Some say that Ethiopia is a clash of cultures between the traditional Orthodox Christian and Muslim worlds but I would say it is more of a wonderful blend of both worlds passionately intertwined and brimming with roasted coffee beans, traditional drum beats, vibrating shoulders, Amharak language, pungently sour injera, ancient monasteries, roaming livestock and a beautiful, loving people. The mingling of traditions that washed over me during my two weeks of travel throughout Ethiopia was like nothing else I have ever experienced in my life.
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| Mango, Avocado & Papaya Juice |
Our itinerary was set for a breakneck speed but did allow for a few days of relaxed nothingness. We flew into Addis Ababa (Meaning New Flower) on the 17th of December only to turn around and catch our connection to Lalibela the very next morning. From Lalibela we took a puddle jumper to Gonder and traveled by bus up to Debark and to the entrance of Simeon Mountain National Park featuring Ras Dashen, the highest peak in Ethiopia at 15,157 feet. From there we were on foot covering beautiful trail until we reached Chenek Camp where we were picked up on Christmas day to travel by 4-wheel-drive across rocky terrain back to Gonder. From Gonder onto Bahir Dar on a 10-hour cramped mini bus then back to Addis Ababa en route down to Awasa, south of the capital, for a new year’s celebration lakeside under the stars. Come New Year’s Day we were back to Addis Ababa flying back to Lilongwe on the second of January to start work on the third day of 2012. All this in 17 short days.
Take a deep breath. I was able to. Now for the colorful details that will give you a glimpse into the world of Ethiopia and the incredible destinations we visited. I hope the colors of my limited pallet can paint a vibrant enough picture to do the country justice.
Lalibela. A town set on top of mountainous plateaus resting at elevations close to 8,600 feet. A town differentiated from the others due to its two storied brick houses perfectly round with thatched roofs coming to a thimble shaped closure. What makes the place so well renowned is the rock-hewn churches carved from solid pieces of rock that date back to the 12th century. The churches are still places of worship today and if one rises before the sun one can watch robed monks spill out of the stone entrances, shoeless and silent, just as they did hundreds of years ago. Lalibela was named after King Lalibela (Meaning Honey Eater) who ruled Ethiopia for over 40 years. Honey and bees are still a cherished commodity in the town where locals extract the sweet nectar from fresh honeycomb to make tej wine. The highlight in Lalibela for me was sharing a coffee ceremony in the small home of a local man, his mother and sister.
The coffee ceremony: I can tell you from experience that two White girls traveling through Ethiopia are magnets for kind locals and crazy nut balls alike. One of the former named Sisay invited us into his home to share in a traditional style coffee ceremony with his sister and mother. If I had to guess the age of his mother based on the wrinkly skin clinging to her hallowed cheek bones, her cloudy eyes staring into the distance and the brittle skin around her arthritic hands I would wager 80 to 85. As it turned out she did not know the year of her birth, as it was not officially documented back then, but given the season she was born in and the events of that year she was able to give me an age range between 60 and 65. The rings around this woman’s trunk were highly deceiving to me. Life in a high-density Ethiopian village proves to take its toll on the body to say the least. On the other side of the spectrum his sister had a beautiful caramel colored complexion, light green eyes and a delicate face that if ‘discovered’ could easily grace the cover of Vogue.
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| The Coffee Ceremony |
We took seats atop cushions on the ground which, I was sure, converted into sleeping mats come sundown. I was happily surprised to find out that in the village neighbors share a running water faucet, consistent electricity and the tasks required to ferment the local beer for an afternoon happy hours of sorts. Progressive I thought. Below our feet on the cement floor laid newly cut grass and red poinsettia flowers that created a beautiful display for the 12 ceramic cups that nestled into a wooden tray on top of them. The sister placed freshly picked coffee beans onto a large iron saucer that was shifted by hand over a hot charcoal flame. As the beans lost their moisture they cracked and fizzled sending an aroma into the air that was so rich I could almost taste it. The beans were then placed in a mortar and pestle and ground to a fine powder while a ceramic kettle was placed over orange burning coals raising the water temperature inside to a rolling boil. After the beans were ground they were measured with an experienced eye and dumped into the kettle blending strong and earthy goodness for the freshest cup of coffee I had ever had. I added a teaspoon of sugar to my cup because everyone else was doing it but in the back of my mind I felt like the sugar might somehow taint the perfect concoction that had been labored over for the past 25 minutes. It didn’t, BUT if you were to jump off of a bridge I would too J. The flavor was rich and nutty with a noticeable strength that lifted my sagging eyelids from lack of sleep.
