Think of low hills running as far as the eye can see, covered with cropped grass the color of a lion's coat. The hills are doted with the occasional naked acacia tree . I am bound for Hawassa, three hundred kilometers from Addis. The colors are vivid, to the point of seeming photo-shopped to stand out in clear contrast with one another.
The deep blue- black ribbon of the road, the grey dusty gravel on the roadside, the sun burnt hills, the hazy blue lakes that ambush you by appearing and disappearing out of view and the blinding almost-white sky. Or maybe I'm tired from the fact that I haven't slept in twenty-four hours and when I'm tired I go all lyrical and poetic.
For the first three hours of the trip, the bus had driven from the tight housing and eucalyptus groves of Addis, through parched wheat and teff fields, past small roadside markets, distant golden church domes and small towns. I saw a huge ground Calao hornbill hobbling with the uprightness and seriousness of a victorian gentleman.
, and what seemed to me (there was no herder in sight) to be a wild camel herd, about sixty of them, tall, graceful, sand colored magnificent animals with faces that look a bit stupid.
We plodded through the beautiful landscape , our progress interrupted only by the occasional cow herd, each cow and cow-herder dignified and utterly unfazed by our speed and hooting. There was a short stop, for a very welcome grilled tilapia, soggy chips and cold cokes.
I dozed on and off, waking occasionally to look out the window, change tracks on my iPod and shift to a more comfortable position, something I had to do quite often as my seat was right behind the driver, with my legs on the heat-radiating, throbbing engine which was like sitting on a washing machine during its spin-dry cycle, facing a pre-heated oven with its door open. I didn't know I had so much sweat in me.
About thirty miles from Hawassa is a fork in the road leading to Shashamane, a village built on a tract of land that the Negus famously gave to the people who believed he was the reincarnation of God on earth, the Rastafarians, so they could build their own little utopia. You know you are getting close to it because small shops with the signature Rasta colors of gold, red and green start popping up along the road and increase in number the closer you get to the junction leading there. Hawassa twenty minutes later surprised me by being a much larger city than I had expected.
The hotel was simply and surprisingly magnificent, with one of the most high-tech shower units I have ever seen. Suffice to say that I could have a rain shower while my feet were being massaged by bubbling water and my nether bits spray cleaned by multi directional jets of water. An experience that I am not exactly used to, as accomodation tends to be of the more modest variety.
I naturally pigged out on the food. Ethiopian food just does it for me, it is spicy, it is hot, it is sour, it is varied. And there is always enough of it. After work, the unavoidable place to go is the Hawassa lakeside park, large and gentle mounds that roll down to the lake, dotted with fever trees and carpeted with yellowing grass. There are cows grazing and chewing cud, whole bands of monkeys playing up and down the trees and the background noise of birds, ciccadas and the soft repetitive sound of the water lapping at the rocks. I drank many a St. Georges beer taking in the colours of the fading day, feeling at peace and awestruck as I always get when in the face of immensity. Lake Hawassa is a big lake( although one of the smallest in the rift), surrounded by hills that seem to encase it.
One of the waiters, came over and asked me if I had a ride. I said no, but the hotel being about a mile away, and the city looking safe I felt confident I could walk back. He said it was fine, so long as I knew that after dark hyenas come out looking for rubbish heaps and the occasional passed-out drunk.
My brain cross-referenced all the national geographic hyena related programs I have ever watched (strongest bite force etc), the Lion King(1 and 2) and I began to sweat. He completed his advice by saying that if you stand your ground and look intimidating they won't dare attack, at least in theory. By then, I was the dictionary definition of abject terror and I knew that even a slow, blind hyena could have guessed as much. So I hauled Arse as you would have it, screaming like a girl inside my head and doing the fastest power walk ever practiced in the Ethiopian highlands.
On the way back to Addis, I noticed bridges and gorges that I had missed the week before, signs with the names of towns of Nazareth, Debreizet, and the fact that the closer you got to the city the greener and lusher it got. I hung out over the weekend in three different places, the Sheraton in Addis, a monstrously sized Italian palace where there was an African American band performing, very posh people, expensive ladies-of-the-night and overpriced beer.
The next day I went with a friend to one of the most frequented clubs in Addis, a very dingy place called the Concorde, but I was in the mood for dingy and the ambiance was great save for the super-agressive prostitutes, the OBVIOUS pickpockets and the smell of humanity. The evening was ended at an upstairs bar that was mostly frequented by students and young professional, with plenty of reggae for music and uninterrupted dancing. I had a great time.
Generally, the Ethiopians I met are very polite people, exceedingly welcoming, mild-mannered ( except for this one hussy that dragged another by the hair when she called her BIG MAMA), with the sense and confidence that they are a great PEOPLE.
Amasegnallu for making me want to visit again.
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