Nearing the end of Ethiopia

Trip Start Feb 20, 2007

Trip End Jun 2007

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Flag of Ethiopia Moyale, Ethiopia
Tuesday, March 6, 2007

From Turmi we drove back to Konso, only stopping for lunch and to visit an Arbore village. This tribe are spectacularly well decorated, with the boys wearing elaborate spotted white face paint on their torsos and faces, and feathers in their hair. The visit soon turned sour as they realized we weren't going to take hundreds of photos (which are paid for, of course) like some other tourists must do fairly regularly. A group of elders with whom I had chatted in Amharic upon arriving soon turned nasty, waving their sticks at us, telling us we should leave if we didn't want to take photos. This really was the final straw, and I was glad to leave the Omo Valley behind me. The trip here has been fascinating, and amazing to see some of the last remaining African tribes (in the National Geographic sense) in their natural environment. I only wish I could have been here twenty years ago, before tourism ruined this experience. Of course, I'm aware that by visiting I have selfishly become one of the perpetrators, and part of me wishes I had not come

Arbore boys

.

In Konso the group split up - Shanni drove on with Wagu and our driver to Addis, Yann left to try to find transport to Yabello, and Kevin and I were to make our way to the Konso village in the hope of spending a few days in the company of Kelaha Geza, the Konso chief with whom both of us were particularly impressed. We set off at about three in the afternoon, with a 7km walk ahead of us under a hot, hot sun. As half my backpack is filled with books (my nerdiness punishing me...) and with six litres of water in my front bag, I reckon I must have been carrying over 25kg. To make things worse, the walk was uphill for most of the way, and we were constantly pestered by children begging for money and water, who, when denied, sometimes threw stones at us, one of which struck me.

After what seemed like an eternity we arrived in the village, having been shown a shortcut up a rocky path by a kind woman. We had no tents, and had intended on taking our chances and sleeping outside, but were immediately told that we could sleep in the village. Our bed was made of wooden branches, covered with cow hides, and an open thatched roof was above our heads. The feeling of being allowed to sleep within this compound of beautifully simple huts was exquisite. We watched one of the most spectacular sunsets I have ever seen in my life, shortly followed by the rise of an orange-red full moon that illuminated the starry night so well a torch wasn't needed when walking around. We spent time chatting with two French filmmakers, who are interviewing various different tribal people and comparing the responses with those they have gotten in other countries around the world. They work for YannArthus-Bertrand, the famous French photographer. Unfortunately I had to cut this most of evenings short and retire to bed early, feeling quite unwell, a mild case of sunstroke caused by stupidly not wearing a hat while walking in the strong afternoon sun that afternoon

Injera (my staple diet in Ethiopia)

.

It was bliss to wake up to the sounds of the village in the morning, cocks crowing, children laughing and playing, women grinding grain and sifting maize to be dried on cowhides. We learned two significant pieces of information from the local tourism officer, who was there to help the French to translate their interviews. First, the chief, our primary reason for being here, was in Addis, and was not due to come back until three days later. Secondly, as today was market day there was certain transport to Yabello (my next stop), and I could end up waiting for days before getting anything on this road again. So, with a heavy heart I packed up my stuff, deeply disappointed to have to leave so soon, and to say goodbye to Kevin of whose company I have grown very fond.

I walked to the first half of Konso, accompanied by men and women carrying bits and bobs to market. Their presence saved me the hassle of begging children, and with only one break I had covered the three or so kilometers to the market. From such thirsty work I felt I deserved a glass of tej (a delicious, locally brewed honey wine), which I drank in a delightfully filthy little bar with dirt floors and wobbly wooden stools and tables, filled with already half-drunk men. The company was great, so I stayed for another before leaving

Me, driver and guide

. Squinting in the bright midday light I saw a bus across the market place, and asked if it was going to Yabello, as this would save me the last few kilometers of my walk to the "main" part of Konso. Upon asking a familiar face popped out from the window of the bus - Yann, the French guy who was my first friend in Addis, and who we had left yesterday in Konso. He had been unsuccessful in getting transport yesterday, so I boarded this bus, happy to have company once again (after having gone nearly a whole hour without!).

Five bumpy hours later we arrived in Yabello in one of the most cramped buses I have ever been in (beaten only by one in Burma). We got punctures twice, once with so loud a bag I thought we were shot at, not impossible, as I counted five men carrying guns on our way. We spent the night there, it's a fairly dusty, characterless place, although I can't feel qualified to judge it after having spent only the night there.

The next morning we were at the bus-station at five, and an hour and a half later our bus had finally loaded enough people and cargo and go through its rituals of revving the engine and stopping so that everyone could say hello to everyone on our way through Yabello that we could finally leave. Blissfully, the road was sealed asphalt, the likes of which I hadn't seen in over a week

My bed in the Konso Village

. So it was a smooth journey to Moyale, at the Kenyan border, made beautiful by the rising of a red sun. I was so tired that I kept falling asleep, nearly banging my head off the dashboard (I was at the very front) several times, much to the amusement of the driver and those around me.

Having read Paul Theroux's description of Moyale I was quite terrified and really didn't know what to expect of the place when I arrived. It is a pretty dirty, bleak, hot place, with one main streets upon which goats, sheep and ragged children run wild. It has a higher level of hassle than elsewhere in Ethiopia, as you add money-changers and "border guides" into the equation. We spent a sweaty half hour trying to find a someway decent hotel, some of the rooms we saw on the way were revolting, with beds literally covered in flies and dubious brown stains on the walls.

We were actually able to clear customs on both sides of the border that afternoon, and actually crossed into Kenya, before coming back to spend the night on the Ethiopian side (where apparently the standard of hotel is much higher). The difference between the two sides wasn't very significant, the Kenyan side seemed a little less crowded, and although the shacks and buildings looked a little worse for wear one felt from the clothes and general look of the people that the Kenyan side was better off.

Tomorrow we will cross properly, leaving Ethiopia behind, and will start our three day trip to Nairobi on a rocky, bumpy, hot road through near desert, all done on the back of a truck. Looking forward to it!