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| The Streets of Debark |
Afterward Sisay’s mother and I sat down to have a chat only the obvious problem was she spoke Amharak and I spoke English. Amharak has no relationship to any Latin based language therefore forming the sounds with my mouth proved extremely difficult let alone uttering the basic greetings. Despite the language barrier I felt as if we took an immediate liking to one another and when she began to show off her tattoos I was captivated. Traditional designs resembling parallel railroad ties adorned her chin stretching from ear to ear. Her name in Amharak was emblazoned on her left forearm and more designs, that had at one time been intricate but were now bleeding into her wrinkled skin, were lining her shinbones. When I pulled up my shirt to reveal the tattoo of my gnarly old oak tree her eyes lit up and at that moment we bonded. Though my body art was not designed to attract men as hers were, in that instant we were simply an old woman and a young woman sharing the special meanings behind our tattoos while marveling at the rare circumstances that brought us together on this fateful day. Quite a scene and a memory I will never forget.
Gonder. Viola and I took Gonder by storm. No sooner had we arrived in town had we met an Ethiopian and Israeli man, who both became a part of our travel plans for the next few days. We visited Debre Birhan Selassie Church and relished in the 80 cherub angel faces smiling down at us, drank exotic juices from avocados, mangos and papayas that were as colorful as they were delicious, ate giant circular plates of injera smothered in shiro, doro wat and garlic infused meat tibs, drank macchiatos for six Birr (17 Birr=1$/US), flew around on 3-wheeled motor bikes known as Bajajs or tuk-tuks in other parts of Asia and Africa, stopped in small doorways and storefronts to admire jewelry, taste locally brewed fire also known as alcohol and dance to the melodic drumming of local musicians.
The highlight for me was sharing in the company of the locals and visiting a traditional tej bar. You are awkwardly familiar with the scene already. Indiana Jones walks into a poorly lit establishment in a foreign land on the other side of the world in search of a grail or an arc or some historical relic owned by Jesus Himself. As the hazy air clears and Indy comes back into focus all the locals have taken notice of the strange man in their presence and an awkward silence hangs in the air until the clanging music and banter resume just as monkey brains are enjoyed at the dinner table. In Gonder our Indiana Jones moment came when we walked into a traditional tej bar and all of my senses were joyfully overwhelmed with curiosity and intrigue.
Red and yellow bulbs shed light onto colorfully woven rugs, hanging cowhides, spiraling mountain goat horns and large wooden drums. A steady beat and the rise and fall of a woman’s voice filled my ears, potent incense engulfed my nose and burned the back of my throat, the tej wine caused my mouth to pucker sending a warm trickle of magic down to my stomach, my hand gripped the smooth beaker shaped glass holding the fermented wine and my eyes soaked up the energy that came from the crowd of fun seekers, old friends and working women.
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| Highland Kids Selling Handy Crafts |
Taking in the scene was so entertaining that it occupied my brain’s capacity and ability to socialize with the rest of our group of Ethiopians, Spaniards, Englishmen, Judeans and Germans. When I finally snapped out of my daydream the thoughts that were racing through my head came spilling out of my mouth in rapid succession. “Look at them, can you hear that, did you taste this?” Just as I was thinking about the people I would love to be in the company of in addition to those surrounding me I was called up by the musician to dance. An invitation I realized I could not turn down. The traditional style of dance performed by the locals is all done with the upper body. The shoulders take on a life of their own, bouncing and vibrating to the beat in unison as the torso undulates in a circle provoking other dancers to shake more furiously to the music. The audience took notice when I was able to mimic the professional dancer in front of me but more so I think because this ‘Faranje (foreigner) had rhythm. My shoulders bounced along, arms akimbo, eyes fixed on my partner. The drum beat on, the crowd cheered and questions came from the audience, “Where did you learn to dance like that?”
