A Little Excursion

Living in Addis does not make one want to go anywhere. Life is far too good to bother. So you can see that I have become very lazy. On the other hand, I do try to go to work every morning and that gives a structure to the day, even if there is nothing important to do. I can indulge in typing my blog instead.

So this is the account of a trip made to remind me that I am still a traveler.

It was time to try out the little train which goes to Djibouti, the only contact with the sea that Ethiopia has now that Eritrea is so very separate, despite the longing in the soul of the Ethiopians to reunite. Thus the war on the border continues and if you want to send a letter to Eritrea, it goes via Italy. Djibouti, with its very strong French influence, does not appeal to me. I understand, once you have traveled through the desert to get to the town of that name, it is just a modern, bustling port. It is the only sea-contact that Ethiopia has and all exports have to go through there. So the plan was to go half-way on the train to the town of Dire Dawa, which is the fulcrum of the western road routes. I had hoped to be able to go to those parts with Ingrid & Co., but we may not have the time. And anyway, if we do go, then I will at least know what to expect and how to ‘guide’ them….

Being very lazy, it seemed a good idea to ask Felik, my ‘Saturday Guide’ student, to accompany me. He could be my local protection and translator. As a Tourist Guiding student, a visit to those parts was part of his familiarization trip over a year or so ago and he was keen to reinforce his knowledge. Exams are over and although he is supposed to be assigned to a Tour Operator for practical experience, the inefficiency of the College has meant that he was not yet placed.

The railway line is one of those special little lines that go down in the lists as a ‘must-do’ for world-wide railway enthusiasts. In hindsight, it might have been worth it to continue to Djibouti because the spectacular scenery is apparently only after Dire Dawa. But that would have involved visa applications and more time. Maybe maybe…


The line was completed in 1917. It had been a frustrating operation beset by years of delay. The French consortium which finally completed the line, had control for many years and this is still reflected in the station building where all signs are in Amharic and French and the area for catching a bus or taxi is known as la Gare. During the time of the Derg (Communist Committee 1974-91), the railway was neglected and it has only recently been reinstated as a passenger service. A South Africa firm has apparently taken on a contract to run the service, but all I could see was the ancient French signs.


All this sounds easy. But had I not researched it beforehand, our departure may have been fraught with frustrations. Fortunately I had established that the train only left on three days of the week and that you cannot buy a ticket in advance. It is supposed to leave at 3pm, but one day I was at la Gare at 4pm and it had not yet left because they had discovered that someone had forgotten to fill it with diesel. It left 30 minutes later. There are other stories of delays and warnings not to plan a tight itinerary around the train times. I do not know how the freight trains work, but suspect that there is another depot for them as I never saw any.

Down a little gravel road along part of the disused line is a ‘museum’ known as the Emperor’s Carriages. Once again my laziness to organize a visit has prevented me from seeing inside, but from outside you can see the wonderful Art Deco white and chrome carriages which were given to Emperor Haile Selassie by the French government. Four immaculate carriages can be visited if you have the incredible patience to arrange a visit and pay 24Birr per person at least 24 hours beforehand. I had tried to pin the man responsible down to ‘opening times’ when I was researching my list of ‘Museums in Addis’ for the students. It was an extremely frustrating interview because the Ethiopian does not see time as we do! Sometimes being a tourist can be very taxing!

Felik and I arranged to be at la Gare at 12 noon. Contrary to what I had been told before, we were then told that the ticket office will only open at 2pm. So we set off to find me someone who could supply and administer my Hepatitis B booster injections. I had already asked doctors, been to various Hospitals, Clinics and Pharmacies. Wherever one went, one would be told a different story. There are many Gov’t. and Private hospitals and clinics as well as pharmacies (both Private and Gov’t-owned) which are sometimes three in a row on a shopping street. The search continued (even a very kind Gynecologist in one Hospital spent a long time making telephone calls on my behalf) and I eventually sent Felik running off to stand in the Queue for train tickets. Meanwhile I found a chemist who said that he had ordered some Pediatric Hepatitis B and was willing to sell me a double dose when the order arrived ‘next week’. I would still have to find a doctor to administer it though.

Felik said that the ‘orderly’ queue erupted as soon as the ticket office opened (what’s new?!) but that he eventually managed to buy us our first class tickets. We had inspected the economy carriages before because faranjis are allowed certain privileges like getting onto the platform for this task, although the locals had been held firmly outside the main building. There had been no sign of the first class carriage/engine, but the wood-slatted benches did not appeal for an overnight trip and I had decided to splash out on the equivalent of 5 pounds for a 500km ride.

At about 3pm we surged onto the platform and eventually our carriage arrived. It had to be coupled to the rest of the now-heaving second-class carriages. This involved repeated shunting backwards and forwards for the heavy coupling devices to finally connect. But the moving carriage did not stop any of us from claiming first-on-the-steps positions and with a mass of ‘affluent’ Ethiopians we pushed and shoved our way onto the nearest seats. Heaven! They are upholstered and in pretty good condition with some, like the ones we claimed, having working fold-up tables attached to the seat in front. Luxury! We were next to a window and I was happy. We even left only a few minutes late.

Addis is a reasonably large city, but one would not expect a train to take 1 hour to get out of town. Not if you are in Africa! There are no such things as barriers across roads or fences to hold off the wandering animals. Our train slowly crossed roads with its hooter blasting all the time whilst animals and people stepped off the line to just continue life as soon as the train had passed. Occasionally the train would lurch from side to side and one wondered about the stability of the tracks. I was amused by the fact that the train actually created dust clouds as it passed the ground roads where dust had settled for the last 48 hours. The many makeshift shacks and plastic covers in which people live are right up to the rails and wherever it is possible, the earth has been cleared for some planting of maize or greens. The people really do use every inch of soil for food production although I take great delight in seeing small patches of flowers every now and then. Dogs ran along the side of the train, children waved and goats and chickens ignored us. All very familiar.

The countryside for the next few hours was pretty nondescript although it was very pleasant to see the sun setting over far-away hills and the tiny crescent moon eventually make its mark between drifting clouds.

