Part 3 - Time in Axum
Here
I'll continue from part two of my time in Axum.
I was travelling the countryside between the town and the airport of
Axum, where I climbed towards a small monastery. Although it had caught
my attention, it was not originally my goal to really go there. I just
wanted to get close to it, to admire it standing way on top of an old
volcano's core granite. But children running up to greet me, told me
where I had to go, without taking the trouble to ask me where I was
going.
So I ended up right in front of the church, and decided to enter, after
all, being interested in what it would look like. The compound seemed
wisely built to sustain the needs of those present inside. There was
a very small fenced section for goats, and another one for some gardening.
Then there was a very small building with a stone porch, on which were
gathered all the inhabitants. They summed up one old grey priest and
about a dozen small children.
The small children looked ten times as poor as any other I have seen
anywhere in the country, wearing ragged strips of dirty clothing, and
having smeared faces with crusts and small wounds abound. I kept wondering
what was their situation. Were they orphans? Were they left there by
parents unable to care for them? Were the made to look more appalling
than all the other children to instil pity in visitors? It's always
hard to tell in this country. But I decided not to linger on it. Ethiopians
taught me to consider life as being life. It is what it is. It begins
and it ends, and in between is good and bad.
The priest was having them read scripture out loud, which made me think
it was more important to the priest that they could memorise the bible,
than to understand it. There seemed to be some contest on speed and
melody of the words, as well as in the amount known by heart. As the
priest told them to go on reading, he had another help him bring their
treasures out of the small building they were sitting in front of.
I was shown some crosses, some bibles and their religious drawings and
other such typically Ethiopian relics. Then, he beckoned me to follow
him up the stone stairs around the back of the small building, leading
up to the main church building. At some point along the stairs he took
of his sandals and asked me to take off my shoes, and we proceeded bare-footed.
Inside the church, behind ragged cloth hanging from the ceiling, were
murals and paintings of Jesus, Mary and numerous saints. He walked from
one to the other, pulling aside the cloth and telling something about
what I saw. After all that, when I was ready to leave again, the priest
asked me for some money, which I gladly gave, not because of the look
of the children, or the tour of old things, but because it seemed like
this was the only way of surviving for him and his children. The small
bits of money coming their way from the few tourists not too lazy to
walk all the way over there.
By now I had seen enough of Axum to decide it was hardly a place where
my spoiled and inexperienced self would be able to survive for long,
even though it would have been easy to find my place in the community.
All the available girls in town were willing to marry me, and some local
souvenir shop wanted me to make them some woodcutting art, after having
seen me working on my staff on the terrace, in front of my hotel, every
time I returned from a walk. I had made two after I had been inspired
by the movie 'lord of the rings', before I left to Ethiopia, and had
taken one, for walking the earth is easier with a staff. I noticed that
it came in handy a lot of times, and saw all the Ethiopian men do the
same. It made a very good impression everywhere I went.
But, as it was, I had decided to leave Axum behind, to try my luck around
the Simien mountains, figuring there had to be sources of rivers there,
and rugged unclaimed land, where I could build a living. All that was,
at that point, keeping me in Axum, was the need for me to leave my place
of stay with friends back home, for which I needed internet, which I
had yet to find in operation anywhere.
When I finally did, and was ready to leave, I was sitting in the bar
of the hotel, when a man joined me at my table. He turned out to be
a French train driver, who was travelling Ethiopia for 2.5 months, as
this was his holiday, and he liked travelling the world. He had been
to the Philippines, India, Mexico, Mauritania, Madagascar, Bolivia,
Venezuela, Cuba, and who knows how many more places. He too wanted to
go to the Simien Mountains, but only in two days time, so he asked me
to stay a little longer, so we could go together. I jumped on this possibility,
for the lone backpacker is always craving for people whom he can talk
with in the same language and who come from the same kind of background.
Not that this means his travel is masochism, for the beauty of backpacking
is worth all the trouble, but at times you feel like having someone
around who shares your feelings and experiences.
