I
had seen them in all the Ethiopian towns that we had passed through
in the previous two weeks. Kids who strolled around the streets with
massive stacks of cardboard strips in hand, approaching all and
sundry. But it wasn’t until I was approached in Addis Ababa and
asked whether I would like to buy a lotto ticket that I registered
what the strips were. Not quite the type that I’m used to back
home, where the process involves selecting six random numbers and
clinging onto the hope that by some miracle those very same numbers
will be read out on the television or appear in the following weeks
newspaper. No, these were a little different. These were sold in the
form of scratch cards, where purchasing a ticket and scratching the
surface were the only obstacles that lie between you and your
fortune. A system that makes sense in a country where newspapers are
scarce and televisions are even more difficult to come by.
It
didn’t take me long to decline the kids offer. But as I walked
through the streets I found myself thinking how many others would do
the same? How many would refuse the offer, and on the other hand, how
many people would give in and spend what little money they have
clinging to the infinitely minute probability of becoming hugely
wealthy in a matter of seconds? It was the day that we set out of
Addis, cycling past the kids with their stacks of lottery tickets,
when I tried to rationalise people spending their hard earned money
on something so unbelievably uncertain. Surely they don’t expect to
win. They can’t. So why then, do they give away their money?
The
more consideration I gave it, the clearer it seemed to become.
Cycling through the streets of Addis where we had spent two amazing
weeks, meeting incredible people, over indulging and generally having
a blast, I couldn’t help but feel excited to be back on the road.
Leaving behind many of the comforts of where we had been staying -
the kitchen with its fridge, the bathroom with its hot running water
and the lounge with its comfortable couches. I realised that every
day we mounted our bikes we were stepping into the unknown and
subjecting ourselves to whatever the road had in stall for us. Every
day bought new challenges and new experiences unbeknown to us. As I
thought about it I became convinced that it was entering the realm of
this unknown that got me excited to get going each day. I guess it
was when this thought struck me that I figured in some strange way
every day that we invest in this unpredictable trip is a scratch card
of sorts.
Reminiscing
about my time in Ethiopia justified this thought. Every day had
entailed new, contrasting experiences. As I reflect on this
fascinating country, I can’t help but think of the many aspects
that made it so interesting. The first one that pops into my head is
the people. People, people, people! From the moment I left my room in
mornings, in search of bread and bananas for breakfast to the moment
we settled the bill for dinner- we constantly encountered people. But
what type of people would we come across each day? And perhaps more
importantly, how would they react to us unfamiliar beings on
bicycles?
Before
arriving in Ethiopia we had heard reports and read articles of how
intrepid cyclists had been targeted by little kids notorious for
their stone throwing ability. Needless to say this made us a little
sceptical of what we might encounter-especially after the hospitality
we had grown accustomed to in Sudan. However, in general our fears
and concerns have been unwarranted. As we made our way along the
roads scattered with people we became the centre of attention and
people (mostly children) couldn’t seem to help words like ‘you,
you, you’, ‘ferangi’ (foreigner), ‘give me money’, ‘give
me pen’ and ‘where you go?’ from escaping their lips. At first
I found it a bit invasive but once I realised that it’s probably
the only English that they know and/or that they associate people
with a fairer skin tone with NGO’s that hand out various odds and
ends, I became a lot more tolerant of such comments. Although at
times the calls came across in a hostile way, for the most part they
were said in a friendly manner. I also realised all that most people
really wanted (or at times demanded) was a bit of attention and a
wave was often all that was required to get a massive smile in return
which made it worthwhile. Yes, on some days (three to be exact) I had
stones thrown my way, yet fortunately for me, none had the accuracy
of a Jonty Rhodes. On other days we received numerous chants of
‘welcome’ and at times even had kids pushing us up the relentless
Ethiopian hills. It was always a guess who awaited us on any given
day and although we’d love to bank on the sea of friendliness,
there was no telling when the tide would change.
The
many highs and what seemed like fewer lows that I associated with the
people could also be attributed to the mountainous profile of
Ethiopia. Each and every day we set out knowing that we would face
climbs. However, what was less certain was how many we would
encounter and how challenging each would be. Would they be long and
gradual, short and steep or a harsh persistent combination? With our
loaded bicycles it felt that every ascent (and believe me there were
plenty) that we faced off against would be followed by a quick little
descent. I doubt there’s much truth to those feelings but I guess
gravity can be a bitch – especially with all that excess weight! On
the bright side though, all our hard work was usually compensated for
by, quite literally, breathe taking scenery.
I
guess that brings me onto next unpredictability - the ever changing
terrain and scenery that we were treated to. In a country as vast as
Ethiopia I found it incredible how often and quickly our surroundings
could transform. Dense bushveld would somehow change to expansive
country side before our eyes. No sooner would we be traversing the
plateaus within the highlands before finding ourselves progressing
through beautiful natural forests. Then we’d advance over rolling
hills, past magnificent lakes and into a lush tropical environment
with banana trees and coffee plantations at every turn. Then,
astoundingly, not to many kilometres on we’d find ourselves back in
a dry savannah like environment, passing camels and aardvark as we
made our way down towards the Kenyan border.
