South of Addis Ababa

RTW – 3-5 Oct 2008
Back at the Ghion Hotel where they said to let the hot water run a long time to get warm. After ten minutes, it seemed colder but took a heart-stopping sailors bath. Then while brushing my teeth, the water warmed. Soon it was hot, and I took a real shower. Later I learned that the water came from a hot spring some distance from the hotel. I must have been the only early riser to get it flowing.
Hassen arrived in a beautiful Toyota Land Cruiser, and we headed south. The roads were charming for the first 320 kilometers to Sodo, but the next 120 km to Arba Minch was not so smooth. The scenery was magnanimous, a further extension of the Rift Valley that runs from Djibouti to Mozambique. It was Saturday, market day. Our roadway was an eye-catching hazard, filled with goats, cattle, plus donkeys and people loaded with goods traveling to critical towns along the way. I took the opportunity to stop at a farmer tilling his field with a team of oxen, some colorful homes, women washing clothes at the river, and a small market area.
I think of the settlements along the road as frontier towns. Like when I traveled rural Brazil thirty years ago. Isolated farmers found their way to town for necessities. Truckers stopped for repairs, getting lunch, or just taking a break. Many young men seeking different work from the farm life they wanted to leave behind. A small merchant class developed as most were just passing by.
Our little oasis at Arba Minch was Paradise Lodge, a new / still under construction lodge with safari-style bandas. The private quarters simulated local huts with grass roofs but a well-done sleeping room and bath. Most lodgers were from tour groups of two, as a young couple on an adventure, to twenty, a caravan of elder Europeans. Facilities in this area were limited, so there was a convergence of 4WD tour vehicles at such unique places. It was near dark; my banda was some distance from the restaurant, so I carefully noted my path; lest lighting would not be available later. Thunder and lightning started, and rain approached as I entered the restaurant. As Hassen and I started our dinner of fried fish, a local family and group of friends celebrating graduation were driven from the patio as the rain picked up. Now the place was alive. Soon the windy rain began to breach the venting of the grass roof, and a mist settled over us all. A few tables got more than there share of water, but everyone laughed at the situation.
We set out for Konso some 90 km south. The road had about four bridges and some eight areas where bridges once were. Our Toyota was challenged to descend and traverse the mostly dry river beds. During the rainy season, it is more hazardous. Hassen is looking forward to getting a new 4WD with an air cleaner intake for the engine that extends to the top of the windshield -- ahh, now that could get exciting. To travel beyond Konso, such a rig is most important. Besides, you need to carry your own gasoline, tents, and food. In Konso, we needed to get a tribal guide to visit the native villages. With a little effort, a young man named Chooch was selected. For lunch, there was but one choice, an open compound in the center of town. I had been told to eat only cooked beef. The gristly stuff came in a lighted charcoal pot sizzling in grease. The soft grey dough, injera is like cutlery for consumption. I opted to dip each mouthful in the red hot chili pepper sauce, thinking the hot stuff might kill a few germs. Chooch ate raw beef – it came in chunks with a large knife to carve each portion.
As for how safe that would be -- you get a sense of their hygiene by the body odor and limited exposure to soap and water. Sanitation? I have learned to adapt to toilet conditions by going a full day without and using only those in my hotel room. At my grins and raised eyebrow of the food before us, Hassen said we had been slated to spend the night here, nodding towards a row of doors next to the cooking area. After my desire for a warm shower in Addis, he decided it best to drive back to the Paradise Lodge – I reached over and shook his hand in thanks. Outside the dining compound, the three of us enjoyed a cup of coffee inside a local hut. While a lady at the doorway roasted beans over a charcoal fire, the lady inside fixed the brew. Eight or so gents were chewing on spinach/mint leaves that I thought were part of the coffee ritual. An odd, unfamiliar aroma filled the confines of the hut. I was offered a bunch – Hassen nodded approval with a grin. ‘When in Rome – never touch the stuff.’ He went onto explain some locals can pass the whole day munching on the drug. “Drug?” Contrary to my naiveté – by then, my munch turned bitter – he said, “It works soon.” I had no more and sipped my coffee.
The Konso tribal village was near vacant. It was Sunday, and the people had trekked to church. In these primitive conditions, you would expect more pagan beliefs, but Christianity is widespread. The chief greeted us and told of his role and heritage. He had pictures of his father and grandfather in their mummified form. After death, they are retained for nine years, nine months, and nine days before burial. He said as chief his wife was chosen by relatives – I quipped, “You mean all nine of them.” He grinned and explained his duty was to produce an heir and lead his people. He lived separately from his only wife. The grass-roofed mud huts were amazingly sound with a life of sixty or more years. Raw forms of selected timber were used for arches, fencing, and structural members.