Ethiopia: Down south
on Melissa Hipkins (Rwanda), 25/Aug/2010 11:27, 34 days ago
Guides really make or break a holiday and you're bound to get a fair spectrum on the index of compatibility during a 2 week trip. When we able to go further afield abroad without the financial burden of having to take all the children as well (sorry, kids!) we went with large groups. It was cheaper, but the guide was remote; it was difficult to ask all the questions you wanted, and when the chance of a moment with the guide came up, the immediacy of the question was often lost. When we self-drove as we did in America and South Africa, we had no guide and there was a lot of empty speculation between us in the front seats as to the significance of things we saw around us. A good guide anticipates questions and likely problems as well as knowing good places to eat and help with the bargaining in markets.In Gonder, we hit a good one. His name is not particularly memorable and it's only because I have his card that I recall it at all. Like most of the guides we had, he was only with us for a few days but he brought out the best for us in Gonder.What's the best of Gonder? Well I promised not to get too traveloguey, enough to say the notable castles in the town centre that were occupied by the Italians during the war had their roofs blown off by British aerial bombardment. Embarrassed shuffling of feet on our part as we see restoration still to be completed. The guide could have done more to ease our vicarious guilt by shifting the blame onto the Italians for being there, but he didn't. Other notables were the preparation and cooking of injera and visiting a women's' collective producing pottery and cloth.Back on the road to Bahir Dar; we had lost our good guide and had to rely on the driver again for information and pit stops. Around here the wet season had obviously not yet finished; the fields were flooded for miles around and being very flat the water was not in a hurry to drain away. The livestock were thus deprived of grazing and sought refuge on the only high ground available-the road. It was a long straight stretch of road and the dead donkey index rose quite a few points.Bahir Dar lies alongside a vast lake out of which flows the Blue Nile. The hotel was right by it so we were able to spend some time watching fish eagles and kingfishers. The hotel was the third one we had stayed in that looked as though it had been put up during the period of communist rule in the '90s. They all followed the same pattern of room layout and exuded the same air of genteel dishevelment. Nonetheless, the food was good and who needs hot water anyway.Returning to Addis to begin the southern half of the journey we met Danni, our guide for the rest of the stay. Instead of the town minibus we had begun to get used to we had a 4x4 to lounge around in. The minibus had not aroused much interest in the people we passed on the road. The only emotions they displayed were deep disappointment when their signals for us to stop for them were ignored and some fairly international signs directed at us when left them in our dust. Once we changed to a 4x4, especially as the roof rack was charged with jerry cans full of extra fuel, our livery had changed to "tourist". While we were still way off from the groups of boy herdsmen, the approaching profile of the car set them off into their party pieces designed to attract our attention, weird distortions of traditional dancing, standing on their heads, or simply yelling and putting out their hands for the expected money or sweets. This was the pattern of the encounters for the whole of our southern journey; the only differences were the variations in the style of stereotyped dance.The devotion of the southern population to the Orthodox Church became clear in Arba Minch, a town about half way through our itinerary. The church has periods of fasting during its calendar and these fasts usually extend to the food available in the local restaurants. "Fasting food" or food made with no animal products is usually seen as one on the choices available on the menu. Our visit to the town had coincided with the major fasting period of the year. It was on the Sunday morning that we were woken with an apparently new move in community worship- the service and prayers to celebrate this holy week were being broadcast through loudspeakers from the next door church. All this at 4:00 in the morning. At first I thought it was the Muslim call to prayer that I'm used to in Musanze which only goes on for 5 minutes or so and is relatively musical, but this was a real dirge and kept on for 5 hours.Danni when questioned about it later said he had not experienced it before and that many of the locals were upset and angry about it. Being so close to the church hadn't helped and it can't do the hotel's business any good.As we travelled on, it became apparent that we were entering the tribal territories from the change of dress of the herdsmen from jeans and t-shirt to more traditional costumes. Photographing from the car now became more hazardous as money was expected for each shot. Danni took us to see the first tribal village, that of the Mursi whose traditional ideal of feminine beauty is embodied by lip plugs and similar distortions of the earlobes. We got there early, before any other visitors. Most tribes people were doing morning chores or eating but as soon as we got out of the jeep we were faced with a crowd of not too friendly girls and women demanding money for photographs. Their poses expressed aggression and resentfulness, but the more we stared and backed off, the more people emerged from huts arrayed in more outlandish dress until it