Ethiopia — Page 2

Lalibela: And then we broke down

May 10, 2010 By Jillian

Although we had a nice time in Lalibela, we had some more visa processing to do in Addis so we had to rush away. Perhaps we didn’t tip the priests enough for those pictures, because not more than an hour outside of Lalibela, trucking through the valley before heading back up the escarpment, the Land Rover (Landy or Kaspuuurr as it’s affectionately called) stopped. Climbing out of the car, we popped the hood as the local children swarmed us. With a mix of curiosity and fear, the obviously destitute children approached the car. We greeted them in the little Amaharic we know and with big smiles, but they were more intrigued by the land rover than by us.

Diagnosing the problem after an hour or more of tinkering with everything in the engine, it was decided that Ally and I would hitch back into town on the next vehicle that passed, get to a garage and try to get a mechanic or tow truck back to the boys and the Landy. Easier said than done.

Four hours later, Ally and I had negotiated with the mechanic in Amharic, filled up his motorbike, sent him on his way to help the boys and the Landy, climbed in an out of a steep ravine and been eyeballed by several local men who came to the garage for the express purpose of looking at the “faranji” women. Meanwhile back at the Landy, Danny and Campbell had determined it was the fuel pump and attempted to pump the gas through the system using the air mattress pump. As you can see from the picture, that didn’t go so well. When that failed they worked to turn the car so it was pointed downhill, got it stuck perpendicular to the road, and when they weren’t strong enough to push Danny harnessed himself in as if rappelling and used his body weight against a small ledge to try and pull the car back into place…eventually a truck came and 5 men helped accomplish that job quickly and it was only a short time more until the mechanic we had sent arrived.

All in a days work.

The mechanic thankfully understood the problem and between the guys they rigged the engine to run off a fuel from a jerry can to get it back to Lalibela. The only remaining problem was that the jerry can had to be held on the hood of the car for the 35km trip back to Lalibela…so one of the mechanics sat on the hood the whole time and held it in place.

It would be a couple of days before we could get out, get the needed fuel pump, get back to Lalibela, perform the repairs, and drive off.

As everything transpired, the group of children watching the show grew and grew. They even helped the boys push the car (to no avail) and graciously accepted a few cookies as a thank you. They watched closely every time a door opened and ran around the car to check out what was inside. Their curiosity helped to make for a rather amusing breakdown.

Foodie Friday: Chat

May 7, 2010 By Jillian

The best way I can describe a chat house, is that it is a den. A dark, smoky, den and incidentally a place to chew chat. It felt a little weird, actually very weird stooping through the door of the chat house and realizing I was the only woman inside. Against the walls, several low couches sat affronted by small coffee tables. Positioning myself in the corner, I sat down with the group and tried to take in the scene.

Chat is a traditional natural stimulant used in eastern Africa, similar to coca leaves in Peru and Bolivia. Called miraa in Kenya, the leave is popular along the ancient trading routes. Unlike the coca leaves, chat is generally consumed communally in a chat house. That being said, its almost impossible not to walk down the street in Ethiopia and not see someone masticating the leaves.

It is clearly a very popular custom here in Ethiopia, so we decided to see what it was all about. Chat, as you can imagine, tastes like chewing a leaf and in case you’ve never done that before, its bitter. That’s where the peanut comes in. Because you chew and chew and chew the leaves into a wad that sort of the dissolves in your mouth, adding the peanut significantly improves the flavor and the water helps wash it all down.

Chat is somewhat of a cultural phenomenon here in Ethiopia having been consumed in Eastern Africa for centuries. It’s available on every street corner and in the north and east its not uncommon to see people chewing chat all day long. The best chat comes from the eastern region near Harar. Best when consumed fresh, chat is exported from Harar not only throughout Ethiopia but also Somalia, Yemen and Djibouti. No one that we spoke to who tried it really felt any affects of the chat, but the people we were with said you apparently have to chew for at least an hour. Right. Maybe next time.