Unlike in most of Africa, the Ethiopians are not great food-sellers and would quite happily ignore a train or bus of potential customers. I had expected to find food other that a few packets of biscuits being offered us. So by the time midnight and a shortish stop arrived, Felik and I were pretty hungry. We pounced on a lady selling small samosas and sweet tea out of a flask. It made sleeping much easier.

We often briefly stopped at small towns, but as there was never a sign to indicate the name of the place, all was confusion. Best just to try and get comfortable and get some sleep. And the next morning, only an hour later than expected, we emerged into the streets of Dire Dawa.

This town was specially created to serve the new railway because the original objective, Harar, was too difficult to connect through the mountains. What a delight to watch life for the day take off as we walked through broad, tree-lined streets which had been swept clean. We sat on the pavement where a lady sold fresh doughnuts and coffee from a flask and watched the children arrive for school across the road and play in the street before the gates opened. Playing is the same the world over and I felt as though I too was skipping to a rope being swung around little jumping girls.

We walked in the pleasantly empty streets towards the Commonwealth War Graves Cemetery. It was early, but a man miraculously appeared with a key to the padlocked chain across the gates and let us in. One knows what to see at these cemeteries and the graves are all of the same design, but the inscriptions are always so poignant and one can evoke such emotions though this wandering amongst them. It is a very important reminder of the losses the East African troops sustained on that epic and eventually successful campaign against the Italian Occupiers in 1941. The journey of the 1700 miles’ push northwards is the longest distance in a war campaign ever in history.

Dire Dawa is not supposed to offer anything exciting, but a cool stop in an outdoor café, wanderings amongst the market stallholders and then a gari (horse-drawn vehicle) ride to a cave further up town gave us a very pleasant introduction to life in the semi-desert of the Harar countryside.

Busses for Harar, our actual destination, left every 10 minutes or so and we watched them fill up and depart without anxiety as we indulged in lunch at the bus station. The 1-hour journey though the mountains was just a joy. Although I looked for coffee, as the best is supposed to come from here, all one could see was millet or sorghum fields and cultivated plots of the small chat bushes which have supplanted those pungent coffee-producing trees. And then we arrived at the gates of Harar!

City of dreams… the 4th most holy of Muslim cities (after Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem)…. the most densely filled walled city of 100 mosques! My image was of a skyline of minarets like Fez in Morocco. Or of great walls with romantic gates where one could walk upon them and look down on the city. Well, disillusion can create its own pleasure: The walls are badly patched and irregular thin but high structures with no dramatic effect. Life on both sides of them does not define obvious differences. There is as much Muslim as Orthodox activity and there are hardly any minarets as most of the many mosques are within homes. The people are no longer dressed in the very vibrant colours of yesteryear and jeans and tee-shirts are everywhere.

However, what does distinguish this city above all others because of its large Muslim population, is the consumption of chat. This shrub has a smallish green leaf. If you pluck the leaves and assiduously chew them until your mouth has absorbed the juices and a ball of chaff is formed and eventually spat out, you might become ‘high’ and feel euphoric and happy and wide-awake and a few hours later a bit depressed and in need of beer to soften the effects of sleeplessness. After years of such mastication, you can become addicted and end up only wanting to chew the leaves. Most of this activity takes place on the sides of the roads. Not always a pleasant thing to observe, but on the whole totally tolerated as part of Harar life. Chat has become a major export from Ethiopia to the neighbouring Muslim countries and as it has to be masticated when fresh and soft, the gathering and export of these branches of leaves has to be highly sophisticated. I saw none of this activity.

So we entered and walked the streets and with only our small rucsacs, there was no need for settling into a hotel too soon. In the main square we bumped into Ali, whom Felik knows from previous walks with me. Ali has stayed in the Taitu whenever he was in Addis and we became good companions. He had just met his friend Nick, who had been on the train with us but whom I had ignored as a young backpacker who certainly did not want to talk to an old lady. However, the two had met in Uganda and were now renewing their friendship after various adventures and they generously included us in the conversation. The four of us walked about together and then agreed to meet for a visit to the Hyena Man and supper.

Time to get a place to sleep for the night. The two young men were staying in hotels outside the city walls but I decided that it would be more atmospheric to be inside. We inspected one old building, but the rooms were just too dark and although the Ethiopians happily sleep in small, windowless rooms, I would not do so by choice. Our next hotel was full of rickety wooden stairs which one expected to collapse with the balcony at any moment. We were shown a set of two rooms off a small corridor. The one room was the usual windowless dark space and on the other side of the wooden division between them, was a room with a large window overlooking the rooftops of the city. Guess who chose what room! I could throw open the window and really soak in the atmosphere and sounds. OK, one does not choose a room costing the equivalent of one pound for its cleanliness or facilities, but the woman gave me clean sheets (I had brought soap and never use a towel anyway) and a potty under the bed as well as a jug of water with a basin. In Ethiopia it is unknown to clean anything but the floor on which dirt falls. The fact that walls may be very dirty (and I shall not comment on the ones in my room) or that a windowsill may be dusty, simply does not enter their consciousness. In Addis I have tried to show my cleaning woman how to wipe down walls, but, despite demonstrations, walls, doors, the areas around light switches and door handles or anywhere behind a door is resolutely ignored. I was happy with our choice.

We went to view a Tourist attraction but the woman in charge maintained that it was too late to sell us a ticket to just look through the door into a reproduction of a traditional Muslim home. I thought her a bit unaccommodating for tourists as this was the ‘Cultural Centre’ of Harar.

