In Ethiopia

Tuesday 24th July 2007 Bekele Mola Hotel, Arba Minch
This morning we went up to Chencho, 1.5Km vertically in 25Km. The village is at 2650m from 1100 at Arba Minch, up a winding road through the mist at 19deg C. The village was hosting its market day and our excellent guide protected us from the "1-Birr" kids while Willy and Brian stayed to look after the vehicles. We saw the women selling ensiled Banana plants for human consumption. They also smoke ensiled tobacco through a water-calabash contraption. The horses were very small and delicate and many had huge saddle sores from carrying their burdens to the colourful market. I chose to see one of the traditional homes and was taken even further up the mountain, panting in the thin air to an 18m tall thatched hut. The old man made a living from weaving, shuttle and loom style. It was a time-warp back to 16th century rural Europe. A moving experience. We have taken lots of photos, loaded onto my laptop. Back in Arba Minch Willy kindly donned his gumboots and braved an oil-filled pit to check our Landy's oils little knowing there was a sump in the pit, fell in and canged colour!! He was not amused. He serviced his and Brian's Landys. At the campsite we found our flags from each country which we were sticking onto our Landy had been pulled off, and Brian's ladder (for getting into his tent) had been removed from the front of his Landy. Round Arba Minch the land is flat and fertile with old dysfunctional irrigation canals. The crops which are planted, bananas and maize are excellent, but a lot of the land is fallow. Arba Minch, a beautiful town left a sour taste because of the thieving and begging.

Monday 23rd July 2007 Bekele Mola Hotel, Arba Minch
We decided to leave and had to go over the rocky pass yet again, into Arba Mich and found a campsite with a spectacular view over both Lakes at the hotel. There I recovered from the bout of diarrhea. Maybe I picked up the bug at the village yesterday.

Sunday 22nd July 2007 Bush camp Nechisar National Park, Lake Abaya
Last night was the noisiest night we have spent, and were glad when the rooster started to announce the dawn. Nev paid off Biruk and we headed for 'New York'. Another bad road, and as we arrived there we were greeted by open pit toilets at the view site with ten slotted poles over the pit, no walls. The aim wasn't good because the place was disgusting. 'New York' wasn't a town. It was a place of massive soil erosion of a section of 20m deep soil on a mountain covered in vocanic laval rocks. The wind and water has caused pinnacles of soil to remain looking, with huge amount imagination, like a skyscraper skyline, giving the town of Gesergiyo the nickname New York. The area covers about 20Ha. From there we went to one of several Konso villages over 400 years old, surrounded by 2m high stone walls on the ridge of the mountainous volcanic rocks. They put the rocks to good use by constructing walls around their villages and by terracing the steep hillsides for agriculture. They planted maize, sunflowers, sorghum, hops, cassava and beans all mixed together in the long narrow terraces. Inside the village the animals live with the people and the food is brought to the animals. The young men are separated from the females and sleep in central 'community houses' while the girls live in the parent's home. Each family home is separated by stone walls with dry wooden poles sticking out vertically from the top. They make their living farming and weaving. They have the poorest soils we have seen so far in Ethiopia but are the hardest working, with the women bent double from carrying heavy loads on their backs. Although having been living in this way for over 400 years, they have not adapted to use a pit toilet and all round the village, including on the walls and in the pathways between the houses there was human excreta. Villagers do make compost from their animal dung and vegetable matter which is carried on the women's backs and put onto the lands, but it is insufficient to sustain the fertility. We then dropped off the excellent local guide and proceeded to Nechisar National Park, Ethiopia's premier game reserve. The road was rough, Brian had a puncture. We paid Birr250 for each family to enter and camp and traveled for about 20Km over a very scenic but steep and rough pass between two natural Rift Valley Lakes. This road made Nev cry for his Landy. We fond a nice campsite next to the Lake Abaya, the water was brown! 1160sqKm of lake, not with "ferrous hydroxide" suspended, as the Bradt Guide book, claims, but with silt eroded from the surrounding mountains. The whole lake is brown. The one further south is the usual blue, but has fewer rivers flowing into it from the erode-able mountains. We had a good night and left to go to the plains and the hot springs. The road continued to be terrible, the hot springs were a local washing place and the plains had very little game, a few zebra and gazelle. Only the scenery was good.

