Ethiopia stuns me at every bend of the road, every vista, every occasion. I suppose a lot of my amazement with Ethiopia is due to my cluelessness about the country. While I have learnt quite a bit ever since my first visit, I am also aware of the depths of my ignorance. Aside from the very superficial and the very mythical, I knew nothing of the country.
The first visit to the country was short and busy, but still I managed to do what every self respecting tourist must do, by visiting Entoto Maryam (here), and then the next day after work, going to the national museum and having dinner in Yod Abyssinia
The first visit to the country was short and busy, but still I managed to do what every self respecting tourist must do, by visiting Entoto Maryam (here), and then the next day after work, going to the national museum and having dinner in Yod Abyssinia
The national museum in Addis is a grand, greying old building that is home to artefacts from prehistoric times to modern day Ethiopia.
The most famous of all those artefacts being Lucy, our 3.18 million years old ancestor, a female australopithecus afarensis, learn more about her here. In a room in what I remember being like a basement, in a glass coffin, laid against black cloth on a hard flat surface was our ancestor.
A range of emotions flooded over me; excitement (OMG, this is it, I am in the presence of history,...in the same room, staring at it in THE FACE!); Interior design rage (My Lord, the lighting is terrible, has the curator not read Snow White- you know, crystal coffin-a very well padded and comfortable looking casket that was, in a meadow, with the sunrays gently filtering through the leaves), Sadness( I mean this is our ancestor, and she is splayed with the indecency of human remains display that only museums know how to bring about) and a range of other mostly negative feelings. Sad really.
I made a silent prayer to her, to her and all the people who have trod the land before we did, to watch over me and those I love and to rest in peace. My Burundian catholic upbringing inferred (really just inferred) that pleas to departed ancestors were as potent as an Ave Maria, that there was no need to shed and discard our traditional spirituality, our link to what lies ahead, the comforting thought that we are beings made of the eternal stuff, that we will ALWAYS be here.
Watch over us Lucy.
And then, I read the plaque that said it was a plaster cast of the real thing. Crestfallen I was. I’m still cross. But I know she heard from wherever she is. Watch over us. Watch over us.
After that shattering disappointment, the visit continued through time, through the amazing journey that Ethiopia went through to become an empire. There is a room, an atrium really, with the crowns and robes and jewellery of the Negus, his family and his entourage. Even one of his thrones is there, a bulky wooden affair with a dusty red velvet cushion.
In his book the Emperor, Rysjard Kapucinski describes the life at court and in one particular instance the function of the pillow placer. The emperor being of a diminutive stature, the emperor’s feet would often not touch the ground when seated on a throne. The royal pillow placer’s job was to know which pillow, went with which pillow on what occasion. One mistake and the King of kings could be, at best in an uncomfortable position, at worst ridiculed. I cannot recommend that book enough,(link to a review here), an autopsy of regime collapse, autocracy, political science in a changing world. The room was sad and humbling, what with all the insignia of power and prestige, literally caged and contained, restricted and dead. The mighty have fallen and will still fall.
That evening, dinner was at Yod Abyssinia, a restaurant that has an Ethiopian food buffet (Injera complete with what seemed to me like twenty seven sauces). I think they still remember as the Burundian who ate until he couldn’t remember his name. Ethiopian food and restraint just don’t roll together. Not for me anyway and I know about twenty other people who can say the same. I pigged out with very nice St George’s beer with the food and a fragrant sweet mead that packed a punch, alcohol wise. I was surprised to find out that Burundi does a very similar drink, called "Akuki k'Abami", the drink of the Kings. a drink as potent, with an uncanny ability to sneak the drunkedness into you before you know it ( ref; cousin Henry's engagement do..memorable).
Yod Abyssinia doubles as a show house complete with stage and performances from at least six different regions, all with the rytmic blend that Africa and arabia produced when they met.
I loved Ethiopia when I went to bed, pissed as an upright mattress and happy.
The french have a lovely expression to describe the state in which i woke up; "La tete dans le cul", to have one's head up one's own backside. That particular situation, we surely agree, is painful, very uncomfortable and it must blur all images and sounds while tasting and smelling very bad.
That day that shall be remembered as the one time that, I, a proud and outspoken coffee and chocolate hater, had two espressos that I downed like tequila shots, to clear the impenetrable fog of my hangover (I think coffee and chocolate taste and smell absolutely horrid, and makes you fat too..the chocolate that is. The work of lucifer).
It helped. Beans from the home of coffee were compressed into a bitter, powerful, minisized drink.
As much as I hate to admit but, it did help. And I've never looked back.