Never mind! A few beers always make one forget these unpleasantries and it was fun to go in the dark with a very expensive ‘guide’ the boys had picked up to take us the few meters outside the city wall to where the Hyena Man lives. This is big ‘exploit the tourist’ time! As Harar is not a city with great evening entertainment (the local ‘picture house’ was showing 3 different USA film DVDs that day in its tiny, airless ‘sports hall’), the obvious thing to do is to go and see the famous Hyena Man. To have to pay a hefty sum to watch him feed pieces of meat to various hyenas can be very boring. Fortunately Nick had just spent over 4 years amongst them in Botswana and he knew how to respect these animals which are regarded as the second most dangerous predator in Africa. To tourists without knowledge, it can be non-impressive, and to see how they happily fed the animals which they could easily compare to dogs, made Nick very nervous. But even we finally succumbed to their non-interest in humans and posed for the obligatory photograph. Nick was an excellent guide though and we learnt a lot about the animals from him. The poor tourists who joined us with their guides only stood mutely watching and then posing with a stick with a piece of meat draped over it whilst the hyena took a gulp. The Hyena Man occasionally called a name (as non-pet-owners, the Ethiopians think this is fantastic…an animal that responds to a name!) and one of the hyenas would respond. But now the pack is too large for individual naming. There were about 20 of us tourists and the tourist season has just started. At 30 Birr each, the Hyena Man made at least 600 Birr. When one thinks that a senior school teacher earns between 600-800-Birr per month after years of study, the mind boggles. The following night we went down the road from the boys’ hotel on the other side of town and watched another pack of hyenas which occupy the adjacent open space where people learn to drive cars and football is played. There is a very large ditch and the town rubbish is dumped there every night. So, guess what? One has a wonderful ringside seat watching the hyenas which quite happily walk about amongst people and where there are even a lot of street-sleepers who could be tasty morsels for the hyenas if necessary. Apparently they are habituated enough to walk about in the streets keeping the place clean. This was a far better spectacle than the previous night’s bored performance.

Whilst sitting on my bed and soaking my feet in the basin of water the next day, I saw the tell-tale evidence to prove that we were in a brothel: Two small peep-holes had been drilled through the partition between our rooms. I had fallen asleep instantly despite being above the very noisy bar below my room, but Felik had heard knockings on the front door all night. It reminded me of the time in the 1960s when I stayed in a brothel in Spain. The same small holes in the wall….. So just remember to be vigilant when you occupy such premises!

After a very long walk the next morning, because the Ethiopians do not understand how to give directions or tell one about short-cuts (‘take a taxi’ is the usual response to any directional query), Felik and I arrived at the Harar Brewery which was set up with the assistance of the Czechoslovak Govt. in 1984, 10 years after the Derg forced Communism onto the country. They produce bottled, draught and malt beers and it is exported all over the world. A worthwhile visit if only to experience a very modern plant with spotlessly clean and sterile facilities. However, I could not help but smile when I saw our images in starched cotton coats and fancy hats walking up the stairs and holding onto the filthiest handrail one could imagine. Once again the Ethiopian non-awareness of dirt has triumphed! The staff recreation hall/bar/restaurant has the largest TV screen I have ever seen and seems to remain on the sports channel all day.

We returned via the narrow inner streets and alleys of inner Harar, joined the boys for lunch and then continued our good tourist requirements by visiting ‘Rambo House’… the beautifully restored house built in 1908 (Rimbaud died in 1891) which is used as a cultural centre and museum about the life of this French poet who lived and traded for many years in Harar. All good tourist stuff, but it made us late again for the other cultural visit which had been aborted the previous day. We arrived before 4.35pm and were delayed on the steps by a photographic session of the future bride and all her attendants in traditional dress. It was the most colourful visual image imaginable! The bride had gold all over her body and I dare not imagine the cost of the very elaborate hand jewelry which encased the arm, wrist and fingers of her hands. These maidens were from a local tribe of isolated merchants who had become very rich and their wonderful clothes reflected this. We were transfixed, so by the time it was 4.40pm and I asked to buy an entrance ticket to see the traditional Muslim house from the open door, the lady once again refused to admit us. I just stood at the door and looked in, she came and closed it in front of me and I had had my money’s worth and more for nothing. I just do not understand this attitude, but, similarly, the guide in Rambo’s House, when asked what one can see outside the town, mentioned a valley. So I asked him ‘what does one go and see in this valley’ and he said he cannot tell me. I must hire a Guide for that. This refusal to share knowledge is very alien to me. I have been telling the Tourist Guide students to always share their knowledge because they never know when they might not need to ask for some another day.

For the experience of enjoying the setting sun in a Muslim cemetery, we arranged to meet the boys outside the wall. While walking down the road, I bought a small heap of cherry tomatoes to munch. I had forgotten that the Ethiopians do not eat raw tomatoes, so could not share with Felik. Melkam in the office had to be taught how to make a tomato salad. Similarly, the most delicious watercress grows wild all over Addis in the large ditches by the side of the roads. This can be a great source of vitamin C, but their food never includes it and even green decoration on a plate is not known. A group of young girls surrounded us and were fascinated by my diet. So I brought out a lipstick and they giggled even more as each one offered her lips to me. Getting them to draw the lips tightly over their teeth for the application was impossible. This action had never been undertaken by them. I then gave them the lipstick with which to practice on each other. Within a few strokes it was broken off. Silly of me to think that they would understand the action. I mention this only because I get very frustrated when the locals cannot understand what I am asking. Why should they? I am seeing the world from my perspective and should have more patience understanding.

The following morning the watchman woke us at 4.30am and we rushed out to join Ali for the return bus to Addis. He was already there on the back seat, keeping us two places. I had decided to return by bus during the daytime in order to see some of the Awash National Park which we were supposed to traverse. That scenery in itself was unfortunately not spectacular and one really has to go into the park to see the African Rift Valley. So a cramped 13 hour journey was alleviated by chewing chat which some students offered us. The effect was mild as I did not chew too much (boring and not very tasty), but I was nevertheless amused by the result. We had all been struggling over a Su-doku puzzle and the chat-effect was that I would have great flashes of insight with the most obvious answer waiting to be recorded. And then Felik, who was not chewing, would mildly point out that the answer I had so dramatically presented was pure rubbish. Students chew chat to help them stay awake and study. Hmmmm…

A few days later in the Sheraton Hotel I looked at a coffee-table book on Harar. It was large and full of exquisite photographs of a city I did not recognize. How one can miss so much is disturbing. So I shall have to return……

November update

It is mid-November and I have not done any blog-work for ages. I just assumed that people are bored with my inactivity and happy state of enjoying Addis. On the other hand, some have asked for more info. So for those of you who might be wandering about my progress……?

