Ethiopia: Bale Mountains, Day 3, Sunday, Part 1

Day 3, Part 1.

Got up at 6:00, went to the bathroom, and crawled back into my cozy tent for some more sleep.

Eventually, I did awaken for the day, got dressed and otherwise organized things in my tent, then emerged into the daylight.

Ayano fixed coffee and I had some of the barley-wheat flatbread, but other than that, I declined breakfast out of respect for my discombobulated intestinal situation. Shiro. Delicious, but .... it's like eating a lot of beans.

I lazily got ready for our descent back to Dodola. The French couple pulled themselves together and took off with Ismael, their pack horse, and horse handler, continuing into the forest.

Kate, Pam, and me - Ruins near Tlaxcala, Mexico

I took care to look again at the mountains and valleys around Camp Changeti before our little company left. I knew the walk back would be easier than the walk up because we'd be dropping some altitude. (On the walk up on Friday, I remembered that herculean hike that Pam, Kate, and I made outside of Tlaxcala, Mexico between the two pyramid ruins. Dusty. Hot. Endless.)

When we were in the forest yesterday, it was easy to feel the romance of the place -- that fairy tale, back-in-time quality. But Ayano had told me how forest-dwelling women, during a difficult childbirth, must be carried down to the clinic on a litter. In one case Ayano remembered, a woman was carried about 20 kilometers before she could be transferred to a horse-drawn wagon.

In this season, too, the fields are dry, making it tougher for livestock to find grass to eat. Some farmers turn out their working dogs to fend for themselves because the farmers don't have enough to feed them. Ayano has seen dogs eat juniper berries. Needless to say, it is mighty difficult for the farmers to feed themselves during these times.

The forest itself is besieged by those who need wood for cooking. Very few people in the area have electricity; kerosene is more expensive than wood. The government has tried several schemes to protect the Bale Mountain forest, but it is a tough go. The Bale Trek organization itself is an attempt to conserve the forest via sustainable tourism.


Ayano has assisted foreign academics in research related to sustainable forest use. His activities have included counting trees, measuring the amount of heather versus an invasive plant after regular burns by farmers (who erroneously believe the heather harms their livestock, among other bad qualities when, in fact, it signifies a healthy habitat that animals can consume, versus the invasive plant, which nothing can consume), interviewing forest dwellers about their perceptions of current and past quality of economic life, surveying forest dwellers and calculating their annual expenditures v. income, and even facilitating games designed by a scientist to gauge human behavior related to sustainable forestry practices.

Even this weekend, Ayano wrote up the last of some data he'd collected for a Swedish researcher. These research projects provide some additional income to Ayano.

Ayano's wife is a health care worker. Like Ayano, she has walked over these many valleys and mountains, delivering vaccines or educating people about topics such as hygiene and family planning. (Birth control, by the way, is free in Ethiopia. For those people who can watch TV, there are also public service ads related to the benefits of small families versus large families.)

Ayano did not start school til he was 10 (and then starting at the kindergarten level), a common starting age in the rural areas when the school is too far away for the parents to feel comfortable with their young'ns walking to school at an earlier age. Also, before age 10, he and other boys tended livestock. Along our way up on Friday, we stopped under a tree nearby grazing cattle. Four or five young cowherds stretched out on the dry grass close to us, just watching us talk and exchanging their own commentary among themselves. I asked Ayano if he was still friends with his own companion cowherds, and he said yes. He pointed to a hard, tomato-like fruit (though inedible for humans) on the ground next to us and said they'd used that fruit to play soccer in the pastures. Yesterday, we walked up a steep incline on the way back to camp from the forest. He said when he was a child, he and his friends would slide down this very hill on a board. It's different now, he said, because there are far more farmers these days, there is now a fence running down this hill, resulting in a rutted, rocky cow path on either side of what used to be a smooth, grassy surface great for all-day sliding.

As Ayano, the horse-tender, the horse, and I made our way down the mountain this Sunday morning, we came across various walkers, almost all men. We passed by one of Ayano's half-brothers, tending his yard. We encountered three men walking toward us, two with the usual sticks and the third with, yes, a spear! And a long, sharp, no-nonsense spear it was!

