Africa

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Ark of the Covenant

February 25, 2003 in Africa, Ethiopia, Travel

Axum
is a dusty, dirty town with layers upon layers of ancient history. I
hired a guide, and visited the ruins around town, after a lecture in
the museum while sitting on a pillar pedestal from the 3rd century BC.
Sites included, the Queen of Sheba’s palace with ruins dated back to
the 10th century BC, the giant Stellae fields, and my favorite, stones
with inscriptions in Gh’ezz (precursor to Amharic), Ancient Greek, and
Sabaen (precursor to Arabic), all engraved at the same time. Staring at
the ancient tabloid, conjured images of great city teaming with peoples
from many cultures.

The Axumite’s favorite stories are about the Queen of Sheba. You can
buy stone figures of Sheba with Menelik strapped to her back (her son
with King Solomon). I asked one of the local boys, why a great queen
would carry her son around on her back – his reply was that she loved
him so much she wouldn’t let any of her servants care for him.

Visited the chapel that “houses” the Ark of the Covenant – an ugly
green building built by Halle Sallase, met the guardian of the Covenant
and unsuccessfully tried to persuade him to take my digital camera in
for a few photos.

From Axum I took the bus to Mekele with 2 Italians and 1 German, to
visit the rock-hewn churches carved into the sides of the cliffs. Upon
boarding the bus in Axum, I was delighted to find myself on one of the
newish more comfortable buses. Ha. There are lots of mountains on the
way from Axum to Mekele. When we reached the largest (around 2900
meters), the bus slowed to a complete stop a long way from the top.
Everyone was ordered off the bus – at which point we proceeded to climb
over the top of the mountain while the bus wound around and picked us
up on the other side. Not only were we at around 10,000 feet, but it
was high-noon. Thought I was going to pass out.

This happened around 4 more times, eventually at the end I convinced
myself that stretching ones legs on a long bus trip is a very good
thing. Plus, everyone gets a little air so the vomiting is kept to a
minimum.

Ethiopia Finale (Omo Valley, including my adventures staying with a
Hamer family in their hut where I carried fire wood, water and had a
goat slaughtered in my honor) to follow soon – leaving for Uganda in a
few hours.

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Lake Tana

February 16, 2003 in Africa, Ethiopia, Travel

My friend from the bus insisted on showing me several hotels to choose from – I just wanted a cab to the nearest bed with a flush toilet and shower. Walked from the bus station to the main road following my “friend” from the bus – an older man who worked as an architect and was in town visiting several construction sites. As I staggered after him (with my 2 backpacks – Ethiopian men do not carry anything, they don’t even offer), managed to trip with both bags landing hard on my right knee, ripping my only pair of trousers, dragged myself up cursing, and pretty much told the guy to get lost. Of course, I was immediately surrounded by young men offering taxi services. Found a cab, at which point 2 of the men  jumped in, and insisted they worked for the hotel to which I was headed. I explained in not too gentle terms that if they wanted a ride in the cab, we would split the fare 3 ways. After much arguing, one got out, and upon reaching the destination I paid only ½ of the fare as promised.

Finding myself at the Tana Hotel, somewhat expensive by Ethiopian standards had to argue to get the price down with the manager – since there was no hot water, I pretty much stumbled to my room and had a good long nap.  The Tana Hotel in Bahir Dar is part of a string of government hotels that are all situated in the most beautiful locations, however, one is forced to pay not only a 10 percent service charge but also VAT tax which adds significantly to the price. The Tana is located on a point reaching out to Lake Tana with scores of Pelicans, flowering trees, and crocodiles! Met a lovely Ethiopian woman who lived in Switzerland, she convinced the hotel manager to make me some tea with honey, before she wandered off for a walk on the point. You could see her flowing white robes circling her as she paced the point in the dark.

Relocated to the Ghion Hotel the next day. Promised to take 2 tours, one of Lake Tana and one to a few monasteries, so I got a significantly reduced room rate. The Ghion has an incredible courtyard with massive
flowering Jacaranda, and fig trees filled with strange birds (hornbills), that are all beak. Gardens filled with strange plants and flowers surround the patio. Every night the pelicans fly to their special sleeping spot. In the mornings, the lake is covered with mist – I would have coffee in the courtyard under the trees staring at the mist-covered waters with the sound of morning psalms being chanted by the priests and monks on the lake.