After visiting the major tourist sites in 4 towns in the north of Ethiopia, I wrote a report about it. It is very negative but has had the desired effect and I have been asked to discuss it at meetings and to lecture to some of the northern guides when I am next there. Because I am so very self-centred and thick-skinned, I think I have had the nouse to say what many might think, but may be too timid to express. On the other hand, I know that not much will change, despite this flurry of interest. Bureaucracy reigns supreme. Every time I try to do something where I need ‘permission’, it is a very long-winded and complicated process. As an example, let me tell you about the effort made to get a complimentary entrance to the rock-hewn churches of Lalibele. Of course I can pay, but it was a matter of principle that I wanted to establish with the church authorities that Guides should have free access because they are learning and can only present a site if they have personally seen it. Naturally they will be out of pocket if they had to pay at every site, so there is an international understanding and cooperation between guiding organizations to ensure this free entry. The church controls the 11 churches in Lalibele and they have recently increased the entrance fee from 100 to 200Birr. I was slowly, through interviews with various persons, finally directed to the main priest in charge. My Guide was quite in awe as he himself had never been allowed into these elevated premises. The man in question sat on a large chair covered in a colourful carpet and in front of him was an enormous table, similarly covered. He wore all the trappings of his office and there was much bowing and scraping from the assembled priests/deacons. I stated my case and produced the relevant letter from the Catering and Tourism Training Institute which had served me well at other sites. It was translated and no amount of ‘arguing’ my case would soften the Priest’s refusal to ‘cooperate’. He finally requested a photocopy of the letter and said that, when I return in December, he would allow me free entry. But this is just formality and the point was lost. However, the incident which did not endear me to him and his ‘authority’ was that, during the interview, he picked his nose and ate the contents.

Apart from that report which is still being circulated, I have personally visited all the 11 museums in Addis and compiled a summary of their entry charges, hours and location. I had asked the students to help with this, but found that their information was patchy or contradictory or wrong. Am trying to get this information published in the two local monthly tourist magazines (one free and the other on sale). Today I was delighted to see the first–ever copy of The Big Issue Addis. It is the 3Birr magazine sold by the homeless and jobless who can earn money from selling the magazines. It has been a great success in the rest of the world and I thoroughly support this venture. So will try to find a copy and send off the Museum information to them too.

You cannot imagine the joy I am getting from compiling a jigsaw puzzle! OK, I do not like the large patches of blue sky, but otherwise it has caused quite a stir when the locals look at my effort and marvel at the result. There is a large table in the entrance room in the office, but after a couple of days, I had to remove initial puzzle-completing exercises because it was regarded as too ‘untidy’ for visitors to see. They have a vase of flowers instead and are pleased with that although no-one had ever thought of having flowers before.

It is not really possible to use the office internet (one slow dial-up line used by the Director), so I have to go to cafes and am generally too lazy after work to seek out the less expensive ones. Below my room, is a small internet café which is open 24 hours a day. They charge a lot, but it is handy. The young man, xxxxxxxxx who does the night shift is actually homeless and sleeps amongst the computers with his sleeping bag if not needed by frantic foreigners late at night wanting to process their photos or write home before setting off on the next exciting adventure with backpack and Tourist Guidebook. One day I went down at 4..30 am, hoping to have faster-than-normal connection and he was still awake with a British lady working on the computer who obviously did not need sleep… He is highly intelligent and just desperate for a decent job, which is non-existent in this country unless you know somebody.

Xxxxxxx was interested in hearing me talk about a newly-opened, small organic food processing venture I had visited. They were having an ‘open day’ brunch last Sunday and I invited him to accompany me. The whole concept of organic food is very alien to most Ethiopians and it was a revelation to him to find out how one’s food intake affected one’s performance. However, I do think that most Ethiopians still eat very well, but the government is trying to persuade the farmers to use fertilizers and pesticides. This will have a devastating effect on production. Yes, larger crops, but soil degradation after centuries of subsistence farming will change their ultimate production at a risk to their future health, I maintain. Co-incidentally, when in the Hilton for the weekly bridge-playing, there was a large conference about Striga, the plant that wraps itself around the roots of maize and sorghum, thus depleting the ‘host’ of nutrients. This is now a very serious problem in Africa. I first heard about Striga at the Chelsea Flower Show last year. They showed how one could plant something else next to the maize to attract the weed away and create extra fodder as well. It intrigued me and I tried to find out if I could volunteer with the Kenya researchers. But they never replied to my emails and I now have another interest. The need to do farming in a less harmful way is still a big concern of mine. One of the topics I had selected for the students to study was ‘agriculture’. The student who presented his report was very much in favour of using fertilizers because it comes from the First World and he has no doubt absorbed the Govt. propaganda (I suspect large conglomerates are pouring the stuff into the country). It is hard to let people understand that this messing about with age-old methods is actually going to do harm in the long run. At the organic food processing place, they spoke of the way insects like bees stay away from fertilized crops and how young children in the ‘developed world’ are now getting old peoples’ diseases like liver and kidney failure or diabetes. This from eating too much processed and messed-about food. We are really creating a world of dis-order.

