Litigation

TIA... This is (My) Africa

By Angel L. Reyes, III

UPDATE: Well, the pictures are finally in. They're scattered through out this entry, so please check them out. For a larger view, just click the picture.

The words Leo DeCaprio spoke in Blood Diamond ring in my head.  My friends all tell me to be safe.  Where am I going?  Ethiopia.  Tanzania.  Why?  Two of my buddies and I decided to take a trip to Africa in order to check off more of the “1,000 things to do before you die” list.  We knew a trip to Africa wasn't going to be a two week stay at the newest Canyon Ranch Spa, we were however, hopeful that we'd get to see a lot of sights.  We struck gold.

So I've been asked, “How was Africa?”  In a word, unusual.  We headed out a couple of weeks ago destined for Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.  I was sure that Ethiopia would be arid, dry, dusty, and hot, so I took the same clothes I took to the south of France the week before.  Surely, Addis, the capital of Ethiopia would be much like other world capitals, right?  Sort of.  Anyway, my buds and I really didn't talk much about what we'd be doing when we got to Addis, aside from visiting the Mother Theresa Hospital and Dr. Rick Hodes.  One of the guys donated money to that cause, so we had to see how the money was being spent.   
 
We left Washington Dulles on Ethiopian Airlines.  How the heck did we end up on an African Airline?  It was the only direct flight from the US to Addis Ababa, so we took it.  Ugh.  We were in first class, almost all alone, as none of the other passengers, most of whom were Ethiopians, were up at the front of the plane.  The plane was at least 30 years old and the seats, although "first class," were torn and beaten.  They weren't even leather; they were fabric.  So in addition to their lack of aesthetic beauty, they smelled to high heaven.  Well, I hoped, maybe the service will make up for the fear factor of flying 14 hours across the Atlantic on Ethiopian Airlines.  Nope.  Perhaps the food would be interesting.  Nope.  Warmed up meals in aluminum trays, like the TV dinners I ate as a kid.  Luckily, we got to eat them twice!
 
Addis is like a wet mutt.  I know, I know, if you can't say something nice and positive, don't say anything at all, but I have to call this one like I saw it.  Addis sits at 8,000 feet above sea level along the rift valley in the horn of Africa.  Only two other world capitals are higher - La Paz and Quito.  Funny enough, both are third world as well.  But, you’ve got to hand it to the Ethiopians; they were pretty clever choosing the location for their capital, high up in the sky so there are no mosquitos, lots of precipitation, and temperate, generally cool weather year-round.  Unfortunately, that same weather leaves the city wet, muddy, and smoggy for more than half the year.  So it was when we arrived.
 
Addis was cold.  62 degrees.  What?  Isn't Africa supposed to be hot?  Didn't I see Ethiopians on TV in the '80s walking through what looked like a desert?  Wasn't there a faminine here not too long ago?  Immigration and Customs, Ethiopian style, was interesting.  Lines formed and reformed and shifted, while people jostled for position.  I stood my ground as best I could, but dozens of locals found their way to the line in front of me.  Queuing is not an Ethiopian skill (nor an Asian skill, for that matter).
 
At the airport, we jumped into a taxi and barked "To the Sheraton Addis, please."  Away we went.  Along the way, I noticed Addis was like most third world cities – with mostly run down, poorly maintained ramshackle buildings.  Lots of people walking on the streets and sidewalks made the place seem purposeful and industrious, but that could have just been my imagination.  Our taxi pulled up to the only bright light in Addis, the Sheraton.  I mean that literally.  The hotel had a searchlight on its roof with a spotlight shining brightly into the African sky.  Could it be an allegory for a beacon of hope?  Perhaps it is.  In order to enter the property, you must stop at a guardhouse where security guys search your car.  The search includes using a mirror on a stick so that the car's undercarriage can be seen by the guards without the need to bend over or crawl under the car.
 
To enter the lobby of the Sheraton Addis, you go through the equivalent of the airport security screening at DFW Airport.  All luggage and carry-on items are put through an X-ray machine, and all people go through a metal detector.  Hmm, we're off to an auspicious start.
 