At the Ghion I met a great group of people and wound up lounging for days. Visited the Blue Nile Falls – was fortunate that the dam was open that day so lots of water, and took a boat out to one of the few monasteries that allow women on the island. The lake is filled with men and boys rowing papyrus boats – fragile vessels usually loaded with firewood or cargo, being rowed to and from Bahir Dar for market days.

Unfortunately, I also picked up an admirer who looked about 16 and insisted he was 23. Followed me around for days professing his love, and kept trying to get me to let him come to Gondor with me. I finally had to be a little harsh, at which point he cried. For some reason these boys seem to put a lot of their hopes and dreams on finding a “faranji” woman to whisk them away to America. Apparently there is a bevy of American women that marry Ethiopians, and for some reason all move to Texas.

The last night in Bahir Dar a large group of us went out for dinner then on to see some traditional dancing. I arrived a bit late and found everyone shoved into a corner of the restaurant patio, with no space for the 2 Ethiopian women and myself I had invited. There was plenty of space, so I ask the men drinking coffee to move over a little bit – much to the embarrassment of the rest of the crowd (composed mostly of Canadians and English people). Although they accused me of pulling out an American maneuver those sitting on the side terrace garden confessed they were happy no longer to be sitting on cacti.

After dinner we walked down several dark streets to a bar known for local dancing, led by my admirer Abraham. Ethiopian “national” dancing consists primarily of shoulder shaking – in ways that I’m convinced you need to begin cultivating when you are around 1 years old. Everyone had to try, of course. Anyway, we were all having a great time, until it was discovered that the price of beer had been doubled (for us) when we walked in – put a definite damper on the whole party.

No one had paid up yet, so I sent everyone out, and prepared to negotiate. Found myself staring up at the “manager”, who was insisting that he was practicing “free-market.” After much shouting on my part
and his, I pretty much handed over enough birr to cover the beers at the “local price.” During the argument, glanced back at the group lined up on the streets all with shocked looks on their faces.

Explained afterward that I had a Canadian mother who would probably be horrified, but that I occasionally had to pull out characteristics of my American father.

Left Bahir Dar (reluctantly) for Axum after around a week or so.

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Escape from Lailabela

February 15, 2003 in Africa, Ethiopia, Travel

Ah
Bahir Dar. Bahir Dar is a beautiful town on the banks of Lake Tana –
source of the Blue Nile. After an extremely dirty, hot, dusty journey
you find yourself in this oasis, complete with palm lined streets and
flowers.

But getting there was something of a challenge.

Arranged to leave Lalibela via a private vehicle – a little more
expensive then the bus, but the journey would take only 1 day rather
then 2 and I wouldn’t have to leave before the crack of dawn.

Woke up the morning of my departure, greeted the family goat and
took a cold shower in the hut – built of large twigs — in the middle
of the hotel compound. By this point, the fact that I was showering for
all the guests and family living around the place no longer really
mattered. Departure was planned for 9:30A. At around 8:30 my friends
came running from the town center — apparently the driver I was
traveling to Bahir Dar with wanted to leave early. Fortunately, I was
already packed, so we trekked up the smallish hill to the town center
(and I use that term very loosely).

Wound up waiting until 9:30A for the guy to reappear. Finally a
caravan of Land Cruisers arrived and 1 pick-up truck so stacked with
luggage it was very close to toppling over. I was ordered into the
pickup truck which had a very comfy backseat and lots of additional
luggage upon which to recline. My send-off was tremendous — around 30
children waving and shouting “Good-bye Jennifer!”

So we headed to the airport to drop off the tour group, and proceed on our way to Bahir Dar.

After driving down the hill towards the airport (about 4 minutes), we stop.

All flights had been cancelled due to the big African Leaders
convention in Addis (no planes). The rep from Ethiopian Airlines was
stopping everyone before even entering the airport.

So the drivers all confer with the group leader, and it’s decided that they would just all drive to Gondor.

I’m still in the luggage truck. This message is conveyed, to which my response was:

“No problem, I’ll go to Gondor.”

Unfortunately, this was not possible. Apparently I couldn’t ride
with the luggage. This made me very angry. I really needed to get OUT
of Lalibela, and would now have to wait for the bus the next morning.

So I refused to get out of the truck. This didn’t last long since it
appeared that the driver was quite prepared to drag me out. Found
myself deposited on the side of the road with my bag, hurling profanity
at the man who promised me a ride, and appealing to the very
comfortably seated group of Canadian Lutherans in their Land Cruisers
(the tour group). They all ignored me.