He asked me if I knew any good places to go that night, for he wanted
to go into the town. So I told him of the places I had been brought
to by the guide, and added a warning that he should not buy any of the
girls any drinks. He asked me why, and I told him it was a sort of reservation
of the girl to do so. So he answered that it depended then, on whether
he wanted the girl. I know now, that should have discouraged me to go
with him.
But I did not, for my mind was set upon going to the Simien Mountains
and here was someone who travelled the country for 1.5 months already
and had learned some Amharic and Tigrinya in the mean time. Who knew
all about travel in poor countries and how to manage things here in
Ethiopia. He felt like a blessing to my disoriented mind.
So, the next day I invited him to join the coffee ceremony I was again
invited to, by the hotel's girls all probably wanting to marry me. I
noticed there, he liked talking about girls and women and he made passes
at them at every opportunity. But still I felt fine with that, having
spent many years of the same lust in earlier years, and could understand.
We also ate together in the hotel's restaurant, where we were asked
to join two people at the table next to us. An American woman and a
well dressed Ethiopian. I learned that the woman was working for the
UN, for the WHO. The French guy asked her what the UN was doing in town,
and I interjected: "Haven't you noticed, they drive around town
in fancy cars all day", as a witty remark to the many UN 4WD's
driving around all day.
Enough of them going in and out of the town all day, to bring all the
food and medicine the population might ever need, although every one
of them was always empty but for a driver, and maybe some UN personnel.
She answered, with a nervous laugh, that "yes, that is actually
most of what we are doing" She then started to explain that "no,
seriously, we do a lot of good work here", but never got around
to giving any example or explanation at all of their good work.
But they were nice enough people, even though the girl was staying at
the Remhai, a deliriously fancy hotel with fancier prices, and a swimming
pool that was rapidly evaporating precious water each day, even though
no one ever swam there, barring the girl that had nothing to do in the
internet cafe that had lost the password to their server. She even told
us that the swimming pool was free to enter for anyone. Still little
swimming took place there, only waste. But, for them being nice, we
decided to eat together again, in a restaurant in town.
Another luxurious place was the restaurant we visited together. We had
however an Ethiopian rich man with us, who could tell us what the menu
offered us and talk about Ethiopia and all we wanted to know about it.
The talk however got turned to the UN and the woman mostly, who commented
on the television that was on inside the restaurant. It was showing
some members of the government, and she proudly proclaimed she met and
even knew some of them, as her function brought her into contact with
them.
It was interesting to notice that she could tell all about the fancy
people over in Addis, while being unable to explain the function of
the UN in Axum.
What she could do, was invite us to join her the next day, as she was
taking the fancy UN car out into the country to visit some church. I
declined, stating I had seen a church just before and had no interest
in another right now. Then we asked for the bill, and as I was getting
ready to simply pay the bill, my fellow diners noticed that the prices
on the bill of the Ethiopian differed from the prices on the other bills.
It turned out all faranji paid twice the normal price.
The Ethiopian guy then went into a heated discussion with the manager,
who refused to change the bills, for foreigners were rich enough to
pay the higher price, and it was nonsense to let them pay less. Eventually
however, as he explained to us later, our Ethiopian friend pointed out
that the menu didn't register different prices for different people,
and his claims were therefore ungrounded, which forced the manager to
let us pay the same price as the Ethiopians.
You can find out a lot of things about people in restaurants, so it
seems. Another instance I had in an Axum restaurant, was with a group
of Italian tourists, dining together. They had taken up two thirds of
the room, having placed some tables together in two long rows. One to
eat at, and another bearing a rich abundance of food, right smack in
the longest fasting period of the country. They had almost finished
when I entered, and were arguing with the manager that his food was
bad. The tomatoes did not taste the way tomatoes had to taste and the
bread was not of the required quality. The water was tasteless and the
wine of the poorest kind. They decided they did not need to pay for
this mess, and didn't. However, they did feel they could return to their
table to fill the last room to stretch for their fat bellies, and finish
with a cigarette, the ashes of which were left on their plates, in the
absence of an ashtray within reach. How low can humanity sink?
And then came the day that we were to leave. I was sitting with the
French guy in the restaurant of our hotel. We had both paid our bills
and packed our bags, and were having breakfast before going on our way.
