It is said that the origin of Ethiopia is largely the origin of us all. I would like to think that is true. I, most certainly, felt good there -- I felt the earth and I sensed the people. The land touched me - my heart, my soul, my core. And the more I read up about them, the better I understood where this country and its people come from, the more I fell in love with Ethiopia.
Ethiopia got off on the wrong footing for most of us. "YouyouyouyouyYouyouYouyou-youyouyou!" the children shout without stopping for one moment. They are like flies all around you, constantly shouting "you you you youyouyouyou". Where this comes from is a mystery, but one can only guess at the white people who came before us and called them "Hey You!" and now they assume that is how you greet people -- not a very positive reflection on us! You might say "Don't over react. They are only children", and you would be right. But unfortunately the habit is extended to the adults in Ethiopia and if a child shouting 'youyouyouyou" at you is annoying, then let me assure you when adults do the same and every single person you encounter calls out "Hey You!", it is highly and unpleasantly irritating.But there was more. We entered Ethiopia from Kenya in the SouthEastern corner at Moyale, after spending a total of five days stuck in Northern Kenya, just south of the border, in the rain and mud and on the wrong side of a washed-away road. This would not have been too bad had it not been for the people; truck drivers and bus drivers who throw the hands in the air, roll their mats out in the shade of the truck and laze about, chewing mirrah leaves and waiting for the government to come fix the roads.
They have absolutely no sense of urgency or responsibility or desire to DO anything! No one has a shovel on his vehicle. No one even thinks about getting his hands muddy and dirty. No one cares that the loads they are carrying might be perishing or spoiling, or that the livestock on their trucks might need water or food, or that their passengers might be in need of the same. Young mothers with small babies were left without water or food. Old people were obliged to sit on the cold muddy side of the road and wait.
"The government is responsible. They must come to fix the road", the drivers maintain.
"Has anyone called anyone from the government?" we ask.
It seems not. After three days for us and six days for everyone in front of us, (there ended up being about 60 trucks altogether) the tempers starting to fray and the patience started to run thin. The guns that so many carry over their shoulders started to look very ominous, as the bearers nervously fingered the triggers. For the very first time I felt our safety was compromised. For the first time I was not comfortable at all. (We did not know this at that time, but only 40 kilometres behind us, where we had been stuck for three days only two days before, one truck driver and two of his passengers had in fact been shot. Three people killed right at the instance when I was thinking it was time we took action - for fear of our lives). Ben was the only one who had a phone that had reception and I suggested that we start calling our embassies. He did so first and called the British Embassy, explaining our situation. Within in seconds he was transferred straight to the Consul.
"I will see if I can contact the police or the military at Moyale and get back to you" the Consul said, before ringing off. He had also suggested that the rest of us wait before calling our respective embassies until he has something more definite to give us.
"Not everyone is British,.. "Ben said. "Not a problem at all! Nationality does not matter when we assist".
Very impressive. And even more impressive when, less than ten minutes later, he called back to tell us that help was on the way. And it was. In less than an hour, an entire contingent of the Military arrived that immediately managed to get everyone off their backsides and working to cut branches, carry rocks, unload animals and provide shelter for the old and the women and children, offload the trucks that were stuck in the mud, haul out the truck that was wedged in the only available opening where we could re-build the road enough to pass through and turn the overturned truck that had stupidly tried to jump the hole, back on its wheels. In no time law and order was restored and a team of workers were laying branches and rocks and creating a makeshift pathway for the vehicles to get through. A big Red Button goes to the Consul at the British Embassy in Nairobi!
But, you are starting to wonder, what has this to do with first impressions in Ethiopia? The answer is simple. Most of these drivers stuck with us were Ethiopian, and when, the next day, we crossed the border into Ethiopia, this was exactly the attitude of the people we encountered; sit on a mat and wait for the government/the aid agencies/ the white people/ the NGO's/ someone else to give money/food/clothes/crops/everything they need to survive. The entire southeastern part of Ethiopia is an untidy mess. People live in poverty -- their houses look neglected and dilapidated, and they chew their mirrah leaves and stand with outstretched upturned palms, demanding money, demanding help. They grow coffee here -- some of the best coffee in the world, but the coffee plantations are overgrown and untended, the sorting tables are unmanned while the beans lie and rot in the sun, and you really have to search long and hard to find coffee to buy. The children beg. The adults beg. "Hey You! Give me money!" they shout at you while they tug urgently at your arm.
Large UN buildings and foreign aid agencies, traffic jams of gleaming luxury 4x4's -- the preferred vehicles in Africa of every one of the hundred thousand Aid- and NGO- and UN workers, Italian restaurants, flashy hotels and convention delegates, their laminated badges flapping on their chests. Next stop was Debre Marqos where we stayed in the local brothel -- the row of rooms neatly screed by a lovely hibiscus hedge, the table with the roster book and pen for the girls and customers conveniently placed in front of the rooms, the big metal gate squeaking quaintly as the customers come and go. After that Bahir Dar on Lake Tana, where the amazing Coptic monasteries with their exquisite murals, so reminiscent of Greek and Russian churches, the saints and holies all very oddly white, also guard the crowns and paraphernalia of the emperors and church leaders, the silver sadly tarnished and the precious handwritten books seeming to close to crumbling into dust. From there we took a side-trip to Lalibela where 11 massive churches are carved into a solid lave rock mountain. And then finally up, through the fantastic Blue Nile Gorge, to Gondar, town of breweries and castles -- and yet another brothel sojourn, from where a few of us travelled to experience the majestic Simien mountains -- and enjoy the antics of the Gondela monkeys.
And in between, driving from the one stop top the next, all too quickly, the most beautiful countryside and the most beautiful people! Everywhere (once past the dismal southeast) the countryside was golden under the wheat and the tiff that was waiting to be harvested - or in the process of being harvested, the peasants working, working, working everywhere, cutting the wheat, gathering it in sheaths, stacking the sheaths, managing the team of oxen as they walk round and round and round on one spot to thresh the wheat.
The whole process is exactly how it was done thousands of years ago -- the implements used, the method of harvesting and threshing -- no different to biblical times.(In fact, when I visited the Egyptian museum in Luxor a few weeks later, there displayed were the exact same farm implements that we saw the peasants carry over their shoulders as they set off to go harvest their little patch!) And along the road,every morning, for as far as the eye can see, the men and women and children, mostly on foot, sometimes on donkey cart, form an endless line as they traipse off to the nearest market - sometimes 20-30 kilometres away, with their heavy loads of bags grain, or their pottery urns with beans or their huge bundles of wood.
There was so much more to Ethiopia -- it took some time to warm to the country, but once we did, almost every day was a Red Button day. Not so much for the people -- but more for the land -- the fields, the trees, the mountains, the rivers and nature in all its glory. An ancient land. It was home to the most ancient kingdom in Africa, one of the first monarchies in the world. It is the sole African country to posses an alphabet more than 2000 years old. It is the only country on the continent to have maintained its independence in the face of European colonizers. This is Ethiopia.
Wilna, this was my favorite post yet. So enlightening and insightful. How sad the ethiopian people have not learned to take their valuable commodities , like coffee, and use it for their own benefit; to better their lives. I guess it's harder than you think to change a mindset. I could feel the tension build. Stay safe and warm and as open hearted as you always are. Merry Christmas to you and your wandering soul mates from somewhere on the California coast.
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