Last Saturday I had arranged for a photographer from the Tourist Authority to meet me. With Fiker (my Saturday student guide), we went to a few properties which I thought needed recording.
!. The original Post Office has just been refurbished and the 100-year-old woodwork gleams. Because the Postal Museum intrigued me, I spent some time there and became friendly with the curator. He proudly tells me that there are about 200 people in Ethiopia who collect stamps. The previous day I persuaded him that he needed a photo or two of the new works to put next to his old ones. He agreed and helped me for an hour to try and get official permission to take a snap inside. In the end I gave up with the endless calls to various bureaucrats and the final answer of ‘in two weeks’ time’. The next day we walked into the old Post Office, told the staff what we were doing and took some snaps. Easy!
2. The next stop was a famous coffee house run, as I had been told, by the original Italian owner. It is always very full of customers and is apparently the place to be seen in because it costs a bit more and the opening hours are erratic. There is not even a sign above the door. When indulging there, I had seen an elderly man behind the counter and assumed this was him. I thought the place needs to be recorded before this link was lost. So we went in, had our cakes and coffee and only then were told that the man had died some time before and that his elderly wife still runs the place. She was away, but we will return. This is a link with the Italian Occupation of 60 years ago.
3. King Menelik 11 was a very progressive man and brought in many innovations over a hundred years ago when he established Addis Ababa as his new capital. He and his Queen were very friendly with a Swiss man called Alfred Ilg who was a photographer, installed roads, bridges and sewerage in Addis and helped develop the new railway line. The two wives were best friends and in the Addis Ababa museum, there is a photo of them together outside Ilg’s house. This very dilapidated house is still recognizable, but is in the middle of a vast building site where the authorities are creating conglomerates of flats (or condominiums, as the locals call them). Although the house is ‘saved’, I have not yet found out who will be responsible for its renovation, but it seems that the Swiss Embassy has shown some interest. I introduced it to the students on one of our tours and then decided that photos need to be taken before it is too late. We arrived on the bustling site where it is intriguing to watch everything being done by hand and scores of men and women for example carrying sacks of concrete on their backs up the wooden-pole ramps which go up to five stories high. The ‘caretaker’ who lives in some of the rooms, came out, and although the manager of the site had given me permission to enter the previous day, this man now demanded money off me. I promised something and he let us in. The photographer had begun to understand my enthusiasm and no longer needed me to point out what to look at/for. He snapped away and could appreciate my insistence on a close-up of the original Chinese wallpaper of a century ago. We also managed to get photos of the Art Deco furniture of the Italian occupiers (had to lift up a mattress where a table acted as a bed) and then snapped the totally neglected place lived in by many people with their washing and cooking paraphernalia. It should be a good record of various stages in the life of the building. Actually, I proudly say that we saw probably the only bidet in Addis!
4. Back to my hotel which celebrates its 100 year’s existence next year. The Taitu Hotel was built to accommodate visiting dignitaries to the new city and the king and his wife, Queen Taitu, had it built and stayed in it to persuade visitors of the efficacy of paying for a bed and food. During the time of the Derg (‘committee’—Communist Regime of 1974-1991) when values were turned upside-down, the hotel was totally neglected and is now just managing to be kept going while the sale to a well-known businessman and owner of the opposition English newspaper awaits completion. But he is in jail and no one knows when he will be tried (the present Govt. has put most of the opposition in jail if not worse…). It needs recording before total disintegration and my trusty photographer, who had run out of film, said he will be back for more. It gave me a chance to see the more ‘luxurious’ rooms (e.g. Taitu’s bedroom) and the large ‘conference’ room in the roof space of which I was unaware.
The thing that I am proud of is that the photographer got the message and was enthusiastically photographing other old buildings which are rapidly being pulled down these days. Building work going on everywhere! I flatter him that the archives will one day mount an exhibition of his ground-breaking photos of 2006!

Cynthia, the Anthropologist, has just returned after being away in the furthest south for three weeks. She is here to finalize the publication of a Borana language dictionary. We had early-morning coffee together to catch up. She is vibrant with information, but, at the age of 70, has decided to leave Africa and retire to California. She has had enough of this country after a lifetime here. Her intimate knowledge of the remote tribes around the Omo River and beyond is being eroded by irresponsible tourism. The BBC started the rot a few years ago when they went to film some of these tribes and paid them impossibly large sums of money. Now, she says, not only the elders, but the young people as well are ending up as drunks. Their society is beginning to disintegrate and the markets, which used to sell only locally produced items, are now full of cheap tat. She had to travel in convoy to the remoter areas by the Sudanese border and says that life there is no longer ‘free’.