The three men were clansmen of Ayano's, all related n some way to his paternal grandfather. (And like most Oromo, Ayano can recite back many generations of his ancestry. That is, his paternal ancestry.)

After we parted from the three men, I asked Ayano about the spear. He explained that in the past, it would have been used during war or for hunting, while now it is more likely to be used to protect oneself from wild animals at night. (There are leopards and even the odd lion in the area, plus wart hogs.)

To be continued ...

Ethiopia: Bale Mountains, Day 3, Sunday, Part 2

Ayano and I picked up an earlier conversation about traditional Oromo marriage customs. There are primarily four:

1. The boy's and girl's families arrange the marriage. An example: A boy's family approaches a girl's family about the prospect of marriage. Discussions begin, taking into consideration the reputation, character, and wealth of the families. If the girl's family agrees in principle to the idea, then a discussion begins regarding the transfer of some wealth from the boy's family to the girl's family, much of which will end up with the couple. Once the families have agreed on economic matters, the girl's family will consult the will of God. This is when omens become important. I regret that I can't remember Ayano's examples of good and bad omens, but suffice it to say that the universe has the final word.
2. An Oromo boy might kidnap a girl he desires, perhaps with the help of his friends. About 24 hours or so after this event, the boy's family will contact the girl's family. The boy's family will apologize for the boy's bad behavior, prepared to pay a financial penalty. Once the families agree on the penalty, the boy's family will then have to pay the customary marital price on top of that.
3. Sometimes a girl will approach a boy's family, most often after she succumbed to a boy's claims of love, and sometimes when she is already pregnant by him. She will make her case for marriage with this boy, praying the family will approve.
4. In Ayano's case, he identified his future wife as the girl he wanted to marry. He then asked his family to intercede with her family on his behalf. Much discussion ensued, with the result that his future wife's family agreed, only if Ayano was willing to wait for two years before proceeding further and also to support her in completing her education. Ayano and his family agreed. After the two-year wait, Ayano and his future wife (I can't remember her name, so I'll call her Alemnesh) began to meet (let's call it "dating") and talk about their future together. They spent many hours negotiating their wedding. Ayano wanted a quiet, simple affair, while Alemnesh wanted something more elaborate. My take was that Ayano wanted to save the money they'd otherwise use for a wedding and apply it toward their future in other ways. I got the impression these conversations were sometimes quite difficult, but in Ayano's belief, the result was that they have few disagreements today.

Also, Ayano feels good that he respected Alemnesh and her family's expectation that he support her completion of her education after they married. My understanding is that this included his taking a very active role in child care.

We continued our walk back to Dodola, leaving the mountain, skirting foothills, walking by rolling pastures. Occasionally, we (I) rested beneath a shady tree, and then moved on again.

I'd asked Ayano what his dreams for his sons are. A difficult question for many to answer in Ethiopia. An education, certainly. Some Ethiopians do get a free university education, but only the top 5-15 percent in test scores. Ayano himself was not among the few, and paying for a university education was beyond his or his family's means. (And as noted in a previous entry, there are very few jobs for university graduates.)

Ayano and his wife have a long-term plan toward financial stability that they began to execute some time ago.

Throughout the weekend, we'd engaged in some interesting conversations about organizational development, customer service, and risk management.

In this context, I shared this with him: 

• How do you know who is the change agent in an organization? 
• That's the person lying face down with a knife in his back.

A concept universally understood.

I'm guessing that change is much riskier here than in many other places in the world. For one, for the vast majority of Ethiopians, if you lose your job, there is no safety net, including perhaps, your extended family, for whom you may have served as their net. There is no guarantee you'll find another job any time soon.

Second, in the rural areas, there seems to be an intricate web of relationships: immediate family, clan, friends, local government officials, the community, and regional and federal government officials. So to effect change, one must weigh personal financial risk and complex relationships against the benefits of changing the status quo.

In America, if I take a risk and lose, I can, in most cases, brush myself off and move on to something new. In Ethiopia, taking a risk and losing might result in unrecoverable devastation.