Peddlers and beggars.  Those two words quickly came to mind while I formed my initial impression of Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.  Because Ethiopia is literally and figuratively broke, there aren't a lot of cars and traffic in Addis, especially for a city of over 4 million souls.  Instead, there is a lot of foot traffic on the roads.  Everywhere you look, there are hundreds, nay thousands, of people walking.  The people walk with their trade goods, livestock, and walking sticks.  Most are barefoot and swaddled in dirty rags.  Thank goodness I brought my fancy clothes!
 
The next day we head back to the airport to catch a flight to Lalibela.  There are thousand-year-old churches in Lalibela that were constructed by chiseling through volcanic rock from the top down.  A sort of inverse pyramid building construction from the 11th century.  Here I go again.  Lalibela was even more tired, wet, and bedraggled than Addis.  The town is working diligently to move from the 11th to the 21st century.  The residents and their animals live mainly in stick, rock, mud, and thatch houses, but they have an internet cafe in one of those mud floor huts!  Lalibelans are putting their faith and trust in the tourism industry.  They peddle Chinese made trinkets, or, in the alternative, they beg for 1 birr, about $.11 US.  Competition is fierce; all the peddlers peddle the same stuff. Side by side by side, they line up along the muddy rock-strewn path that serves as the town's main road.  Personality matters when the goods are all the same, so the best peddlers are the most persistent and speak English, Spanish, Italian, etc. well enough to make a sale.  Oh yeah, if you take a person's photo, they expect 1 birr (Ethiopian currency) in return.  I can't say that I blame them.  After all, over on our side of the pond, people make a living charging to have their pictures taken.  Every fashion model in the world knows to charge for each and every photo, so the Ethiopians do the same.
 
At dinner that night, we talk about heading into the Omo valley in the southwest corner of Ethiopia.  We'd heard there are a bunch of indigenous African tribes in those parts, including the Mursi tribe, which distinguishes itself by having all of their women stretch their lower lips far enough to accommodate clay plates the size of skeet targets.  I suspect the Mursi continue to modify their women's lips in an effort to capture 2 birr per photo, but I keep my thoughts to myself.  We've got other more important things to consider... like whether we have enough mefloquine to go around.  Mefloquine is a malaria prophylactic that I started taking the day before we flew to Ethiopia.  Unfortunately, one of the guys doesn't have any, and if we are heading into Mursi country, the Lonely Planet says we’ve got to have malaria pills.  Between the two of us who do have mefloquine, we have just enough to go around, so we make plans to head south.  We've all packed for city and beach life, jeans, polo shirts, swimsuits, etc.  We'll fit right in in Mursi territory, don't you think?
 
We also talk about whether or not tourists will "spoil" Lalibela.  That topic engenders deep thought and discussion.  I mention that I think the Lalibelan locals can make moral decisions like that for themselves.  For my money, it is not for us to decide whether or not tourists will spoil Lalibela.  Is "preserving" Lalibela in its "pristine" cultural form more important than the individual welfare of the people concerned?  We westerners are always imposing our hypocrisy on others; we'll keep the parts of your culture we like and discard the rest.  Along the way, we'll help you find Jesus Christ, etc.  Shouldn't we accept things for what they are, not what we want to see?
 
The next morning we fly to Bahir Dar on Lake Tana.  We're in search of the source of the Blue Nile.  Our guide book tells us we'll find it at Lake Tana.  Bahir Dar is on UNESCO's “Best Cities in Africa” list.  Over 150,000 folks live in the town.  I have no idea why.  If Addis is a wet mutt, Bahir Dar is the wet mutt's red-headed step child.  If the folks in Addis walk around in miserable rags, the kids in Bahir Dar, dispatch with the rags altogether and simply go naked.  Where does everyone go to the bathroom anyway?  The bushes, I'm told.
 