Given my obvious state of annoyance, the Ethiopian Airlines guy gave me a ride back to town.
The one spot of hilarity, was listening to the Japanese tour that was
behind the Canadians, try to get some sort of information out of the
Ethiopian Airlines dude regarding when the flight would actually leave.
Went something like:

Japanese business man, completely decked out in serious tourist
garb: “You must give us a guarantee of when the plane will leave. We
have a very tight schedule.”

Ethiopian Airlines Rep: “There is no plane.”

Repeat the above several times.

Anyway, I cruised back into town about 15 minutes after leaving. All
the children are still there. Delighted that I get to spend another
night in Lalibela.

This was absolutely NOT going to happen. Finally it was discovered
that there was a smallish truck loaded with boxes and people heading
towards Woldyia, and they would drop me at Gashen — which is the
T-junction for the road to Lalibela and Gondor. So for a mere 40 Birr
(highway robbery), I was allowed to smash into the cab with 4 other
people and the driver. I refused to pay until I got to my destination.

Ethiopian roads are generally quite hazardous due to all the
obstacles that must be avoided. The worst of which are livestock and
people. After much observation, I’ve pretty much determined that the
donkey is the most sucidal of the animals encountered on the roadway.
They constantly attempt to throw themselves in front of any and every
moving vehicle. Can’t really blame the poor things, they have a life of
carrying heavy loads up hot mountains, with probably not a lot to eat.
Strangely similar to the women…

Villagers also happen to believe that if they run in front of a moving vehicle and survive, they add 7 years onto their lives.

This makes for some interesting roadtrips.

So back to my over-priced truck ride. Of course all the men in the
cab wanted to talk to me (I had the seat by the door), however, I was
extremely cranky, and generally very annoyed that they were extorting
such a large amount of money out of me for a trip that
was around 20km.

We finally get to Gashene. Gashene has 1 gas station, 1 restaurant
(where the bus stops), 1 hotel, and 1 cafe. So I pile out, and pretty
much tell the driver I’m only giving him 20Birr since I’m not going all
the way to Woldiaya. Of course I didn’t have correct
change, so I wound up paying the full amount.

Tried appealing to the policeman who was hanging around, but he just leered at me with a toothless grin.

So I’m standing there (the truck guys invited me to lunch, I
declined), looking up and down the road — wishing and hoping for a
beautiful land cruiser full of faranji, but with 1 extra seat to roar
up and take me off to Bahir Dar. Hah.

But, a very nice man who was on the bus to Lalibela (stopped across
the street), came over and asked me what was going on. I ranted for a
while about the high-priced ride, and my concern that there were no
vehicles. He reassured me that there were 2 buses behind the one he was
on.

Thus, I stalked over to the cafe and sat on the porch in the shade.
Immediately surrounded by the local youth, a very nice woman handed me
a cup of Chai out
the window and wouldn’t take any money. Then the man from the bus came
back over to give me a pack of chewing gum, and wish me luck.

By this time, the truck in which I arrived was departing. They are
shouting out the window to make sure I don’t want to continue on
Woldydia (larger city). Must admit that I taught my entourage some not
so nice gestures, directed at the truck driver. (Ok, I had a really
rough 2 days.)

So I handed around my books, Lonely Planet, Amharic phrasebooks, and every time a vehicle would pass I’d run out to the road.

Waited for a good 30 minutes — at which point I was starting to get
very nervous. It was now around 1:00 in the afternoon, and the chance
of me getting out of the place was diminishing with every minute. No
one drives at night.

Finally, one of the kids came over, pointed at a truck and said he’s
going to Gaint — which is where I could catch up with the bus. The kid
tried to get 50 Birr out of me, but I just walked up to the truck,
looked up at the truck driver and asked if he’d take me to Gaint.

He agreed AND DIDN’T EVEN WANT ANY $$.

So I climbed up into the giant truck, laughed at the kid hanging off
the door trying to get me to give him 10 birr for “finding me a ride.”

And we drove off.

My seat was lovely, very comfortable, and high, I could see for
miles. It didn’t really take that long though for me to realize I had
just climbed into a vehicle with one of those notorious African truck
drivers, and his assistant.

