Daily Lottery

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!