Before we find the source of the Blue Nile, we're scheduled to take a boat out to some Islands in Lake Tana to see some 13th century monasteries.  We get to the dock and prepare to board our launch.  I'm struck by the fact that there are no other boats on the lake.  No fishing boats.  No people, period.  Bilharzia, jeez, another African illness to worry about.  That disease is found in fresh water, including Lake Tana, all across Africa.  If you swim in water with bilharzia, you end up with worms in your belly.  No wonder no one is on this lake.  We jump into the launch figuring what the heck, let's go see what there is to see.  Twenty minutes into the ride, we notice there are no life preservers on the boat and the wind and weather are picking up.  Great, instead of just getting worms in our belly, we may drown on this deserted lake.  Let's hope the pilot can handle the conditions.  We tell the pilot to scratch the far island he's steaming for and direct him to the near islands so that we catch a monastery or two, but skip the "full tour" in an effort to minimize the time we spend on the wind-blown, choppy lake.
 
The Papyrus Hotel beckons after a long afternoon I spent fighting stomach cramps on Lake Tana.  The place is all worn out, with broken windows, torn carpet, mold, mildew, a pond instead of a pool (although that doesn't stop the locals from using it…you get the idea.)  Anyway, we just need a little sleep so we can make it to the headwaters of the Blue Nile tomorrow.  The next morning comes around and our guide picks us up in yet another beaten-down minivan.  We head across town dodging naked kids, cows, goats, and farm produce en route to the source of the Blue Nile.  We arrive at the entrance to the path that leads you to the source of the Blue Nile and are met with the cacophony of lots of young people milling around our car, begging for 1 birr.  I continue to take the position that since I can't give every Ethiopian a birr, I'll give none of them a birr.  My travel mates do the opposite.  I'm not sure what measures they took to decide who deserved a birr and who didn't, but they gave often and in some small way, probably helped some of the folks they gave to.
 
We start hiking down the rocky, muddy, steep footpath that will cross an 8th century Roman bridge leading up to the falls which form the headwaters we're in search of.  Along the way, we dodge cow shit, goat shit, and yes, people shit.  Little children, smiling persistently, ask, "Meestah, jew buy from mee, wot about mee?" while they attempt to entice you with Chinese trinkets for US $1.  Everyone in Bahir Dar is an entrepreneur - everyone.  Those that aren't peddlers are beggars.  But then again, I'm growing rather fond of my initial impression that everyone is Ethiopia is either a peddler or a beggar.  Maybe I'm just being cynical.
 
I decide to keep fasting in an effort to rid myself of the stomach cramps that befell me the second day of the trip.  Good idea, especially in Bahir Dar, where the food repels even the most intrepid traveler among us.  Smelly goat meat stew just doesn't go down well, no matter how many local beers you drink.  I wander through town and find a peddler selling Snickers bars, so I grab two for good measure.
 
On to Arba Minch in southern Ethiopia.  We will drive from Arba Minch to Jinka, and if we're lucky, the road will be passable and we'll go in search of the Mursi.  We're not lucky, the road is washed out in multiple locations and so we'll get to almost the literal end of the road in Ethiopia, the town of Konso.  Again, more 1 birr snapshots and peddlers and beggars.  The Konso village is a living museum.  We pay our entrance fee, just like you do at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York (link), and are again beseeched by people peddling and begging.  We take more 1 birr snapshots for good measure.
 
At 7 a.m. the next morning, we get ready to take a road trip from Arba Minch to Addis.  Ahead lies a 12 hour drive.  We drive and drive and drive.  We eat dust the entire way.  I read Noam Chomsky's Failed States from cover to cover in spite of the bouncy ride.  Ethiopia's only north/south highway is a two lane blacktop that is pockmarked and washed out in places.  There are 82 million people in this country.  At current birth rates, there will be 100 million in 10 years.  People and animals are walking every stretch of the way from Arba Minch to Addis.
 
