Bale - early January 2007 (published out of order!)

EVEN WITHOUT A COMPANION, IT CAN BE FUN….


Addis Ababa means New Flower. This city is surrounded by the Entoto Hills to the north and, at 2,500 meters, has a very bracing climate. It can take up to three weeks to acclimatize. If you go into the Entoto Hills early in the morning, you can see many athletes training in the even thinner air. Ethiopians are justly famous as long-distance runners.

Addis is also in the middle of the country. If you think of a simple drawing of a flower with petals and make Addis its centre, you can envisage my trips. Each petal is a rough loop: to the Northern Historic Sites and back; to the western Gambella area; to the Eastern Harar area; to the south-eastern Bale mountains area (this trip) and then finally, to the Southern Rift Valley Lakes where I shall be continuing south to the Kenyan border (the stem of the flower). I have seen very little and there is much more to see and know, but being on my own in such a vast country, means that it is not always easy/safe to just go-for-it. That is not as daunting though as the tedium of being stuck in a bus from 5am for 14 hours, which happens far too frequently. Busses do not travel by night, so one has to be up and ready so early to get a seat, although one can wait a few hours before setting off. The Ethiopians do not like fresh air and insist on all windows being closed and curtains drawn to keep cool. So I peep out of cracks/holes in tatty curtains to assess where we are going, but the journey is beginning to loose its appeal. Not that it was any more comfortable when we had our own 4x4 with Ingrid! One still had to endure the bumps…

Two students who had said they would go with me, withdrew because of exams at the
last minute, so I decided to go alone to the Bale Mountains area. It is a very high plateau and includes one of the National Parks where the lush growth ensures more animal and bird life than many other of the so-called Ethiopian National Parks. How does one change centuries of dependence on the land for indigenous people when they are suddenly told that their area of livelihood is now a ‘Park’? It does not encourage lots of wild animals. Thus people remain in many Parks but are slowly being given ultimatums to get out. Hard though when grazing is of a premium and your cattle are hungry. Illegal ‘poaching’ is tolerated.

I reached the area I was going to explore, which is to the west of the Bale Nat. Park , after two days on a bus. Early on the second morning we drove through the village of Bokoji, which is at a high altitude, and is famous for producing many the world’s greatest long-distance runners. Some were out there running beside the bus…

Being completely on my own ensured many stares, comments and giggles. It was not too pleasant as I am still incapable of learning the language and one can get very tired of having to constantly turn left and right to acknowledge greetings or the inevitable crowd of beggars or just children and adults accosting one as a Midas-figure. A ‘white-skin’ really evokes all kinds of images for these people who have only seen them/tourists in lush western films or unthinkingly dishing out coins and notes. We really are considered to have unlimited riches and the expectation is ‘give give give’. So I was very relieved, after a few minutes of searching for the office, to be met by a Guide and to be taken to the HQ of the Integrated Forest Management Plan. This is an Eco Tourism Project which was set up by the very efficient Germans, who know how to create walks in forests. The project is now being run entirely by the locals and all monies go straight into their own pouches. One pays for a Guide, for a horse or two, for the horse-handlers, for the camp-site, for the cleaning lady, for the use of stoves/cooking facilities, for the cooking of the food you bring… Thus it is distributed evenly because, e.g. the horses go back the same night and other local handlers take over the next day. Cleverly though, to maintain standards, the Germans instigated a ‘default system’ which means one pays less if the horses are late or have sores, if the bags are badly loaded, if there is no firewood, toilet paper or tea/sugar and so on. Camp sites are evenly spaced within 2-8 hours’ walk.