After having the above conversation with Cynthia, I went to have my visa extended Because I had hung about for 2 hours the previous day and then had to leave because of a lecture, I was at the Immigration buildings at 8.30am, ready to get out soon! I already knew which rooms to go to to queue with the motley group of early-risers. But this knowledge did not help. My interview with an official finally started. I was 10 days too early for a visa. I tried to explain that I might be far away on the 18th and that I was trying to be a good citizen by renewing it earlier rather than past the expiry date. I would loose the ten days. Final. OK, but can I have an extension? How long? How long will you give? As long as you want. Can I have 4 months? No, just two. But that means that I will not be able to go on a trip I have already booked in February. Two months final. After muttering that it is not fair as I came with a 3-month visa and had expected the same again, I was told to go to another building to see the manager. By this time it was 11am. After 30 minutes of waiting with an official who could not understand what I was trying to say, I was told I can see the manager in 10 minutes. 15 minutes later I was told that he is in a meeting. Wait 10 minutes. Now told that he has gone to lunch and I must return at 1.30pm. My own lunch-date was coming up and I left. Maybe I shall return another day with lots of letters with stamps on them, pleading for an extension. There is nothing as magical as a rubber-stamp on a piece of paper to get things moving in Africa! But today was enough of the African experience. I went into a supermarket and indulged in yogurt, butter, brown bread and pickled gherkins – bought with the money reserved for the visa.
Habitat for Humanity, although an NGO (Non-Governmental Organization), has the right attitude about giving. People who have houses built for them, have to do most of the hard work themselves and the interest-free loan has to be paid off with within about 10 years. Whatever profit there is, is plowed back into more houses. Although I had been talking and reading about theses houses, I had not seen any until the last week-end when I spent 5 days with two office staff and the driver in two towns north-east of Addis. It took all day to drive there (thanks to the Italians the roads are incredibly well-designed but the tar has not been renewed/repaired for 60 years, so the potholes prevent swift movement and of course, animals have right-of-way; the shepherds or cattle herders make no attempt to move their animals off the road and I would not want to argue with an Ethiopian ox which has formidable horns!). We booked into a local hotel and they negotiated for me to pay the same rate as the locals as I was ‘working’. Thus the cost was the equivalent of one pound (less than 2$) instead of 5 times as much. Not bad for daily clean sheets/towels and communal showers/toilet. And I was grateful to see colourful plastic potties under every bed! The staff was setting up a new Affiliate in Kombolcha, the village we were staying in, but we also went to nearby Dessie and I had my first glimpse of the houses they have constructed and are still busy constructing there. It is really inspiring to see these self-built houses and to know from what kind of plastic shack the occupants would have come. Everyone was enthusiastic and willing to work hard, so even on a Sunday, future occupants could be seen plastering inside or digging the latrine outside. The two-room houses are very basic and the homeowners will have to build a kitchen outside or add a room as/when they can afford it. But they are given enough land around the house so that a bit of cultivation can also take place. And to my joy, there were many flower gardens as well as food crops. Actually, the Ethiopians are good at making places colourful with small flowers gardens wherever one goes.
I attended one of the two mass meetings they held. This was for people who were interested in getting onto the list of possible future homeowners. Over 500 people crammed into a large hall and throughout the nearly 4 hours of discussion and election of officers, the crowd was attentive and orderly and not one of the small children and babies ever made a noise. I was very impressed. It was less impressive to be told that we would meet at a certain time and then to find that nothing has been planned or arranged and that I must just sit around and wait for hours (I could have taken a bus to some of the sites in the area) and the driver really capped it all for me: For our return to Addis, we were to leave at 8am and eventually piled into the car at 8.45am. Not bad for Africa, I thought. The driver then drove across the road to the petrol station and we were told to get out while he bought petrol and cleaned the vehicle. The very relieved hotel owner rushed across the road with a pair of sandals I had left in my room for the cleaning lady. He thought I had forgotten them. I explained that I did not want them and he then called over a poor man who was wearing reasonably well-worn sandals. The man slipped his feet out of his sandals, put on ‘mine’ and stood silently and expressionlessly for the next ½hour while we waited for the car to be cleaned. I mention this as it seemed so very strange for me as a Westerner, that the man did not bother to smile and say ‘thank you’ or try out the sandals or even make an attempt to retain the ones he had been wearing despite them still having some wear in them. When we finally left, he did not move an eyelid. And I could have been having another coffee in the hotel!
The local Habitat story is actually not so good in two areas where ‘African’ habits have intruded. In one town, they stopped payments as soon as they moved into their houses, despite being trained to save and pay monthly installments. They seemed to have the idea that Habitat would pay for the rest, as this is the kind of hand-out they are used to getting from NGOs. Thank goodness Habitat does not! They were taken to Court and the Judge warned them that he will either fine them heavily or have them evicted. Before the judgment, they came together and decided that they would have to pay. Miraculously, the outstanding money appeared instantly! The other town in which the same scenario was attempted was a bit different. They had hired a lawyer (think of the cost to people who had been living in terrible conditions) and this person had in turn bribed the judge. Sadly, and I do not know all the details and am too timid to ask, the case was lost by Habitat. Now, when one thinks that the same method of training prospective homeowners has been successful throughout the world, it does seem a bit strange that it is suddenly not acceptable… Maybe one day I shall find out all the details. But it is so African!
On this theme, I met a man who is here to organize the manufacture of Impregnated Mosquito nets. This will not only save the millions of lives of the users, but also the people sleeping next to them in the same room. Great! UNESCO will be distributing 20,000,000 of them for free. Despite arguments by some of the organizations that they should not be distributed without asking for a minute nominal cost, the other NGOs who are not aware of the damage they are doing to the psyche of the continent insist that they must be given away. Expect the most needy to be selling them in the market the next day… Similarly, all the free food distribution has had the effect of suppressing the market price of locally produced foodstuffs. The farmers are generally self-sufficient and sell off the 20% of their crops they do not need for other items. But now the small farmers are not getting the price they should for their produce. You can understand my prejudice against many NGOs. My last story and then I must stop moaning about people who are really trying, but are just misplaced in their charity: I met a back-packer who told me that he had met a young woman who was having a luxury holiday. She said that she worked for an NGO but that it was their financial year-end and that she was desperately trying to spend money or they will not get the same for the next year…

This year Christmas as I know it will not exist for me. The Ethiopians do not celebrate in December, as their Christmas falls on the 7th January. This is because they have adhered to the original Julian calendar, which is now about 8 years behind the West, which changed in the 18th century and ‘lost’ 11 days. But when you think of it, the Ethiopians will be celebrating the true Millennium next September 2007. So if you want a second chance to celebrate the birth of Jesus, or to just have a jolly good party all over again, come here! But the other reason is that I shall be very busy ‘working’. Ingrid and co. will have to go into the Simian Mountains for some trekking whilst I ‘train’ Guides in Lalibela for 3 days (23/24/25th). They have asked me to do some practical work with them and this is the only free time I can have which will fit in with being in the north. It is a challenge, but will be rewarding, I hope.

More from Addia Ababa - 8th November

It is mid-November and I have not done any blog-work for ages. I just assumed that people are bored with my inactivity and happy state of enjoying Addis. On the other hand, some have asked for more info. So for those of you who might be wandering about my progress……?

After visiting the major tourist sites in 4 towns in the north of Ethiopia, I wrote a report about it. It is very negative but has had the desired effect and I have been asked to discuss it at meetings and to lecture to some of the northern guides when I am next there. Because I am so very self-centred and thick-skinned, I think I have had the nouse to say what many might think, but may be too timid to express. On the other hand, I know that not much will change, despite this flurry of interest. Bureaucracy reigns supreme. Every time I try to do something where I need ‘permission’, it is a very long-winded and complicated process. As an example, let me tell you about the effort made to get a complimentary entrance to the rock-hewn churches of Lalibele. Of course I can pay, but it was a matter of principle that I wanted to establish with the church authorities that Guides should have free access because they are learning and can only present a site if they have personally seen it. Naturally they will be out of pocket if they had to pay at every site, so there is an international understanding and cooperation between guiding organizations to ensure this free entry. The church controls the 11 churches in Lalibele and they have recently increased the entrance fee from 100 to 200Birr. I was slowly, through interviews with various persons, finally directed to the main priest in charge. My Guide was quite in awe as he himself had never been allowed into these elevated premises. The man in question sat on a large chair covered in a colourful carpet and in front of him was an enormous table, similarly covered. He wore all the trappings of his office and there was much bowing and scraping from the assembled priests/deacons. I stated my case and produced the relevant letter from the Catering and Tourism Training Institute which had served me well at other sites. It was translated and no amount of ‘arguing’ my case would soften the Priest’s refusal to ‘cooperate’. He finally requested a photocopy of the letter and said that, when I return in December, he would allow me free entry. But this is just formality and the point was lost. However, the incident which did not endear me to him and his ‘authority’ was that, during the interview, he picked his nose and ate the contents.