Lalibela: Rock Hewn Churches

May 6, 2010 By Jillian

Lalibela is the second holiest site in Ethiopia, a significant Ethiopian Orthodox pilgrimage site, one that UNESCO has given significant funds to over the last decade for restoration, maintenance and site protection. How then were we able to go in through the back (not on purpose!) and view several of the famous rock hewn churches without paying?

Maybe UNESCO should rethink their site security plan. In the end, we found a ticket office and paid, and in an ironic twist of fate after we paid our tickets were checked at all of the subsequent churches. For our steep 300 birr (over 20USD) entry free we legally accessed the city designed as the second Jerusalem and its 11 monolithic large rock-hewn churches and a few pitch black tunnels.

If I sound disenchanted it’s true, I am. The churches themselves are architecturally interesting, having been cut out of rock, so they sit below ground in carved out holes. They certainly have an ancient world feel to them (or perhaps that’s just because they’re dark and dusty inside) which leads to an Indian Jones type aura. But, when holy priest after holy priest tells you to take his picture while holding centuries old ritual objects in front of centuries old frescoes and paintings, reminds you to turn on your flash and then balks that the “voluntary donation” you’ve given him for your picture isn’t enough, the whole experience gets ruined. Of course we want to be polite and respectful, but some of the priests were borderline aggressive when asking for tips that you just sort of shuddered at the thought of another picture. Trust me, between our conservation fee and donations for photos those priests are making sufficient income. Having lived in Italy where centuries old paintings aren’t shown the light of day let alone flashed a hundred times a day, I was so disappointed to see protectors of their own religious tradition throw UNESCO’s very clear guidelines out the window and encourage flash just to get a bigger tip.

The tip-happy priests didn’t completely ruin the Lalibela experience. In fact, we had a refreshingly nice time in Lalibela. From the moment we stepped out of our hotel we were greeted by children, who once they realized they weren’t getting any money from us, were happy to chatter away about their most recent lesson in school, what they wanted to be when they grew up and where we were from. As is typical in Africa, admitting we were from America was greeted with cries of OBAMA! And very proud displays of their primers which have not only a very patriotic red, white and blue design, but also a head shot of our famous president. Although kids in Africa can be annoying at first, when they give you their sob story for money, a pen or sweets, these kids were actually delightful and animated. One boy asked me to test him on his world capitals, and although he could name correctly every capital of Europe, he wasn’t able to name the capital of Canada, which was OK, he said because its cold and there is snow there. Sorry Canadians, it appears Ottawa doesn’t hold any exotic appeal in Ethiopia.

Being Different

May 4, 2010 By Jillian

“You, You, You, You, You, YOU,” the children shouted at us. Putting their hands out for money it continues-“Faranji, You, Faranji!”

You’ve heard gringo and perhaps even muzungu, but have you ever heard of a Faranji? Faranji is the Amharic (Ethiopian) word for white man, and without a doubt it is the first Amharic word a traveler learns in Ethiopia. Everywhere we go we’re followed by the word, hardly can we take a step without someone screaming faranji at us and shoving an open palm or a small child in our face.

We’ve written a lot on this blog about the world being “same, same, but different,” and often we’re just focused on the similarities. It’s much easier for travelers on a minibus crowded with locals to think that they are “normal” just like the locals instead of the wealthy, western traveler. Let’s face it, if you can take time off of work to travel, well then you are more financially blessed than most of the world and yes, that makes you different. This is probably the most disturbing of all “faranji” fever experiences – the complete feeling of being unwelcomely alien. Although we’ve been in Africa for several months and usually we’re the only white people on a local bus or in a local restaurant, we’ve never felt as alien as we have here in Ethiopia. Generally people are interested in us, but we’ve never been stared at like we are in Ethiopia. Here we are different, and almost every moment we’re reminded of it. Besides the faranji stare, we’ve had children throw things at us, yell and follow us down the street, and almost every single time we purchase something we’re confronted with faranji price.