It was too late to leave that day and I set out early the next morning with my new Guide on a gari (horse-drawn cart) for the first 2 hours before we had to leave it and handle all out luggage and food for another hour. Base Camp is set on the side of a hill so that one can enjoy the sunrise in anticipation of the trekking ahead. We had a cooked brunch there and then set off with our three horses (they know how to make money!) to the next camp. At times I would get on a horse to see the world from a different perspective, but most of the time one was negotiating stones and eroded ruts or hills on very diverse paths, so that concentration was needed. And when one did need a horse because the going was tough, the horse could not take you anyway. After two days I decided that a horse was an unnecessary luxury. The first night’s camp is at 3460meters and one can enjoy the sunset after a hard day’s trekking. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, unable to breathe properly. It felt as though I was drowning. Altitude sickness…

Despite all the overgrazing and erosion, which is part of the countryside wherever one goes, the mountains and valleys are extremely pleasant to go through and one is very conscious of the different bands of altitude vegetations: lower in the valleys are the very tall Juniper Trees dripping their berries, mosses and lichen-beards (yes, the berries taste like the ones from the bushes in the UK which are used in gin-making). Colombus monkeys with their broom-like tails for balance seem to fly from tree to tree; the vast Hagenia trees (some with their parasitic trees - I cannot remember the name - slowly choking them to death) with fragrant bunches of male/female flowers. The female flowers are elaborately dried, crushed, fermented, distilled and finally used as a medicine. How did they ever discover how to do it?! But that is the secret of African medicine….; then the bands of St. Johns Wort (Hypericum) Trees covered in their wonderful yellow flowers - I did not feel depressed!; this evolves into red-hot-poker-covered grassland and then, higher up, layers of large Erica (heather) Trees which come in two main variations. They look alike, but taste differently and one can tell which is which by the way they have been grazed by the cattle. The preferred taste results in a small cropped bush. Once up on the higher plateau, the inevitable Giant Lobelias take over. These strange plants have a thick stem with a mass of fluted leaves coming out of the top. They look like those giant Christmas balls some authorities erect on lamp stands as decoration for the Festive Season. When we were all recently huddled in Ingrid’s tent during a very sudden and unexpected rainstorm in the Simien Mountains , we were peering out at the Lobelias though the tent entrance and were amused by the rhythm they were setting up. As the horizontal leaves filled with water, they dipped with the weight and then emptily sprung back, causing the scene outside to look like an orchestrated man-made concert. Well, many sculptors have used this effect in water fountains.

One night I was not the only trekker. It was good to share a meal with a young Englishman and we spent the night playing cards and smoking cigarettes until 1am . Fun to be naughty!

Three days of hard walking/climbing left me exhausted but exhilarated. The last day was extra hard as we covered twice the usual distance to get to a town further east than the guides normally go. But I was happy with the effort and looked forward to the next part of the trip. Sadly, I fear that the relations between the Eco-Guides and the official Park-Guides cannot be very good because the person-friendly trails are diverting business from the actual Park where the facilities are not quite so relaxed. One bus-day later, in which we skirted the north of the Bale National Park , and I arrived in the village of Goba from where no busses travel south. A front seat (or at least a 4th of a seat) on a truck was negotiated and we set off early next day to unintentionally catch the beauty of the sunrise. This road south is regarded as the highest all-weather road in Africa . It is suitably spectacular, but was built, like most of the roads in Ethiopia , for military purposes. During the time of the Derg (1974-91), there was only the one main road south to Kenya/Somalia (my flower stalk). In case it was blocked by enemy action, an alternative road was required. Lucky me! If I had had a camera, these are the scenes I would have wanted to photograph. On the other hand, when I think so positively about taking a photo, the images are imprinted on my mind. I remember not so much the lone endemic red jackal in a sea of silver, but just the effect of the world’s largest expanse of Afro-alpine moorland – the 3,500-4,500m high Sanetti Plateau - which is a silver-leaf-covered space as far as one can see.