This far south, the children dance a little jig when they see our car cruising by.  They're hoping their footwork and deft rhythm will yield them a 1 birr tip.  Other kids are selling local fruit and when we slow our car down to traverse the washed out road, they rush up to the windows shaking and begging us to buy their fruit for 1 birr or even a fraction of a birr.  We all begin to notice that there are lots and lots of little kids in Ethiopia.  Too many?  That's hard to say, although our guides tell us that most village/farm families have between 8 and 10 kids living in the 8 foot by 10 foot shacks that line the road.  We drive for 400 miles from southern Ethiopia back to Addis.  The entire way we pass folks walking barefoot with trade goods on their heads and livestock at their sides.  There are an unusual number of children walking along the road.
 
We're scheduled to visit the Mother Theresa Hospital and Dr. Rick Hodes tomorrow.  We'll stay at the Sheraton tonight, thankfully.  The next morning we breakfast with Dr. Rick who tells us his story.  During his residency at Johns Hopkins he decided to do some good in Ethiopia.  His stint in Addis convinced him to stay for more than 20 years.  He met Morton Myerson, a rich philanthropic Dallasite, and now helps Ethiopians with severe spinal deformities get surgical intervention done in Ghana.  Go figure.  Anyway, Mort Myerson evidently gave a lot of money, and, according to Dr. Rick, has a standing invitation to tour the hospital to which he so generously donated money.
 
Mother Theresa Hospital is no worse than any county hospital in America.  Indeed, I've been to Parkland Memorial Hospital right here in Dallas and I can tell you, aside from the size of the building, there is not much difference between the two.  Let's face it, public health is a mess, no matter where in the world you find yourself.  We tour the hospital with Dr. Rick, who introduces us to lots of folks who suffer from some malady or another.  We shake their hands and continue to wander through the complex.  After about an hour, Dr. Hodes drives us back to our shiny beacon on the hill hotel and promptly announces he needs to wash his hands because he shook so many people's hands at the hospital.  Great, I remember biting a couple of nails off on the drive from the hospital to the hotel.  Why the heck do so many Ethiopians still suffer from tuberculosis anyway?
 
Friday night lights in Addis.  An American jazz band is playing on the terrace at the Sheraton.  Addis' finest is on display.  The scene is reminiscent of a typical night at a W Hotel in the US, only in Ethiopia.  Alas, we can't hang out, we're having dinner at Dr. Rick's house.  We arrive at Dr. Rick's house not sure what to expect.  We enter the seemingly tidy gated compound and find 20 or so young people in the living room.  Cool, there's a party at Dr. Rick's house tonight.  Dr. Rick passes out hats for everyone, urges us all to join hands and begins to sing Kumbaya, or something close to that.  Shabbat shalom he continues.
 
Lots of young Ethiopian boys are in the room, and I can't help but wonder why there are no young Ethiopian girls, but I keep that comment to myself for the time being.  Dr. Rick's house is a pigsty, but maybe that's the way he likes it (although I can't imagine it would cost much to have a housekeeper or a dozen in Ethiopia).  Who knows?  I meet two co-eds from the University of Oregon who are voluntouristing for 12 college credit hours at an adoption agency in Addis.  They are not just voluntouristing, they are getting college credit for their efforts!  I also meet a crying lawyer.  He and his wife adopted 25 kids from various third world countries over the past 20 years.  They even adopted a kid out of an Indian prison.  I asked him how that turned out; he didn't seem to grasp my sarcasm, but he did start to cry.  I hope I didn't bum him out.
 
There is a documentary filmmaker at the house.  He's a Columbia MBA who works for an NGO devoted to helping the Ethiopian coffee unions.  Seriously, you can't make this stuff up.  He's in Ethiopia to film the Ethiopian millennium.  Evidently, Ethiopia is so special, they are still using the coptic calendar and as a result, are almost 8 years behind the western calendar and therefore, will be celebrating “like it’s 1999” this year.  Whoo yeah.
 