No matter how hard we try to ignore it, we are different.

There’s really only one way to deal with ”faranji”, “muzungu” or “gringo.” Humor. Entering a local watering hole the other day in Harar we were greeted by the faranji stare. Smiling at everyone as I took a seat, I turned to the man next to me, who was curiously staring, put my hand out and said “faranji”. He belly laughed and told me his name before turning back to his friends, where from what I can tell he recounted our meeting with a big smile and laugh. Offering Danny some of his meal (did I mention it was kitfo– raw meat?), a special gesture of friendship here in Ethiopia, the man laughed and smiled even as Danny politely refused. Shaking our hands in a traditional way that conveys respect as he left, we smiled knowing that although we were faranji’s we were the same in a place that we’ve felt so different.

Harar & Hyenas, what more is there?

May 3, 2010 By Jillian

Harar is an ancient walled city, some say as old as Ethiopia itself. The most important trading center on the horn of Africa until the mid-nineteenth century, Harar is a distinctly Muslim city in a country known for its Christianity, which in and of itself makes it worth the trip. Wandering the streets felt a little like wandering through North Africa not Ethiopia. Architecturally similar to traditional swahili homes like we saw in Lamu, the homes are brightly painted with a specific blue indicating the owner has gone to the hajj. Surrounded by a 5m wall, the city feels crossed between old and new (spitting camels and all), lacking the traditional charm of Lamu, but maintaining the mystic of a walled city.

Today, Harar is famous for two things: chat and hyenas. While we’ll save chat for another day, you might be curious to know about the hyenas. About 35 years ago, the region of Harar experienced a great famine. Looking to end the famine, local men began feeding hyenas outside the city walls at night. This is apparently based in an old ritual, but trust me it was a little weird.

Sloshing through the rain outside the city gates, the guide lead me around a dark corner to a boy standing with an umbrella. Holding a basket of meat, the boy called to his father who came through the house door with a plastic sheet. Setting everything down, the man began calling out to the hyenas in Harari. At least a dozen spotted hyenas, who lurked nearby, were suddenly alert and approached the man. Feeding them meat dangled on a small stick, the man commanded their attention, and truly it looked as though they were listening to him.

Of course, the ritual is a little touristy now, and Daniel, the hyena man motioned for me to come over and join him. Hesitant to get that close to hyenas, I protested. Encouraging me to join the hyena man, our guide told me they never attack. That’s comforting considering there are several hungry hyenas a few inches from my hand that oh yea, has meat in it. “Just like dogs,” the hyena man told me. Right. Screwing up my courage, I knelt next to the hyena man, less than 6 inches from the face of a very pregnant female hyena. Handing me a stick with meat, the hyena man encouraged me to feed them. Sticking my hand out, and yes I closed my eyes, I fed the hyenas. No limbs were lost, and seeing that I was still scared, but slightly calmer, the hyena man put a stick in his mouth. Yes, he fed the hyenas from his mouth. Again he pushed me to do the same, but sometimes there’s a line between adventurous and stupid, and feeding hyenas from my mouth is in my mind far beyond stupid. Pressuring me by saying “all the other tourists” do it, I laughed at him and stood resolute in my refusal. Soon enough the meat ran low and the hyena man had me tip the meat basket out so the hyenas could get whatever was left.

Leaving the scene, I could hardly process the feeding. The entire time the man was calling out to the hyenas, and although I didn’t understand the words, it seemed as though the hyenas did. It was exactly what others had told me it would be- a bit bizarre.

But where you may ask was my darling, protective husband during this experience? Danny unfortunately had to miss the whole thing as he was stuck in bed dealing with some nasty food poisoning. Montezuma might be vengeful, but he’s nothing like King Lalibela’s revenge. Let me tell you how fun the bus ride back to Addis was the next day…..

Lalibela: And then we broke down

Foodie Friday: Chat

Lalibela: Rock Hewn Churches

Being Different

Harar & Hyenas, what more is there?

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