Then slowly 2,000m downhill with the dust our vehicle created swirling into the cabin as we could not get away from it fast enough. We ended in the Harenna Forest where the contorted tree trunks made me laugh with the images they evoked. This is where a skilled cartoonist rather than a camera can come into its own. Each view of the trees created a different scene: Ladies at a tea party with raised arms and extended pinkies; ‘anyone for tennis?’ as the trunks provocatively swayed in one direction whilst holding a tennis racket; the sight of a large menacing tree saying ‘Boo’ to smaller ones leaning back in fear; ‘lets tango’ as the trunks met and parted in a sexy way. So many delightful scenes to conjure. And then down into the thick forest with very high and straight yellowwood trees (one of my favourites) giving a canopy of shade to the very lush wild coffee trees below. We drove for hours through this delightful forest and I was only sorry that I did not have my own transport so that I could stop and enjoy just being there.

On the open road once again, the scrub countryside is dotted with sculptured termite hills/pipes up to 9m tall. These are pretty straight chimneys, but they reminded me of the enormous structures I first saw in what was then called Northern Rhodesia and the Belgian Congo in the late 1950s. One can but marvel at the organizational skill of so many millions of tiny insects. In Togo I deliberately destroyed a small part of a covered termite pathway across a forest path and then watched how they repaired it within minutes. We can learn a lot from them!

In Dola-Mena I was told that there would be a bus the next day. ‘It leaves at 12’, the driver assured me.

More to the point, I looked forward to a late morning’s relaxation before getting that bus for the 12 hour journey ahead. How stupid can one be?! Having been in Ethiopia for over 5 months, I had not yet learnt my lesson. Most people use the Ethiopian time which starts at 6am as 1am . So what the truck driver had meant, was that I had to be on the bus at 5am my time. It makes sense if one is to travel for 12 hours in daylight. Of course I realized too late what a fool I had been, but it gave me a chance to hang about for three nights waiting for the next bus. One or two trucks did pass my hotel, but they were so laden already, that there was no space for one more person (without a faranji to be nice to, they manage to squeeze 6 people onto the front seat).

Next day was Timkat (Epiphany), one of the holiest days in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church when the holy Tabot (replica of the Ark of the Covenant) is ceremoniously taken to water and the blessed water is then enthusiastically used by the assembled crowds. Reminds one of the holy water of the Ganges in India . The Timket ceremony is very colourful and involves many of the dozens of garishly decorated umbrellas which the grateful/faithful leave as presents for their chosen saint’s church. However, this was Muslim country I had now entered and the Orthodox Church is not very well-presented although the small town river is a good enough source of water for the three local churches to come together.

At the end of the Timkat ceremony, which lasted for three days, I was invited by some participants and priests/deacons to have a drink of the local alcoholic honey wine called tej. We went to a tej-beat (local brew-house) where the lady in charge showed me how it is brewed. Once again, how did they ever discover that a certain bark from a certain tree is the only catalyst which can be used to turn the honey and water mixture into a potent alcoholic drink?! A priest who had had the honour of carrying one of the Tabots sat with a far-away look on his face…and this was not due to the wine!

Although I had been told the meaning of the three stages of coffee drinking which one has to go through in the coffee ceremony, when I asked the family who were later kindly hosting me, they had no idea of what I was talking about. They just did it…:- washing the beans, roasting the beans, wafting the smell of the beans towards the guests, grinding the beans, pouring the powder in the coffee pot, pouring boiling water into the coffee pot, lighting the incense in the little charcoal burner, wafting the smell of the incense towards the guests, arranging at least six small cups on a tray, pouring the coffee into them, adding at least two spoons of sugar to each cup, stirring, handing the cups to guests, adding more boiling water to the coffee pot, adding more incense to the charcoal, sometime during all this also roasting popcorn and offering it around, taking back the now-empty cups and sugaring/pouring coffee all over again (second stage), offering it again with even more popcorn; repeat for the third stage by which time the coffee is weak… all very boring… and you cannot be impolite and leave before the third cup has been consumed. But this is the traditional way in which family/village matters were discussed and resolved.