Reaching the outskirts of Dodola meant leaving my bucolic dream and getting onto the dusty rocky streets. My God, the dust is just too much! Some day I am confident there will be trees planted along these roads, which will both quiet and trap the dust, but until then, it is maddening.

I became rather grumpy as we neared the end of today's walk. When Ayano began pointing out to me the different designs of mourning shawls (including the way a woman wraps one around her), I responded in monosyllables, thinking "I don't give one shit about this; I only want to know when I'm going to get off this godforsaken, dusty, rocky, miserable thing that passes for a street." In truth, the information was interesting, but I just didn't have any room in my brain to appreciate it. Vacationing can be hell. ;-)


About 4:00 p.m., I was out on the restaurant terrace. Hussein, another Bale Trek guide, dropped by, and then Ayano joined us. We had coffee and chatted about various trek-related things, including the good things about Camp Changeti and a couple of things that might be improved.

I had told Ayano about Belay's (Gonder guide) desire to find someone interested in the medicinal qualities of plants in Gonder. Ayano had told me there was already a book in Amharic on that very subject, and he brought it with him to the cafe this afternoon. The writer, Bekelech Tola, as of five years ago when the book was published, lived in Asela, not very far from Dodola. I considered going to that town and seeing if I could track her down, just for the heck of it.

While the three of us talked over coffee, I could see and hear the BBC on the TV. The TV hung inside a cabinet under the protection of a roof overhang, on the restaurant patio.This Sunday afternoon, quite a few Dodolans sat outside and watched the news.

The Oscars were the news of the moment on this BBC broadcast, and what should I hear, but mention of the movie, Winter's Bone, filmed, of course, in (and about) Missouri. I laughed and said loudly to no one in particular, "Hey, that's where I'm from!"

I was getting tired and hungry, so we split up and I later took pleasure in a solitary and simple dinner served on my private little porch outside my room. Fresh air. Pretty pines. Birdsong.

 

 

Ethiopia: Baboons in the Bale Mountains, Day 2, Saturday

I saw baboons! Three times!

Ayano and I left camp some time between 8:30 - 9:00 a.m. to take a walk in the forest. Beforehand, he made us coffee and an excellent shiro tegamino that we ate with bread we'd brought with us. Shiro, made with dried, powdered chickpeas, is mixed with tomatoes, onions, spices, and water. There are different consistencies, from very thin to the very, very thick version we had for breakfast. It's quite delicious.

For a little while, a colleague was present, as well. The two walked ahead of me, chatting. I looked over to the my left and saw a movement. Looking more closely, I saw that a baboon had walked out from behind a tree and was now looking at me. He paused, motionless, for a few moments, then retreated in the opposite direction with some of his companions. Extremely exciting.

We walked across a pasture, and I reminded Ayano about the story I'd told him of cattle's antipathy toward my mother. I said, "Thank goodness my mother isn't here. See all those cattle over there? They'd be running toward us right now. And not to say hello."

Presently, we entered the forest. My, it was like a fairy tale wood with giant junipers, the lights and shadows, the rutted thoroughfares that supported pedestrians, livestock, and troops of baboons. It surprised me how active the area was with farmers passing through, some barefoot, some shod. Oromo farmers, men and women, rode through on horseback.

It was easy to imagine the same scenes centuries ago.

While Ayano and I sat by a sheltering tree (he in the sun and me in the shade), we swapped stories about our respective death and marriage customs. The day before, I had learned Ayano's father had had several wives, resulting in about 40 children, three of whom were Ayano's full siblings. Thirty-two years old, Ayano is married with two sons, ages 6 and 2. His parents' marital arrangement was typical of the traditional Oromo culture. Ayano's mother is Muslim; his father was Christian. There will be only one simultaneous marriage for Ayano, based primarily on his and his wife's religious belief (a Protestant denomination), which prohibits multiple spouses.

Again, I saw a troop of baboons walking through the woods. A couple of juvenile baboons stepped onto a low branch and looked at me. I waved.

I was sorry to leave the forest, but eventually we had to, and thus returned to camp.