dissolved into a freak show.The men sat apart nearer the road and eyed us suspiciously. Every second man had a Kalashnikov and Danni told us afterwards most of them were already drunk. He had not yet paid to the headman the hefty fee for us to be there. An armed ranger who had accompanied us from the park gate was conducting an investigation with the men into a missing wallet taken from a tourist the previous day and voices were becoming raised. Melissa had only a limited amount of small change for photographs and demands for double payments were made if two people happened to be in the same shot.I've never been more relieved to get back in a car. On our way back we passed a number of other cars heading for the same village and I wouldn't have wanted to witness their reception-we had really pissed them off.Other tribal villages followed more or less the same pattern but with much less threat or aggression. Because of their rigid idea that no money would be given if they did not stand to attention and look sullen the opportunity to take photos of people going about their daily business was denied. Equally, there was no-one prepared to give us a chance for a clearer insight into their culture or technology. The perception that the only way they could make money from tourists was by selling the right to be photographed was widespread. The fact that I did not carry a camera made no difference to the demands made on me. Once the change ran out, bitterness grew because no more photos were being taken. There was always a scrum to be in the viewfinder and those excluded were obviously resentful. It became an unpleasant experience to be in these villages and we did not look forward to them. The sustainability of this as an enterprise is very limited.The Hamer tribe have a spectacular ceremony of bull jumping that has become better organised in respect of the access for tourists. In return for a fee of 200 birr, about£10 each, you could have unlimited rights to photograph. The ceremony itself is to grant a man the right to marry once he has successfully completed the not inconsiderable task of jumping over a line of bulls. Preliminary to this his young female relations submit themselves to be whipped, something the girls themselves actively encourage, goading the man whipping them with a thin cane of willow to do it again and again. The welts and blood on their backs testify to their devotion and regard for the man who will later jump the bulls. The ceremony attracts Hamer and tourists equally, the Hamer travelling great distances to reach this site. The rite is held every 2 or 3 days at this time of year and demands a considerable outlay of money from the families involved; we were assured that the tourists' fees go some way towards the cost. There must have been well over 150 tourists present atthe time we were there.As you may imagine, the opportunities to photograph were endless especially as most Hamer were too involved in the ritual to spend time posing. The fact that the man jumping the bulls is entirely naked had nothing to do with the enthusiasm that Melissa put into the task of photographing him from every conceivable angle. She'd have bankrupted us if we'd had to pay per shot. Any requests for the photos we daren't send to the chemists may be made by anonymous email.The final tribe we visited, the Dorze, was led by a man who had gone away to college to do a diploma in tourism. It showed. No pestering or importuning, demonstrations of food preparation and weaving and unsolicited invitations into huts to watch spinning and the pounding of coffee beans. They have accommodation for tourists who wish to sample the tribal life for a night or two and a shop selling the crafts they produce. All very low key and an altogether more pleasant experience for us and a good deal more profitable for themWe had just about finished our road trip in the south and were approaching Arba Minch for a second night in the hotel Mosh Pit. We were climbing up a pretty steep incline when without warning the engine over-revved and we came to a jerking stop. Danni seemed unable to master the situation and the engine continued to scream. At the same time clouds of the blackest smoke flooded from the exhaust blanketing the road. Something pretty terminal had to have happened and we got out damn quick in case anything caught fire. Albeit that the driving standards in Ethiopia are worse than Naples at least people stop if they can see you're in trouble and in no time Danni had the offer of a tow to a garage in the town and we had secured a lift to the hotel.There followed an evening of consultations and phone calls to find a substitute vehicle to complete the journey back to Addis. The 4x4 had burned out 2 fuel injectors and no replacements were available locally; they had to come from Addis 300km away. In the end we arranged to hire a vehicle from Arba Minch and to meet this 4x4 from Addis the following night at our next hotel. Danni said he'd do his best to get an equivalent 4x4 for the intermediate journey.Imagine our delight in the morning to see a town minibus waiting for us complete with peeling plastic shading on the windows and a furry dashboard cover. The mileage was nearing 400,000km and the steering was shot but it did get us there with only a modicum of fright.So ended a memorable holiday in a country we would like to visit again next year. Once back in Addis the company had invited us to a traditional dinner to initiate us into the wonders of injera and its accompanying music and dance. It gave us an opportunity to discuss the finer details of what went well and not so well but the company definitely came out on the plus side.