I had finished my reading matter and indulged in endless card games of patience or protracted walks though the village and the weekly market which produced the usual stares and comments with which I have no patience. Hundreds of camels were for sale. They are regarded as the most cost-effective beasts of burden, but I suppose, as with everything, they have their habitat restrictions and cannot e.g. be used like a small horse in the forests. The coffee industry is big, but I was reminded of the labour-intensity of it when walking past a vast yard where women and children were meticulously sifting through piles of coffee beans to check for impurities and sort the black from the brown. Please appreciate your coffee!!! This enforced stop also gave me an opportunity to catch up on letters to people without email. Postage in Ethiopia is cheap and worth exploiting. But my ‘letters’ had to be written on whatever scraps of paper I could get hold of. This village did not boast such a thing as a kiosk where paper could be bought (I remember seeing one A4 page of paper being sold from a kiosk in Ghana and I suspect the same would apply here) and post-cards are unheard of (at least I did not even try to find some; why should a place that never sees a ‘white-skin’ have a supply?). On the other hand, apart from the usual smattering of David Beckham T-shirts with his larger-than-life photo on them, there were an unusually large number of youths walking about in Arsenal T-shirts. Someone must have obtained a large surplus supply and sold them in the market. I remember somewhere else, in the middle of the remote countryside, a Chelsea supporter telling me that he had bought his whole strip in the local village market.

As one went into a more Muslim-populated area, one also became aware of the active building of new Mosques. I was told that very rich Muslims, to ensure a better place in Heaven, are using their money to build new and larger Mosques. And the habit of stopping the bus for prayers in the sand, suddenly reminded me of the Sahara trips I’d done with mainly Muslin passengers. But they do not always know the exact position of Mecca: I was amused at the football match I attended in the National Stadium some time ago, to see the thousands of fans who found a space to kneel, that they were all directing their prayers in different directions.

From deep in the south (Negele Borena…another interminable hotel overnight stop) and not far from the Somali border, we traveled for 14 hours in a north-westerly direction. This bus had only 5 shortish breakdowns and an incredible throng of passengers. I was thinking that I had never seen such a crush of people in a bus, but then reminded myself that one can see it daily during rush-hour on the London underground trains. Imagine that crowded scene between the underground train carriage doors, but with the added inconvenience of bags, packages, grain bags, chickens, baskets, crates, plastic containers, goats and so on crammed in as well. And this is for hours over a bumpy road! By the way, African intelligence once again, but how did they find out? If you tie a small piece of string between chickens’ legs, although they can walk about, they will not move and will calmly squat (and can easily be stored under a seat), but any other kind of restraint and they will squawk and protest. I have long been in awe of the assistant to the driver who manages the customers and baggage. Like minibus taxi assistants, they have a phenomenal memory for who paid what and who still needs change or is getting off where. Maybe the fact that this assistant was chewing chat helped him to keep order…

Shashemene is a convergence town on the road to Kenya and southern routes to the east and west. But it is also known for its lawlessness. I had to be very careful in the dark, looking for a bed (hotels were full, so any bed would do!), late at night. It is not the first time I have slept in an active brothel. Here in Ethiopia prostitution is totally accepted as a way of life and there in none of that Western stigma attached to it. Next morning in the dark at 4.30am a kind couple who spoke some English, asked a walker going in the direction of the bus station, to accompany me. They told me that thieves are very active at that time of the night. I suppose it makes sense as hundreds of passengers converge on the bus station in the dark.

Just outside Shashemene there is an area known as the official home of the Ethiopian World Jamaica Federation. Don’t ask! Known as ‘ Jamaica ’, the area was given to the Rastafarians by Emperor Haile Selassie. In 1930, when Ras Tafari was crowned and became known as Emperor Haile Selassie, the ‘return to Africa’ movement of Marcus Garvey in Jamaica saw this as the fulfillment of the Biblical prophecy of “Kings will come out of Africa ”. Selassie was accorded divinity and a new religion created; Rastafarianism. He will always be known to his followers as Ras Tafari. The smoking of marijuana in Ethiopia is forbidden, although the eating of chat is very legal and is now one of the country’s main exports to the Middle East . Drug-use always fascinates me: One can drink as much alcohol as one likes (and destroy families, livers or kill people with drunken driving and fights), one can smoke cigarettes legally and also cost the State lots in medical bills, yet other drugs, which may not necessarily be more socially harmful, are banned. As a very practical person, none of this makes sense to me. ‘ Jamaica ’ has been raided whilst many thousands of chat-chewers lay comatose in the streets of Ethiopia .