We had a late lunch, again shiro, but this time with freshly made "country bread" made by the hut keeper wife. Very flat and thin like a tortilla, but heavy, it is comprised of barley and wheat grain. It has a dense, whole-grain flavor.

In late afternoon, a French couple, on their honeymoon, joined our camp, along with their guide, Ismael. About the same time, Umar the guard (again with his gun) arrived for the night.

The previous night, Ayano had asked Umar about the gun. Umar wasn't even sure it worked anymore. I don't know if Ayano ever received a satisfying answer as to why Umar brought the gun. Normally, he said, a guard would bring a large stick. (The sticks -- or canes -- are ubiquitous in the Ethiopian countryside. You see men walking with the sticks across the top of their shoulders, with their hands hooked over the top of the stick on either side of their shoulders. A man might use a stick for animal herding, for hiking, or for defense from or attack of a human or animal threat.)

Ayano explained the consequences of shooting a person with a gun, even (perhaps) in self defense. If Umar, for example, were to shoot and kill Ayano, he would not only go to prison, but his clan would have to give Ayano's clan 100 cows, a huge payment. Thus, not only is the individual held to account for his actions, but his entire clan. So, truly, Ayano felt very surprised that Umar would have brought a gun.

After our respective dinners, by a fire in the dining hut, all of us talked about things Ethiopian, French, and American -- immigration, opportunities for economic advancement, cultural impingements by and from ourselves and others, and the universal tradition of making fun of our neighbors, such as Missourians' jokes about people from Arkansas, northern and southern French people mocking each others' accents, and Ethiopians making fun of each other's ethnic origins.

Eventually, the French couple and I retired to our beds, leaving Ayano, Ismael, and Umar to continue talking by the fire.

Before I entered my tent, I looked up at the sky; I could see the Milky Way.

Ethiopia: Bale Mountains, Day 1, Friday

Up at 6:30. I really like the surroundings of the Bale Mountain Hotel. When I opened my door, I saw the pine trees on the other side of a strip of grass. Through the trees, I could see a small outbuilding. It reminded me of a nice campground in the woods in the U.S.

Opted for the continental breakfast in the hotel cafe. Coffee good. The bread, honey, strawberry jam -- eh. Also, it's best not to look too carefully at how dishware is cleaned here.

Ayano, my Bale Trek guide, arrived at 8:30 as planned. We proceeded to go food shopping. Not much to choose from. Ended up with spaghetti, fixings for a spicy tomato sauce, shiro, some bread, coffee, water, some cookies -- oh yes, and popcorn!

I tripped on a large rock in the "sidewalk." It was funny -- I could feel myself falling and I took quite a few faltering steps thinking I was going to recover my balance without falling -- nope, I took a tumble. Fortunately, just bruised a knee a bit.

Fast forward to after Ayano and Defu (the horse handler) loaded the pack horse with my gear, and after a disappointing detour through some rocky and dusty Dodola back streets (long and dull story) -- to stepping "into" that old National Geographic photo I kept for eight years.

Bale Mountains forest. Photo credit: Bale Trek

Some things you anticipate and the reality doesn't meet your expectations. In this case, walking in the Bale Mountains met every expectation. It was exactly as I'd imagined it. It was an emotional experience.

Photo credit: Currently unknown

The hike from Dodola to the camp is about 6.6 miles. Ascending altitude (beginning at ~ 8000 feet). Not a hiker, it was tough going for me, but I achieved it, which is the only thing that mattered.

We arrived at Camp Changeti around 3:00 p.m. Defu, the horse handler, unloaded my gear, then returned to Dodola with the horse. I took a nap for about an hour. Luxurious.


Camp Changeti is atop a mountain, albeit a junior one, surrounded as it is by higher, forested mountains. Below this mountain are patchwork farms in the lower hills. The camp is almost entirely grassy, cropped close by the cattle of nearby farmers. The terrain seems moraine-like to me, replete with many small folds. There are four tented dormitories, a kitchen hut, a dining hut, and a latrine and shower building. The latrine is the hole-in-the-floor, squatter type, but it was very clean.

It felt tremendously satisfying to look at "my" mountain panorama. I am definitely a mountain girl and not a beach girl.