Saturday 21st July 2007 Hotel, Karet-Konso
Nev went into Jinka to get punctures fixed and saw that in the town he and Biruk got hounded by guides and touts so decided that we all would catch a taxi and go into town to the market later on.
All 7 of us (plus driver and 'conductor' who hung on the back) squashed into a cute little 175cc 3-wheeler (tuk-tuk in SA) with two rows of seats at the back. It couldn't get up the hill with the load and we had to walk the last bit.
The market we saw the Musi women with their removable plates inserted into their overstretched bottom lips. Their two bottom front teeth had to be removed to accommodate the 12cm diameter round plate. Apparently if they do not wear the plate, the stretched lip shrinks and we saw many with very fat bottom lips. The men had very stretched ear lobes. I didn't feel good photographing them as I felt it was degrading, humiliating and they were prostituting their bodies to get money for photos. I didn't feel much better when the others said they were proud to have photos taken, and we paid them 2Birr anyway. I still didn't feel good about it.
We bought some fruit and made our way back to Karat-Conso to spend the night at the Hotel. Biruk wanted us to stay in the hotel and told us incorrectly that there was no campsite. This annoyed Nev and he was really getting irritated with Biruk, having had him with us for four days. This was the last straw.


Friday 20th July 2007 Rocky Camp site Jinka
Ethiopians we have come across are friendly, spontaneous, generous and a natural, happy people. Being a firanje (foreigner), however, they see us as an easy source of money or Birr. So everything is measured in terms of Birr. It is difficult to get used to negotiating a price for lodging/food/photograph and then have the price doubled after sleeping/eating/taking a picture. Our guide, Biruk (pronounced Brrrook) is invaluable and not only protects us from the aggression which easily surfaces, but also negotiates far better prices than we could, being a firanje. I said to a child with a bicycle, Nice bike, he said 2 Birr, meaning I could have a ride for 2 Birr. Children hang on to your hands and then expect to be paid for being friendly. Biruk keeps telling them that begging is not culture, and firenje come to see the culture.
We left Turmi for Omorate on the Omo river just north of Lake Turkana. We went through NTvl veld again and passed a herd of Galeb nomads moving house and cattle. Their meager possessions carried by the women (wearing only loincloths) on their heads, the men driving the cattle. The possessions were a couple of calabashes, sleeping mats and clay pots. A light load.
We came across the Omo valley which was flat flat flat. 7km from the Omo river we observed disused well contructed, unmaintained irrigation canals. Our guide informed us the the North Koreans constructed it all for flood irrigating, ran the farms and then with the change of government 15years ago, were thrown out of the country and the Ethiopians took over. Need I say more? Biruk said "Africans do not have the mind to do these things." There were 35 parked off tractivators, with ploughs, planters, potato ridgers, spray rigs, trailers, tractors and 8 huge TLBs just rusting with parts missing. (Rick and Patrick: Molubesi revisited!!) A complete power station not operational, all the overhead electric wires, half had fallen off the insulators and were lying on the ground.
The Omo river is half as big as the Zambesi and rapid flowing and could generate all the water and power needed to make the area an oasis with all the soil and heat units lying fallow.
We traveled back towards Weito, and as we got near there was a valley similar to the San Joakim Valley in California, also with all the irrigation laid out, lying fallow for the last 10 years, now the government with the Italians are growing sorghum 4m high, and the scheme is just starting up again. The potential is huge. We proceeded to Jinka on a road built by the Chinese to replace the twisted, rutted horrible road where the Ethiopians think the Chinese are wonderful people because they can see results of input of aid. Up the hills towards Jinka, Brian's landy boiled and burst a pipe, and he had 2 punctures, and we had our first puncture since leaving home. A small piece of rock went right through the centre of a tyre ruining it. With all the delays we arrived in Jinka in the dark.


Thursday 19th July 2007 campsite, Turmi
After spending a really noisy night with radios going, roosters crowing, someone chopping, others cleaning, loud talking and cats mating, we set off from Weito towards the market at Key Afer. We took photos of the people in their traditional clothing, paying 1 or 2Birr per photo and being pestered by kids saying you-you-you-you-you as fast and as loudly as could be said. It means 'how are you' and really gets irritating after a time. They also pull your sleeve and say 'photo 1Birr' over and over again even if you say no thanks.
We then went towards Turmi along a really potholed road, also N Tvl, but slightly wetter through different tribal land who were herders, not agriculturalists and we thought it was thinly populated until we stopped in a remote place for lunch and in a matter of minutes were surrounded by people who were inquisitive and friendly. Brian’s landy eventually couldn't take all the twisting in the chassis and the windscreen nearly fell out of the cab. He braced his cab from the bull bar to the roof carrier to stabilize the cab until he can get it fixed in Addis. If it rained now he wouldn't only get his feet wet, but would get a shower through the cracks – but the bracing helped.
At Turmi we arrived at the camp site and went to see the traditional dancing at a village. On the way we asked to look into one of the huts, a rondavel made of upright poles about 1m high with no cladding, so it was well ventilated. The roof of steeply pitched grass thatch covered a second story which was the sleeping area for the adults. The cooking was done on the floor 1m under the grass mat on poles of the second story, and the children slept on skins on the floor. The doorway was only 800cm high, not meant for old' ballies' like Nev. The dancing consisted of the young men and girls chanting and singing and the men jumped up and down in time to the clapping. They landed flat footed and jumped high with straight legs and their feet parallel to the ground. The girls in their beads just shuffled around. They would approach the 'man of choice' and kick his feet just as he was about to land, putting him off balance and indicating her interest. He would then chase her rhythmically for a minute and then return to the line of dancing men. In the light of the setting sun the dust swirled around their gleaming bodies.


