Moyale
Trip Start
Sep 01, 2005
1
26
72
Trip End
Ongoing
Moyale,
Kenya
Sunday, December 18, 2005
We had some competition behind us from another minibus and a younger conductor. At one stop our conductor hopped out and started reaching for a ladies bags. I saw the other bus getting closer. Before it stopped, their conductor had jumped out and landed in a full sprint. Just as our guy was about to reach the woman the other conductor slid between them, knocking away his hand and starting a scuffle
waiting to leave
. Our driver yelled something and the conductor begrudgingly ran back and got in. We sped off quickly, leaving the other bus behind.At the next small town that we reached an old man across the street waved at us to stop. By the time that he gathered his things and was half way across the street the other bus was closing in. Once again, the younger conductor jumped out of the moving bus and hit the ground running. Our conductor was helping the man to our bus; the other one grabbed the man's bag and started walking towards his van. The old man followed his bag. Then, our conductor grabbed his cane and walked towards us. The man wrestled his bag from the younger conductor and followed our guy. Everyone on both busses laughed, and our guy snuffed saying something in Amharic.
The entire way to Dila we played cat and mouse with the other bus. One would speed in front the other, each trying to catch as many fares as possible. The conductors yelled at each other and the passengers watched with fan like enthusiasm. The ride was only four hours, but with hurting stomachs the ride was painful. By the time that we reached Dila we were more than happy to find a hotel by the bus yard and fast for the rest of the night.
The routine had become quite standard for us. We woke early, almost three hours before the sun rose. Walking to the bus station, our heads wrapped in scarves, we looked up at the constellations. Just about the southeastern horizon I saw the Southern Cross for the first time. Erin climbed on board and claimed seats while I waited in the dark with our bags. After 9 hours of dry, dusty travel we reached Moyale. For the final 4 hours of the trip the land had appeared like the images of famine and drought plagued Ethiopia that we had seen on television as kids. Thin trees stood with sparse leaves and hanging bird nests. Tall red termite mounds rose like chimneys from the dirt.
The town was just another stopping point; Twin foreign outposts that clinged to a strip of asphalt with chicken wire and rope. Our hotel room was dark and hot. The shower in it, and to have a shower was a luxury, had to be primed by opening the valve and shaking the pipe until water leaked out.
That evening we took care of our business. We stamped out of Ethiopia and into Kenya. We found a truck that was loading with cargo and would be bound for Nairobi the next morning. For 1,500 Kenyan shillings we could get a ride and have the two front seats inside the cab by the driver. For 1,000 we could sit in the open air back with the cargo. We opted for the 500 shilling upgrade to first class.
For dinner we searched out a place that had pasta and tomato sauce, our final, undaring meal in Ethiopia. Walking into the hotel we had seen a woman roasting coffee beans in the courtyard. All through the country we had enjoyed exquisite espressos with steamed milk. That evening we ordered two last macchiatos to sip on under the stars of the desolate town. Until that point, a particular plastic cup of rancid dark liquid 8 years ago in Prague had held the record for worst cup of coffee. This one beat it by miles. It tasted like it had been slow roasted over wet garbage, and it left the same after taste. Not wanting to be rude, I gulped mine and chased it with water. Erin discretely poured hers over the railing into the bushes.
Ethiopia had been a wonderful, though difficult, introduction into Sub-Saharan Africa. It had spectacular pieces of culture, history and nature. But, it was by no means easy; the depravity of the human condition, the ardor of travel, fighting microbes in the food, and the scarring flavor of the Moyale roast. It was hard, but very rewarding. To experience such range of emotions pries into ones understanding, deepens your compassion and expands your reality. In any single view you love it, loathe it, fear it and embrace it. Travel there wasn't fun, it was rich.