Ayano, the guide, made popcorn (!), followed by a delicious pasta with a sauce made with tomatoes, onions, bebere, and garlic.

After dinner, Ayano built a fire and we talked about this and that for a couple of hours. The sky was black and starry.

I went to bed in the snug tent Ayano had pitched for me earlier. One of the hut keepers had inserted a mattress, and made it up with sheets. Ayano added a couple of super-heavy blankets. It was cozy.

Ayano and the guard slept in the old-fashioned, military-style, large tented dormitory close by. (When the guard appeared in early evening with a gun, Ayano had laughed, bemused, saying, "I have been with Bale Trek for 11 years. This is the first time I saw a guard bring a gun."

Ethiopia: Road to the Bale Mountains

Got up this morning at 4:00. Groan. Ready for the taxi's arrival at 5:15. The night-time clerk at Ankober Guest House had arranged for it -- too high a price, but because past taxi drivers to bus stations had found the correct bus and managed my luggage, I was fairly OK with it.

However, the taxi driver just stopped in front of the bus station and waited while I took my luggage out of his back seat. Good thing his hand wasn't in the door when I slammed it shut.

Credit: Ethiopia and Eritrea RPCVs

Hoo, what a puzzle! Many, many buses! In the dark! I was looking for bus 2007 going to Dodola. "Dodola?" "Dodola?" "Dodola?" Glad I had my flashlight, so I could shine it on the bus numbers. Several times, a person would ask me where I was going, look at my ticket and attempt to help. One gentleman figured out that I should be asking for the bus to Adaba. (I later pulled out my guide book map and saw that Dodola
was en route to Adaba.)

Then another man told me that I needed to go wait in the cafeteria as my bus wasn't at the station yet. This required me to get past a guard, who really wasn't eager for me to get into the main terminal, but I persevered and found an office with two officials in it. From there, I believe 5 or 6 employees had my back in re: getting on the right bus. This was good news -- I knew I'd be OK. Unfortunately, I learned that my bus was "late." Well, actually, I learned that it normally wouldn't be at the station until 6:45.

Photo credit: Jacob Eliosoff

Uh, oh. This presented a bathroom problem. Given that it was only 5:30 or 5:45 at present, that was a long wait to just hold things before the bus even got underway. I knew the toilet situation would be bad ..... and it was worse. Plus, it was co-ed. But, you know, one of the employees took me there and solicitously identified the best stall of the lot.

Soon I was back in my little corner where I'd been instructed to stay. Eventually, a man came to me and said in typical perfunctory Ethiopian fashion, "Come!" I followed (as I so often do here) him to another corridor and another office, where he took my ticket and transacted some business mysterious to me. When he emerged, he had a pink ticket for me, with a new bus number. I saw immediately there was no seat number, which I knew would present a problem. The man led me (quack, quack as I followed behind) to a bus parking space, and told me the bus would come here. He asked the destination of another man who was already there. When that man said he was going to Adaba, my "handler" pretty much left me in his charge.

I kept an eye peeled for my new bus 8122, as I knew it might be a dog-eat-dog affair getting a good seat on the bus. Plus I had already seen clumps of people following "their" buses as the drivers sought out a parking berth. So I was alert and ready to move!

Aha! I did see 8122 roll in. I alerted my babysitter to this fact and then followed a couple of men who were also to be on the bus, as they were proactive in getting to 8122's slot (which differed, of course, from the one where we'd been waiting).

Someone hefted my bag up into the bus and then, seeing that other passengers were looking for seat  assignments, I headed for seat number 3, which had been my assignment on my original bus. Of course, someone else was already there -- not that they'd taken mine, but that my old ticket simply had no validity in the current bus reality. So some confusion reigned for a bit as I took one seat, another claimed it as his own, etc. But it worked out OK. Then I saw two other faranji board the bus, and they, too, experienced some seat confusion. The other bus passengers had a little fun at our expense, which was fine -- it was all good-natured.

I shared the last of my Altoids with my neighbors and one woman shared a little bread with me, and we were happy campers.