Wednesday 18th July 2007 Hor Hotel, Weito
We left early to go to the South Omo with Biruk sitting in our Landy on cushions, squeezed in between the fridge and the door.
At mega we visited what they called the 'singing well'. Here the well is dug 25m into the hard shale to water their stock. They had dug a stepped roadway 3m wide down to the well where they constructed a trough. To get the water from the well into the trough they use 20l containers, passing the full bucket to the next person in the chain, the last tipping the water into the trough. The coordination had to be good because they were passing the empty containers back at the same time. While they do this they chant, (rightly named the singing well). While we were there, there were at least 500 head of cattle in herds patiently waiting their turn to drink. The cattle looked good and we saw the first horse since Zambia.
At Yabello, Beryl and Dave left us to get their vehicle fixed in Addis Ababa and the three remaining couples continued to the South Omo.
There are many different tribes in the valley, each having their own individual culture regarding wearing apparel, housing and traditions. Any guide book will detail these, so I won't go into detail. The most different from us (I cannot use the words primitive or uncivilized, because I do not believe that westerners are any more advanced or more civilized, because we simply have a different lifestyles) wear soft loincloth skins decorated with colourful beadwork that sway when they walk in a very provocative manner. And the men wear very short mini skirt kilts that show off their very muscular lean bodies to the maximum.
We went over the mountain and onto a flat plain that stretched for miles and miles and looked very similar to the northern Transvaal. Cattle, Boran type were plentiful, as well as the usual goats and donkeys. We arrived in Konso in the mountains. The Konso tribe work very hard terracing their mountain slopes and plant crops to try to save the soil, but I'm sorry to see the soil is all worn out, and although they have had a good season their crops are very poor and really lack nutrition in the form of fertilizer input. They are the poorest people we have come across so far, and the women labour up and down the slopes with huge bundles of maize stalks (after reaping the green mealies) and hay they have baled manually about the size of two of our square bales. They put this on their backs and are bent double hauling their load to market to receive 1 or 2 Birr (R1 or 2) or to take home to feed their own livestock. The women or children can be seen in the fields on the top of a tree in the middle of a field, or on a wooden tower three metres high, guarding their sorghum and teff crops from the birds. These are the genuine scarecrows.
We slept in our tent at the hotel after supper where you call the waiter by loudly clapping your hands together. It is their custom and not at all rude.

Tuesday 17th July 2007 Borena Moyale Hotel still
The morning was spent servicing the Landy (Nev tightened bolts and checked wheel bearings and found the 4th spare diesel tank was leaking – we aren't going to fix it.) Willy's main diesel tank is leaking too, welding the leaking water tanks (Brian and Daves) and fixing punctures, (Brian had two yesterday – surprisingly only 2 on that road) and Dave is replacing rubbers on his shocks again. I spent the time fighting the dust.
Oh the dust! It comes in everywhere and literally rains on the windows outside the Landy and everything is full of dust inside! It is our 'Sandrover'. It would get anyone down, and I try not to kick the pricks, but try to work with it as best I can. We all get dusty, but having five opening doors on our vehicle means 5 extra places for dust to come in and we don't have a working aircon so have to have open windows. Not a situation everybody could tolerate, but the huge advantages of traveling outweigh these slight discomforts, and I love my Landy.
We had supper again at the restaurant. Everything comes with Injara, the brown sour-dough tray-sized spongy pancake. You break bits off and mop up some sauce and pop it in your mouth. It is a very social dish where groups sit around the tray and all partake while chatting loudly. The difference in the dishes is the difference in the very spicy sauce.
We chatted to an Austrian, Martin, who is traveling around alone on a motorbike. He is an agricultural economist who teaches at an agricultural college in Austria. He is just as passionate as we are that the 'donor do-gooders' are ruining the African economy. We chatted for an hour, very interesting man. The electricity had switched off by the time we got back to our room.