After planning my escape route (never really went over 50kmph, so I
figured I could jump out and roll). I asked my driver about his family
(pictures all over), expressed my devotion to the catholic church (they
take religion very seriously), and made up a very nice fiancé who was
expecting me in Bahir Dar, and who I hoped wouldn’t come looking for me.

The driver and the assistant had just gotten a fresh bag of Chat
(mild narcotic grown and chewed throughout Ethiopia), so they were
chewing away. I declined their offers to partake.

Turns out my karma had kicked in again because both men were really very kind and good trip companions.

We traveled through the countryside, following a truck from the same
company, passing through villages with streams of people walking along
the roadside loaded with grains, and herding animals.

As we reached one area with particularly heavy people traffic, a
oxen leaped into the truck in front. Everything ground to a halt.
Priests were called along with the police. While we waited, I was
quickly surrounded by villagers — one kind woman gave me a piece of
sugarcane — delighting the crowd as I tried to gnaw my way through
what is essentially a hunk of sugar flavored wood. Soon the traveling
minstrels arrived, and started serenading me — they play instruments
similar to a lyre — and make up funny songs ad hoc.

After around 2 hours, the priests, the drivers, and the farmer went
off to the side — while the policemen directed “traffic.” It was
decided that 100 birr would be paid to the farmer.

We piled back into the truck, with around 5 priests as extra
passengers — who inquired whether or not I was available for marriage.

After dropping off our passengers — we hurtled down the side of a
mountain, the sunset turning the shrubs and hills a silvery purple, the
three of us singing Chaka Khan’s “I’m Every Woman”, while I showed my
friends my best chair dancing moves which they soon caught on to. After
4 renditions, my voice was almost gone and my heart almost stopped (the
truck driver was also chair-dancing while driving down a steep road),
we settled into a comfortable silence, and arrived in a really nasty
town filled with truck drivers, prostitutes, and the overnight stop for
the bus to Bahir Dar.

After dinner, I locked myself into my room, coated with insect
repellent and wrapped in several layers of blankets and clothing. In
the early morning, my truck driver friend walked me through the dark to
the bus-station, shook my hand and I was on my way to Bahir Dar.

The bus ride was fairly uneventful — with the exception of the
elementary school teacher delighted to be sitting next to me so he
could practice his English. I was pretty sick and in no mood for
conversation, not to mention I had no voice. He kept poking me saying
“Don’t go to sleep, I want to talk to you.” Finally he got off the bus,
and I got some
rest.

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Beasts of Burden

February 13, 2003 in Africa, Ethiopia, Travel

Lalibela. Met a few very nice boys who became my friends and showed me around the place (Misaw was 14 and Getachew was 10 but looked around 7 since he was generally lacking for food), in addition to a Frenchman who was riding a motorcycle across Africa and the Middle East.

Lalibela was the first place where I experienced the sliding price scale for faranji’s, and it pretty much started to infuriate me. For example, in the local store – if I went in to buy a bottle of water it cost 10 Birr, if a local goes in 5 Birr. At the tej bet (pub specializing in honey wine) where we stopped for a few beers they

attempted to double the price — leading to a shouting match between us and the workers. Finally we just left what we knew to be the real price. My solution to the whole over-charging is to find out local prices
and carry a lot of change. If someone gets upset, I recommend they call the police and/or a few priests. This usually brings the offender around to my point of view.

The second day in Lalibela, I said goodbye to my French friend – who roared off to Addis — and climbed up to the top of a mountain to see the Monastary. Climb was very steep and very hot, but extremely pretty.
On the way back down we stopped off in Getachew’s family hut for coffee ceremony (will explain). After around 10 cups of coffee sitting on a dirt floor around the fire, we headed on our way. Every Ethiopian home
has a cat as a part of the family. The cat keeps away the pests and in return gets bits of injera or whatever the family may be eating.

As we traveled down, I spotted a stunning elderly woman in a green dress (everyone wears dark green in the villages) chasing after a big and small sheep. Eventually, she came over and inquired through the boys if I had any medicine. She then hiked up her skirt (very modestly on one side) to show me this huge lump on the side of her hip. Explained there was nothing I could do for the lump, but she did have a
few cuts to which I applied antibiotic ointment and band-aids. She was extremely grateful at which point she communicated that she had no children but was a keeper of the sheep. She ran off up the mountain,
and we continued down.

Almost reaching the last part of the mountain we stopped to rest and take in the view. The boys at this point started wailing, shouting, and covering their eyes with their arms. Looking below one could see a woman being beaten savagely with a cane by a man while around 15 people, men and women watched.