I will say, though, it was an uncomfortable ride. This seemed to be the case for just about everyone -- not  enough legroom, mainly. And though I was next to a window, it had been fixed so that it was impossible to open. Fortunately, the heat wasn't too bad, and only a couple of people vomited discreetly.

I slept for a fair bit of time.

We stopped for lunch in some small town. The toilet was something better not even discussed.

I bought an egg sandwich and sat with the other faranji, Tim and Caroline -- very nice young German couple who spoke English fluently. It turned out that they had also bought tickets yesterday for bus 2007 and their seats had been 1 and 2! And they'd been at the station since before 5:30, just like me. We had a laugh over that.

All three of us had the same destination, Bale Trekking, in Dodola.

They had stayed at the Taitu (in the Piazza area, as is the Ankober) and we talked about the crime issues plus my learning about that special tourism niche for some women who visit Ethiopia. Tim said, "Oh yeah," as it was already known to him, and Caroline added, "But we thought it was mostly in Kenya and Tanzania. That's where we saw it mostly. Women come to Africa. Men go to Asia." Then she said, thoughtfully, "But we saw a lot of couples checking into the Taitu Hotel - young men with older women." 

Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, I'm done with this subject (well, except for my backlog journal entry about the pirate Tilahun in Gonder), but it just goes to show how clueless I'd been. This information really should be in the guide books. Seriously.

OK, back on the bus!

I enjoyed the scenery. As we entered the Bale Mountain region, some sections were exactly like the photo from National Geographic that drew me to the Bale Mountains -- so cool to see it for real!

Photo credit: National Geographic

There's also something special, no matter where in the world you are, about riding in a bus with local music playing loudly on the bus speaker, as a soundtrack to the conversations of fellow passengers and the visual feast unfolding outside.

I especially enjoyed a song by Betty Tezera:

I saw single and double lines of young people, all dressed in their school's royal blue, walking up a  bridal-gown white, sandstone ravine.

The contrast in color was beautiful -- a living ribbon.

The woman in seat 3 (who'd shared bread with me, and I Altoids with her) turned to me after lunch and said, "I love you." This happens sometimes. Sometimes it is just genuinely friendly, like this was, and I respond in kind. Other times, it is a prelude to a request for money.

The scenery passed by, and I enjoyed it between dozing. It was a long trip.

Photo credit: Carole Rich

We arrived in Dodola about 3:00 p.m. A bunch of us got off. Tim, Caroline, and I proceeded immediately to the Bale Trek place, where Tim and Caroline decided to start today on their 5-day trek and I decided to leave tomorrow for my 3-day trek.

My main objective for the rest of the day was to enjoy a relaxing evening with a cold Ambo.

Hussein, the Bale Trek guy, got me to Bale Mountain Lodge, which surpassed my low expectations. I opted for the cold-shower room for 50 birr (about $3). My room opened onto a roofed porch with chairs. It
looked out to a private, shaded area. There is a pleasant cafe area, too, which I escaped to as soon as I dumped my stuff in the room and went to the bathroom. There, I had two coffees, not having had any yet
today because of the bus ride.

Hussein. Photo credit: Carole Rich

As arranged, Hussein came by with the guide who'll help me buy food for the trek and accompany me on same. We'll use a pack horse to carry my gear.

My plan is to walk the 6+ miles to the 1st camp tomorrow (Friday) night, spend the night there, then walk toward the second camp Saturday through some forest land as far as I want, then return to the 1st camp for the second night. On Sunday, I'll return to Dodola.

After that, I'll decide if I want to go to Sof Omar Cave.

Had a so-so dinner--a very plain spaghetti with tomato sauce. Bread was pretty good, though.

Retired to my room for a cold shower with nice water pressure. Captured the water that would have otherwise gone down the drain into the bucket that one uses to fill the toilet tank when you want to flush.

Did my usual hand-washing of underwear and hung it on the line I stretched out between two nails in the bathroom doorway.

And Here I Am, Almost

Unfortunately unable to credit the National Geographic photographer, as I no longer have the original pages from NG, and I didn't think to note the photographer's name.

This is a photo from the Bale Mountains. Loved it from the moment I saw it.

I'll check back in tomorrow with more details.





This post written and scheduled for posting prior to 1/21.