Apart from that report which is still being circulated, I have personally visited all the 11 museums in Addis and compiled a summary of their entry charges, hours and location. I had asked the students to help with this, but found that their information was patchy or contradictory or wrong. Am trying to get this information published in the two local monthly tourist magazines (one free and the other on sale). Today I was delighted to see the first–ever copy of The Big Issue Addis. It is the 3Birr magazine sold by the homeless and jobless who can earn money from selling the magazines. It has been a great success in the rest of the world and I thoroughly support this venture. So will try to find a copy and send off the Museum information to them too.

You cannot imagine the joy I am getting from compiling a jigsaw puzzle! OK, I do not like the large patches of blue sky, but otherwise it has caused quite a stir when the locals look at my effort and marvel at the result. There is a large table in the entrance room in the office, but after a couple of days, I had to remove initial puzzle-completing exercises because it was regarded as too ‘untidy’ for visitors to see. They have a vase of flowers instead and are pleased with that although no-one had ever thought of having flowers before.

It is not really possible to use the office internet (one slow dial-up line used by the Director), so I have to go to cafes and am generally too lazy after work to seek out the less expensive ones. Below my room, is a small internet café which is open 24 hours a day. They charge a lot, but it is handy. The young man, xxxxxxxxx who does the night shift is actually homeless and sleeps amongst the computers with his sleeping bag if not needed by frantic foreigners late at night wanting to process their photos or write home before setting off on the next exciting adventure with backpack and Tourist Guidebook. One day I went down at 4.30 am, hoping to have faster-than-normal connection and he was still awake with a British lady working on the computer who obviously did not need sleep… He is highly intelligent and just desperate for a decent job, which is non-existent in this country unless you know somebody.

Xxxxxxx was interested in hearing me talk about a newly-opened, small organic food processing venture I had visited. They were having an ‘open day’ brunch last Sunday and I invited him to accompany me. The whole concept of organic food is very alien to most Ethiopians and it was a revelation to him to find out how one’s food intake affected one’s performance. However, I do think that most Ethiopians still eat very well, but the government is trying to persuade the farmers to use fertilizers and pesticides. This will have a devastating effect on production. Yes, larger crops, but soil degradation after centuries of subsistence farming will change their ultimate production at a risk to their future health, I maintain. Co-incidentally, when in the Hilton for the weekly Bridge playing, there was a large conference about Striga, the plant that wraps itself around the roots of maize and sorghum, thus depleting the ‘host’ of nutrients. This is now a very serious problem in Africa. I first heard about Striga at the Chelsea Flower Show last year. They showed how one could plant something else next to the maize to attract the weed away and create extra fodder as well. It intrigued me and I tried to find out if I could volunteer with the Kenya researchers. But they never replied to my emails and I now have another interest. The need to do farming in a less harmful way is still a big concern of mine. One of the topics I had selected for the students to study was ‘agriculture’. The student who presented his report, was very much in favour of using fertilizers because it comes from the First World and he has no doubt absorbed the Govt. propaganda (I suspect large conglomerates are pouring the stuff into the country). It is hard to let people understand that this messing about with age-old methods is actually going to do harm in the long run. At the organic food processing place, they spoke of the way insects like bees stay away from fertilized crops and how young children in the ‘developed world’ are now getting old peoples’ diseases like liver and kidney failure or diabetes. This from eating too much processed and messed-about food. We are really creating a world of dis-order.

Last Saturday I had arranged for a photographer from the Tourist Authority to meet me. With Fiker (my Saturday student guide), we went to a few properties which I thought needed recording.
!. The original Post Office has just been refurbished and the 100-year-old woodwork gleams. Because the Postal Museum intrigued me, I spent some time there and became friendly with the curator. He proudly tells me that there are about 200 people in Ethiopia who collect stamps. The previous day I persuaded him that he needed a photo or two of the new works to put next to his old ones. He agreed and helped me for an hour to try and get official permission to take a snap inside. In the end I gave up with the endless calls to various bureaucrats and the final answer of ‘in two weeks’ time’. The next day we walked into the old Post Office, told the staff what we were doing and took some snaps. Easy!
2. The next stop was a famous coffee house run, as I had been told, by the original Italian owner. It is always very full of customers and is apparently the place to be seen in because it costs a bit more and the opening hours are erratic. There is not even a sign above the door. When indulging there, I had seen an elderly man behind the counter and assumed this was him. I thought the place needs to be recorded before this link was lost. So we went in, had our cakes and coffee and only then were told that the man had died some time before and that his elderly wife still runs the place. She was away, but we will return. A link with the Italian Occupation of 60 years ago.
3. King Menelik 11 was a very progressive man and brought in many innovations over a hundred years ago when he established Addis Ababa as his new capital. He and his Queen were very friendly with a Swiss man called Alfred Ilg who was a photographer, installed roads, bridges and sewerage and helped develop the new railway line. The two wives were ‘best friends’ and in the Addis Ababa museum, there is a photo of them together outside Ilg’s house. This very dilapidated house is still recognizable, but is in the middle of a vast building site where the authorities are creating conglomerates of flats (or condominiums, as the locals call them). Although the house is ‘saved’, I have not yet found out who will be responsible for its renovation, but it seems that the Swiss Embassy has shown some interest. I introduced it to the students on one of our tours and then decided that photos need to be taken before it is too late. We arrived on the bustling site where it is intriguing to watch everything being done by hand and scores of men and women for example carrying sacks of concrete on their backs up the wooden-pole ramps which go up to five stories high. The ‘caretaker’ who lives in some of the rooms, came out, and although the manager of the site had given me permission to enter the previous day, this man now demanded money off me. I promised something and he let us in. The photographer had begun to understand my enthusiasm and no longer needed me to point out what to look at/for. He snapped away and could appreciate my insistence on a close-up of the original Chinese wallpaper of a century ago. We also managed to get photos of the Art Deco furniture of the Italian occupiers (had to lift up a mattress where a table acted as a bed) and then snapped the totally neglected place lived in by many people with their washing and cooking paraphernalia. It should be a good record of various stages in the life of the building. Actually, I proudly say that we saw probably the only bidet in Addis!
4. Back to my hotel which celebrates its 100 year’s existence next year. The Taitu Hotel was built to accommodate visiting dignitaries to the new city and the king and his wife, Queen Taitu, had it built and stayed in it to persuade visitors of the efficacy of paying for a bed and food. During the time of the Derg (‘committee’—Communist Regime of 1974-1991) when values were turned upside-down, the hotel was totally neglected and is now just managing to be kept going while the sale to a well-known businessman and owner of the opposition English newspaper awaits completion. But he is in jail and no one knows when he will be tried (the present Govt. has put most of the opposition in jail if not worse…). It needs recording before total disintegration and my trusty photographer, who had run out of film, said he will be back for more. It gave me a chance to see the more ‘luxurious’ rooms (e.g. Taitu’s bedroom) and the large ‘conference’ room in the roof space of which I was unaware.
The thing that I am proud of is that the photographer got the message and was enthusiastically photographing other old buildings which are rapidly being pulled down these days. Building work going on everywhere! I flatter him that the archives will one day mount an exhibition of his ground-breaking photos of 2006!