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| Scissor Kick |
The Simeon Mountains. Breathing in pure mountain air, basking in warm rays of sun light by day, shivering to the bone chilling cold by night was just what I needed. Traveling the same trails as local villagers over steep escarpments, through rocky river beds, past troops of Gelada Baboons and up to mind blowing, awe inspiring peaks allowed me to reconnect with nature and relax a part of my brain that had been wrapped up in work for so long. A Christmas morning nap on a grassy bluff with 360* views of the park made for a good start to Jesus’ Birthday. I was affected by the altitude, which kept me from attempting the final day’s summit, but some time for reflection and appreciation apart from the group was fulfilling nonetheless. Time posing with a Kalichnikoff assault rifle while asking for peace on earth was another cheerful Christmas day activity. Not being on Amigo Lane made the Christmas season different from any one previous and in all truth made it less festive, as if a piece of me was missing yet I was still filled with a sense of joyous satisfaction that only a rambling heart can experience away from what is comfortable and familiar.
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Gelada Baboons
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| Mule Men Driving Mules in the Simeon Mountains |
Bahir Dar: The source of the Blue Nile, the islands of Lake Tana, the 14th century Monastery Kidane Mihiret, Goofy Danny and his older hawk-eyed traveling companion visiting every country on the map, an offer to visit the Danakil Depression free of charge, my first visit by the diarrhea devil (despite my frequent occurrences with diarrhea over the years I never seem to spell it right on first attempt), stick wielding guards beating back minibus operators in the hectic depot, more dancing and more general enjoyment. No hippos.
Awasa and the New Year: The foreigners in Ethiopia on January 1st were the only ones celebrating the New Year, consequently because they(we) observe the Gregorian Calendar and not the Ethiopian Orthodox Calendar which will be celebrating 2005 come September 11th. As one woman put it, “You are seven years younger in this country.” What a nice perspective. A warm welcome from Viola’s cousin made Awasa seem soft around the edges, relaxed and immediately familiar. Her cousin Melanie is living in Awasa and working as a schoolteacher in one of the local villages. It was her cousin along with a smiley local Rasta and10 young Germans who rented a minibus to take us to Lake Langano. Viola and I tagged along and smooshed in between couch cushions, fleece blankets, overstuffed backpacks, bags of random food items, gallons of water and 24 flailing arms and legs all excited to celebrate the dawn of the new year. The enthusiasm was made that much more intense because we all were chewing chat, a locally grown plant whose juices have an upper affect on the body. While it doesn’t taste good, actually more like bitter dirt, the affect is quite nice, leaving one absorbed in deep conversation, awake and ready to attempt anything and in a mellow mood.
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| Awasa and the St. George Cethedral |
The highlights for me were five simple pleasures: 1) Getting to roast raw dough over the fire on sticks, like smores minus the chocolate, a treat known to Eastern European’s as Stick Bread. 2) Listening to Lynard Skynard’s version of ‘Simple Man’ at high volume , singing along and feeling every word as the artist intended. 3) Sharing the greatest events of 2011. Reflecting and looking back over our year and letting the group in on our cherished moments. Even the scout looking after the camp participated. He stood up, chest swelled, to share that not two weeks prior he became the proud father of twins. Two baby girls that changed his world. 4) Sleeping under the stars in the Southern Hemisphere. 5) Swimming in the sweet milky colored lake New Year’s Day and basking in the warm sun, toes dug into the sand with a good book in hand.
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| Viola and I on our way to ring in the new year |
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| An Ethiopian Sunset |
If I measured the length of the 17 days we spent in Ethiopia by the amount of mind-expanding cultural experiences I would say it was closer to three months. By the time the wheels of the plane touched down in Lilongwe everything had turned green and grown wild over night due to heavy rains. I walked into my same old house yet it felt as if it were for the first time. The new perspective on the world was my first sign that our adventure was a good one.