Behind me I heard a familiar voice. I looked around to notice a woman
with her back to me, talking to the manager of the hotel. I told the
French guy I thought I knew her, and rose to walk over there. It was
the English girl I had met in Addis some weeks before.
She had just come from the western road bypassing lake Tana, Gondar
and the Simien mountains, and was leaving for Lalibela in some days
time. She was now trying to find both internet and some authorities,
since a member of her group had dropped dead in the mountains. She was
obviously, and understandably shaken by the whole thing. She told me,
as an example of the demanding and egoistic nature of her group, that
some of them had had the nerve to complain about the absence of warm
running water, the very same night after the man had died.
She asked me if I'd still be there at the hotel, when she'd return from
contacting her agency. So I told her I wasn't, for I was leaving with
the Frenchman for Shire that day by bus. The buses only run in the morning,
so as not to have to drive into the night on dangerous roads in complete
darkness. She then asked me to just please be there, and to this very
day I am feeling a huge amount of quilt for not staying around to be
of some support. I had figured I would soon run out of money, and would
probably not be able to make it to the Simien Mountains if I'd stay
behind a single day more, not having enough for food, a bed and the
bus fares. I figured if I'd lose the chance to travel with the experienced
Frenchman, I'd be stuck and in a world of trouble.
So I left, even though I might just as well have gone with the English
girl, having prearranged travel and stay for one person who was no longer
around. Something I realised as late as having returned to the Netherlands.
She did even provide me with the address of a good hotel in Debark to
visit, when going to the mountains, added to the map of the mountains
she had gotten me when in Addis. It seems she gave me more than I did
her. Thus, I arrived at the bus station, on the airport side of the
border of the town of Axum. We were engulfed in people wanting to sell
us tickets to any place we would like to go, and ended up walking from
bus to bus, following instructions by many different people. "Shire?
Yes, yes, here", pointing at some bus. "Shire, no, this bus
not go. That one", being sent to another. "No, no, this bus
is full, better take that one. Good price." And so on.
Anyway, we did end up in one bus, and with much shoving and pushing
and people tying our bags to the roof, we managed to squeeze into the
children sized seats of the dusty, sand filled, rusty bus.
Shortly after a small riot broke, in which all the people were rising,
shouting, gesturing and eventually even fist fighting. People were getting
off the bus in huge masses and we were uncertain of what was happening.
It seemed there was some discussion with the ticket seller of this particular
bus, and then with the driver, who showed great promise as a boxer.
We were wondering whether to get off the bus, but decided to stay until
finding out what it was that was going wrong. The bus did get populated
by people again though, and set off in the end, so we were happy to
see the problems seemed solved.
We drove into the back streets of the town however, bobbing and jumping
on terribly inadequate roads. This could not possibly be the normal
route for the bus, for it seemed unable to carry any motorised traffic
at all.
It turned out this was true. It was not the usual route, it was the
way to the local police station, were the driver had to go inside, having
been the main player in the small riot. As it turned out, we, as the
tourists, and therefore paying more than the total of the other people
in the bus, were the only ones initially to want to go to Shire. The
ticket vendor and the driver had decided it was worth the trouble of
ignoring the wishes of almost everyone else in the bus, who had come
from Mekele, and were visiting the church in Axum.
When they had found out that they were not going to be brought down
to the church, but would be left at the side of the road leading towards
Shire, they were logically displeased. So most of them had gotten off
the bus, and reclaimed their money. Another sign of things going wrong
that day. However, after some time at the police station we returned
to the main road, still a bouncing stretch of hole-filled dirt, and
left for Shire.
I still have some other things about Axum, like the visiting of the
President of Congo, and his warm welcome with songs, bells, processions
and children waving flags, but nothing that I have spent much time bothering
with and too much detail to fill my accounts up with.
I'd like to describe more of the country and my voyage through it, instead
of depleting every experience I had at every hour. There is too much,
and most of it is something one should see for oneself. So I leave Axum
and all it's wonders. And will tell about my voyage from Axum to Debark
and the Simien mountains next. I had by now gotten a map and an address
from the English girl, who seemed to support my idea of visiting the
mountains.
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