Cynthia, the Anthropologist, has just returned after being away in the furthest south for three weeks. She is here to finalize the publication of a Borana language dictionary. We had early-morning coffee together to catch up. She is vibrant with information, but, at the age of 70, has decided to leave Africa and retire to California. She has had enough of this country after a lifetime here. Her intimate knowledge of the remote tribes around the Omo River and beyond is being eroded by irresponsible tourism. The BBC started the rot a few years ago when they went to film some of these tribes and paid them impossibly large sums of money. Now, she says, not only the elders, but the young people as well are ending up as drunks. Their society is beginning to disintegrate and the markets, which used to sell only locally produced items, are now full of cheap tat. She had to travel in convoy to the remoter areas by the Sudanese border and says that life there is no longer ‘free’.

After having the above conversation with Cynthia, I went to have my visa extended As I had hung about for 2 hours the previous day and then had to leave because of a lecture, I was at the Immigration buildings at 8.30am, ready to get out soon! I already knew which rooms to go to to queue with the motley group of early-risers. But this knowledge did not help. My interview with an official finally started. I was 10 days too early for a visa. I tried to explain that I might be far away on the 18th and that I was trying to be a good citizen by renewing it earlier rather than past the expiry date. I would loose the ten days. Final. OK, but can I have an extension? How long? How long will you give? As long as you want. Can I have 4 months? No, just two. But that means that I will not be able to go on a trip I have already booked in February. Two months final. After muttering that it is not fair as I came with a 3-month visa and had expected the same again, I was told to go to another building to see the manager. By this time it was 11am. After 30 minutes of waiting with an official who could not understand what I was trying to say, I was told I can see the manager in 10 minutes. 15 minutes later I was told that he is in a meeting. Wait 10 minutes. Now told that he has gone to lunch and I must return at 1.30pm. My own lunch-date was coming up and I left. Maybe I shall return another day with lots of letters with stamps on them, pleading for an extension. There is nothing as magical as a rubber-stamp on a piece of paper to get things moving in Africa! But today was enough of the African experience. I went into a supermarket and indulged in yogurt, butter, brown bread and pickled gherkins – bought with the money reserved for the visa.

Ethiopia still - November the 1st...

I have been putting the cat amongst the pigeons with my report I wrote about visiting Northern Ethiopia and have had quite a few positive responses from all walks of life. Have also now visited all 10 museums in Addis and collated their information to get a list for the students and also the local monthly free tourist magazine (like ‘What’s On’). Otherwise the students keep me busy and I have 22 two-page reports to read and assess for exam purposes. I am a real glutton for punishment! But I wanted them to present a subject as a ‘Guide’ for 5 minutes each, so gave them a list of subjects to write and talk about and the outcome is that I learnt a lot about Ethiopia!! We have also had very heated discussions. One was about Eritrea. As it was historically part of Abyssinia (now Ethiopia), the students are unwilling to let go, despite the Eritreans’ vote to be independent. So, the older people say ’let it be’ but the younger ones want to go and fight to reclaim it. Thus millions of dollars are being wasted in a futile aggressive action. In the Postal museum, I was shown how a letter to Eritrea has to go via Italy. When will mankind learn?! And of course, on the southern border with Somalia, the same nonsense is going on. This time with American aid as they have not forgotten their defeat by Somalia a few years ago, so want revenge. And I have learnt that most of the Live-Aid food 20 years ago went straight to Uganda where it was sold. There is apparently a book about that scandal. The only legacy is that the kids are all taught to beg for money much worse than in the rest of Africa. Yesterday I spoke to a man who is organizing the manufacture of impregnated Mosquito nets. This kills the mossie and deters others, so that many lives can be saved. The UN is buying 20million of these to distribute freely in Africa. But the very poor and vulnerable will no doubt be selling them in the market the following day. My informant told me this without a flicker of concern. If only they are asked to pay a few cents for them, they will not treat them like just another hand-out from the Western stooges -- maddening for me as I do not approve of all this free stuff constantly streaming into the country. That is why I like working for Habitat for Humanity as they only help people who are willing to help themselves. Sorry about this outburst!
Every day seems busier than the previous one and I wonder if I will ever get away in a few months’ time.. And I left my room this morning with terrible guilt feelings. I was playing bridge last night and returned too late to buy bread, so the birds woke me with their usual demand for food and I had nothing to offer. They walk into my room off the balcony through the French doors and my guilt is compounded….