


It was all worth it to wake in the early morning to see the warm glimmer of early morning sunshine on the lake, sipping fresh coffee and scoffing fresh bread with jam.  Complimentary big stick to keep the thieving monkeys away, which were well aware of the routine and would make their way in packs to the patio surroundings, hoping to snatch a meal.  I fed a local begging cat some bread bits - never have I seen a cat eat bread before.


We took a day trip down to Dila, about 100 or so km south of Awassa. Here the geography changed again, now rolling hills of jungle, green grass and deep red earth.  It is deeply rural, everyone seemed to be munching on chunks of sugar cane.  Along the sides of the road people were selling fresh papayas, pineapples, green coffeebeans (a dollar a kilo), and huge bundles of chat (also known as khat in Somalia, Kenya and Yemen).  Here, they mix coffee with rancid butter.

Cactus fencing is effective

We also made our way to Wondo Genet - home of Hailie Selassie's former private hot springs. An aging pool - actually a series of pools - jutting out in the moutainside, with a great view down the valley.  The mineralized water was piping hot - gushing through a makeshift system, and was soothing after the bone jutting  three kilometre donkey cart ride up to the top!


I've observed that the paper money gets worse the farther you get from the capital.  In Awassa and beyond, the bills fell victim to what I call 'Ethiopian wallet' syndrome -- for fear of thieves, the locals hide their money under their armpits.  That and the dirt make the bills truly rancid -- some are so bad you don't even want to touch them.  So there is a bit of a game here -- you are always trying to get rid of the worst bills (and the servers in restaurants do the same to you!). 


All the best from Addis,

Ciaran