Before we know it, it is past 9 p.m. and we're all in a hurry to skedaddle back to the Sheraton and take a break from Ethiopia.  Tomorrow, we're going to Mount Kilimanjaro.  We fly over Kili and from the airplane glimpse its snow-capped peak.  The airport is full of tourists, mostly western travelers.  They've all got the safari look going.  Khaki pants or shorts, hiking shoes, t-shirt, and back pack stuffed with stuff.  Everyone has a rolled up mat on their person.  I suspect it is part of the kit, but I can't be sure.  I start giggling.  Did I forget to read the dress code part of the Lonely Planet guidebook?  After all, I brought the right clothes, didn't I?  Let's see, jeans, flip flops, Canali sport coat, and a pith hat.  Well, I'm looking for one anyway; that's all I need to conquer Africa's tallest peak.
 
We read in the guide book that the touts are not to be taken lightly in Tanzania.  Touts are the young men who size up the mzungu (white people - us), the second they walk out of the airport, and then attach themselves to your hip until you give them money or let them squire you around in their cars for some US dollars.  We make the mistake of trying to bargain with the touts who are offering cab services.  They all know each other and all speak Swahili, so they collude on pricing to show us who's boss in Tanzania.  It ain't the mzungu, that's for sure.  After about an hour of pouting, we finally cave in and pay a tout to take us to Kili.  We tell him to drive to Arusha.  Oops, wrong way, Kili is near Moshi, so we ask our cab driver, who is no fool, how much to take us back to Moshi.  “$100,” he answers.  Jeez, we should know better than to find ourselves stranded in Tanzania.  We get to Moshi just in time for sunset and thankfully, we see the snow-capped peak of Kili just before sundown.  The next morning is cloudy. Kili is evidently an elusive beast, so we snap a photo at the base and head off down the highway to Dar Es Salaam.  Tanzania is much richer than Ethiopia; we can see it and feel it.  The road is not washed out and is in good shape.  Our driver averages 60 mph en route to Dar.

Dar is kind of nice, almost like some western cities - a step above a Mexican border town, a step below a US border town.  Lots of traffic, people, tall buildings, a port town, that appears to be working.  Interestingly, everyone in Tanzania is dressed in clothes, clean clothes even.  Also, everyone wears shoes.  We're off to a good start.

In the morning we head to the Dar airport to meet our pilot.  We're scheduled to fly to the Selous Game Reserve for a two-day stay at the Rufiji River Camp.  We're met at the airport by a wiry little Jersey Islander, who is straight out of central casting.  He's even wearing the pith hat I was looking for.  We cram our bags into a 4 seat Cesna and away we go.  The guidebook says that only 5,000 tourists a year visit the Selous Game Reserve.  The park is also on the “1,000 things to do before you die” list.  We do a full day safari... I even wear my flip flops, and when we finish, I can't help but wonder if the reason only 5,000 people visit each year is that the number of animals is so low.  We saw animals, but no more than you'd see at Fossil Rim in Texas.  Indeed, we saw no cats, zebras, jaguars, or rhinos.  Dang it.

Final stop, Stone Town, Zanzibar and the Mtoni Marine Resort.  The guidebook tells us about the wonderfully rich history of Zanzibar.  It was the slave trading capital of the world.  Hmm, is that something you're supposed to be proud of?  Anyway, a Muslim sultanate "ruled" the island centuries ago and turned it into a very busy slave trading port.  The Muslim influence remains and the women of Zanzibar are mostly veiled.  Good thing.  Yikes, I have to stop being so negative.  Back to our story.  Stone Town is full of touts and peddlers.  Interestingly, Tanzania doesn't have any beggars, just touts and peddlers.  Stone Town is working diligently to clean up its historical center.  It will take many years in order to turn Stone Town around, but there is hope -  the Tembo House Hotel has been remodeled, as has the Africa House Hotel.  We decide to go diving that morning; we have to fly the next night, so we have to dive before noon.  The water is turbid, so the diving is only so-so.  We get to check off "diving in the Indian Ocean" on our 1,000 things to do before you die list.  The next morning we take the ferry from Zanzibar to Dar and head to the international airport terminal.  Fortunately, we booked Business Class on a Swiss Air flight home.

To go, or not to go?  Go, Ethiopia needs more birr.

©2007 Angel Reyes
www.ReyesLaw.com

Full post as published by Angel Reyes Blog on November 15, 2007 (boomark / email).