Just
like we had no control over the incredible diversity of the country,
we had even less power over the weather that we faced each day. It
doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you pretty
exposed to climatic conditions whilst on a bicycle. Unlike a car
which has climate control, a roof and windscreen wipers all designed
to counter any weather conditions, our armoury includes sun block,
sun glasses and a rain jacket. Fortunately the Ethiopian climate that
we encountered was a lot more forgiving than the mountainous terrain.
We had a lot of overcast days and as my horrendous tan lines confirm,
we were exposed to a substantial amount of sun. We didn't have much
wind – which is most cyclists nemesis and fortunately I didn’t
have to call on my poor excuse for a rain jacket too often. Twice to
be precise. The first was just a bit of drizzle which didn’t bother
me much. However, on the second occasion the heavens opened and I
realized my armour had been seriously breached when I waved to one of
the many kids along the way. Water had soaked straight through my
useless jacket and collected in the sleeve, then as I raised my arm
in a friendly gesture all of it poured down the side of my torso and
completely drenched whatever parts of my kit weren't soaked already.
Anyway fortunately rains pretty harmless - if it weren’t I’d feel
like I’m heading into a gun fight armed with a knife as we head
into Kenya’s rainy season…
Unfortunately
for us meat loving South Africans, we pretty much timed our six weeks
in Ethiopia during their 55 day fasting period. Who knows why its 55
days? The three Ethiopians that we asked weren’t even sure
themselves but I guess in a country with its own calendar (8 years
behind the rest of the world), its own time system (6 hours behind
any of its neighbouring countries) and its very own language and
alphabet – it shouldn’t really bother us. None the less we
decided to extend our stay in Ethiopia by one day just so that we
could witness the celebrations that marked the end of their extended
lent arrangement, and obviously to satisfy our carnivorous cravings.
Up
until that stage I guess the food wasn’t too much of an unknown.
The fasting diminished our options significantly – so much so that
we pretty much had two alternatives. Both of which involved the
Ethiopian staple diet known as injera. For those of you who’ve
never heard of it let me enlighten you. Picture a thick pancake the
size of a large pizza with a spongy texture made from a soury dough.
You eat it with your hands and if you don’t like it you'll struggle
to survive in Ethiopia because it’s just about all they eat!
Fortunately that wasn’t a problem for any of us. But getting back
to the point, our options were reduced to ‘shiro’ or ‘beyaynit’.
The former was a runny, spicy paste that would often be served in a
small pot for you to pour over the injera. The latter an injera
served with a selection of vegetable toppings - often including
cabbage, beet root, potatoes, lentils, salsa and wot (a thick curry
type paste). Often we would stop and have one of the options for
lunch and then decide on the alternate option for dinner. So on our
final day when we were presented with a couple injera topped with
half a chicken that had been brewed in a delicious curry sauce-it was
a welcomed sending off meal (which we received on the house thanks to
the generosity of the hotel owner’s sister). Strangely enough,
although we ate a lot of it I never really got bored of injera and
thinking about it now I guess I’ll miss it as we head south.
Moving
on to the final unknown of the day, the bonus ball if you like, our
accommodation. I guess it’s a strange concept waking up each day
and not know where you going to be sleeping that night… However for
us that’s become life and at the end of each days cycling it’s up
to us to find a suitable spot to plant ourselves for the night. As
I’ve already touched on, in Ethiopia there are practically people
everywhere. What this meant for us is that camping became a thought
stored at the back of our minds, inaccessible for the time being.
Fortunately for us though, Ethiopians seem to have caught onto this
predicament and there are plenty cheap hotels that are feasible. For
us they ranged between 25 and 60 birr (divide by two to get the rand
equivalent). It doesn’t take too much to guess that you not gonna
get a hell of a lot for those prices. Admittedly the beds were
usually perfectly adequate and occasionally we’d strike a bargain
and find ourselves an en-suite bathroom for that price. However, more
often than not the ablution facilities would be communal and at times
decidedly dodgy. But at the same time I guess it was a good reminder
that running water (forget about hot water) and a flushing toilet are
a luxury and not a right and thanks to this trip I’ll probably
never take either for granted again.
Looking
back on my six weeks in Ethiopia I can safely say that I thoroughly
enjoyed it. It’s intense on just about every level and I guess
that’s why we did meet other tourists who weren’t over enamoured
with the country. Who knows, perhaps they didn't have the palate for
injera or were too out of breath to take in the scenery. Either way,
I think the difference is that you have to approach it with the right
mentality – ready and prepared to embrace every high and persevere
through some of the lows. I guess in conclusion what I’d tell
someone planning on visiting Ethiopia is not to come expecting to win
the lottery, as they’ll most probably leave disappointed. Instead I
would recommend coming with a heap of scratch cards - embracing the
unpredictable - and if it’s coupled with the right attitude I bet
you’ll leave enriched. Thank you Ethiopia!