The road from Shashemene passes the Southern Rift Valley Lakes. Ah! I thought. I can see them from the bus! But apart from still being tired after lack of sleep and the fact that there was only a small space to peer through the curtain, not much could be seen from the road and I slept most of the way back to Addis. There had been a long-standing arrangement that I could accompany the students when they did their familiarization trip of these lakes on the 22nd January. This was as a de facto compensation for the hours of unpaid work I had done at the College. I was still going to pay for my food, but they would supply me with a tent with those of the students. Without the lecturers informing me, I accidentally found out that the whole trip was postponed. My moan is just to illustrate the lack of organization from the government-employed staff. This reflects a daily frustration to get anything done by people who have small salaries and are not motivated. Hence the trip I am writing about now. I just hope that the proposed exploration will still go ahead so that I can see the Lakes before I leave.

My second night back, I attended a film at the French Cultural Centre where excellent programs are arranged. The British Council does not even have an occasional lecture. The occasion was the first public showing of a film made about the recent return of the large stele to Axum which had been removed by the Italians at the start of their occupation. Mussolini had wanted to rank himself with the Roman Emperors of the past who had e.g. brought Egyptian monoliths from that country after its conquest. The film was fascinating and is a good example about power-politics and the bureaucracy involved. Prof. Richard Pankhurst, the foremost authority on Ethiopian matters and long a hero of mine, had started the ball rolling for the return of the stele over 20 years ago. He and his committee for the return of this stolen artifact managed to alert the Ethiopian public about the forgotten assault on their cultural heritage when they attended a pan-African football match in the National Stadium. During half-time, they marched with models, flags and petitions around the field in view of millions of spectators. Suddenly Ethiopians were aware of what had been done to them. But it still took over 20 years to shame the Italians into returning it in a jumbo jet cargo plane. Prof. Pankhurst, his wife and I had a chat before the film and reception. I had twice been invited to tea with them through their friend Cynthia, the anthropologist, but could never make it. Now we met at last. I was thrilled, but also acutely aware that, if he wanted to get organized, he could well shame the British Museum into returning the Parthenon Marbles to Greece ! Just to remind those readers who may want to agree with this sentiment, the parts of the aforementioned marble frieze which is lovingly displayed and cared for in the British Museum, were legitimately bought at the time by Lord Elgin from the authorities in Athens. The pieces not removed, were neglected and/or destroyed for nearly 200 years before the Greeks began to realize that they had a treasure lying in the sun and polluted Athenian air. How’s that for a Hilda-prejudice?! By the way, Sylvia Pankhurst, Richard’s mother, became fascinated with Ethiopia at the time of the Italian Invasion and became such a friend of the country, that she lies buried in a prominent grave in front of the cathedral.

This could well be my last blog for some time. Kenyan internet facilities are no doubt better than in this country where the government likes to keep control. Here mobile telephone users who would love to use the facilities of SMS texting (think of the way this poor country could benefit from such cheap contacts), have had that facility removed. They might be able to organize a sudden demonstration against the government… But in the Great Ethiopian Run in Addis a few weeks ago, the TV cameras had a job filming the thousands of runners in the streets of Addis without showing the V-for-Victory sign (the accepted Opposition sign) participants were waving at them. It was the 4th year of this international 10km fun run and cannot now be banned… 1,000s of Opposition leaders are still in prison…
Ingrid took photos when she was here…