We ran down as fast as possible, shouting. The boys kept crying “This is not democracy” which I found very interesting. They also told me “The woman she has no family she came to marry.”

By the time we got to the spot, the beating had stopped, but the woman was covered in blood and flopping around the ground like a wounded bird.

Previously up on the mountain we had encountered a man who caused problems when I was trying to buy a few little wool figures. He was very well dressed, and obviously well-fed, and fairly drunk. Turns out
he was the one doing the beating.

It was very lucky that the man had stopped hitting her by the time I arrived, because I completely and thoroughly lost my temper when we got to the woman.

While shouting at the “onlookers”, I patched up the woman as best as I could, using my bandana (which I had just soaked in the holy water up at the church), and gave her some water. She was very thin, one eye was
sort of bulging out – obviously a result of past beatings – in a raggedy green dress. Fortunately, one of the boys yelled “don’t touch the blood”, because I had completely forgotten to be careful. She had
an obviously broken wrist (bone bulging out), a deep gash on her calf – could see through to the bone, and various other injuries.

The only people helping were the boys and a small girl. We attempted to start carrying her down the mountain to the “hospital”, but she could barely walk, and it was very hot. Finally her brother arrived -
he had been part of the circle of people watching her get beaten – and carried her down to the “hospital” on his back. Eventually, the man who had been beating her – her husband – arrived and attempted to take her
on his back. The look of terror on the women’s face convinced me that shouting at him to go away was not a bad move.

We finally made it to the “hospital”, and the horror continued. The building was brand new, but completely empty and absolutely filthy. Upon entrance we were instructed to dump the woman on the concrete
outside the “administration office”, and wait. I started walking around shouting for people, finally a woman arrived and unlocked the door.

The office was filled with pink pieces of paper and a bed next to a wall with splashes of dried blood all over the place. I had to pay up before anyone would look at her.

Next her brother carried her to the “examination” room, where she was once again dumped on the floor. The examination room was up to the squalor standards of the rest of the hospital. There was a bed – but I
ran my finger down it and came up with a great deal of grime, and of course there was blood splattered on the wall. By this time the woman was vomiting and had released her bowels. I ran around looking for a
doctor or nurse, since the place seemed to be deserted.

The “nurse” finally went in and came out in about 3 minutes and handed me a slip of paper that said:

Paracemtol
Dress and Clean Wound
Follow-up tomorrow

“What about her leg, she needs sutures?” I asked.

“It’s not bleeding very heavy” said the “nurse.”

“Ah, you can see to the bone, she needs sutures, and her arm is
obviously, broken, and she appears to be going into or is in shock.” I
said.

“Her pulse is fine” said the “nurse.”

“Did you take her blood pressure? Check her head? Make sure she
doesn’t have any internal injuries — she was beaten with a stick” I
said. “Oh blood pressure” said the “nurse.”

Finally I shouted enough that they found someone a little more experienced who sutured her leg and appeared to have examined her a little more thoroughly. She had to wait for an X-Ray until the next day
because it was the Doctors “day off.” No one would tell me where he lived.

By this time her husband’s family started to arrive. The ones who had watched her get beaten. They got another incensed lecture from me, and I tried to make sure she would not have to go home that night.

The real issue was whether or not to go to the police. Most told me on the hospital staff to “just leave it.” I finally asked the woman, and she said yes, she would go if she could walk, but I should go alone
and make a report. 2 minutes later she changed her mind and said “I love my husband, don’t go to the police.” Of course, his family was surrounding her – leading to the change of mind.

After doing all I could I left, went to the police station, made a report — although it’s pretty certain that nothing would be done. Figured if she was eventually killed at least there would be some sort of potential evidence against her husband.

Ethiopian women who live in the villages are essentially beasts of burden. They carry the water, firewood, and children, while the men spend a lot of time hanging around town. The women expect to beaten, and are in fact frequently.

I have never seen anything so brutal. Abuse of women happens worldwide, but I’ve never had to actually witness such violence. The public aspect made this even more appalling. I am so very thankful to have been fortunate enough to be born in the West, and in possession of a strong enough will (thanks to my parents) that victimization is hopefully something I will be able avoid. The matter of fact way the women and men just accepted the women’s beating was perhaps the most shocking aspect of the event.

So the adventure continues with my escape from Lalibela. Stay tuned for part 3. ;>

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