Beer!
It is forty degrees Celsius when we cross the border between Sudan and Ethiopia. We long for this new country, which is largely situated above 2000 metres and thus relatively cool. It will be a relief after the Sudanese oven making overtime. But, we haven't reached there yet. The border is situated in the lower plains and therefore hot as well. Sweat is dripping from our bodies when we arrange all the immigration formalities with the help of a friendly and efficient customs officer. Peter's eye catches a poster behind the man's desk on the mud wall under the grass roof. The text makes his heart beat a lot faster and increases his thirst: 'Save water, drink beer'. That's the right spirit!
Abiyi Nagash, a young Ethiopian who is visiting his family in the border village of Matama, helps us finding a cheap hotel. It has only very tiny single rooms with mud walls, corrugated iron-roofs and saggy beds. We take two. Then the time has come to save some water and Peter drinks his first cold beer. Delicious! Unfortunately I don't like the taste of beer at all.
Later we get acquainted with the Ethiopian kitchen: injera, a sour pancake made of tef, a type of grain only grown in Ethiopia. It feels a bit spongy, but the taste is nice. Injera is served with different kinds of sauces and a choice of meats and cheeses. An invitation to be part of a coffee ceremony at Abiyi's family is readily accepted by us.
The Ethiopian coffee ceremony is quite famous and rightly so: first the green coffee beans are thoroughly washed in a shallow metal bowl over a charcoal fire. Then they are roasted until their colour is almost black, pounded in a high mortar and cooked. The entire ceremony takes about thirty minutes and is performed by Abiyi's ten year old cousin. She pours the strong coffee, with sugar to taste, into small coffee cups. Apart from the deliciously spiced coffee Peter drank in Sudan, this is the best coffee he's ever tasted.
Our day-off is spent with Abiyi, who shows us around the village. Our tour is accompanied by many shouting children: "You, you, you, ferengi!" At this moment we can't imagine that this sound will literally sicken us in a couple of weeks, despite the warnings in our guidebook. The women look beautiful, their uncovered hair woven into hundreds of tiny braids, their faces delicately cut and sometimes tattooed. Boy's heads are completely shaven apart from a tuft of hair in front, girls are almost bold except for a Mohican haircut. Some men belong to the southern Dinka tribe, which is recognisable by the horizontal scars on their foreheads. The shops contain a very limited assortment: if you remove the many jars of hair-cream and the bars of soap there's hardly anything left. We start practicing the Amharic language, after having gotten used to speaking Arab the last seven months. It is not an easy task, it takes us two days to learn the equivalent of thank you: amesaganalu. The eloquent Amharic writing will, just like the Arabic, remain illegible to us.
At six am, at the first light of day, we're on our way to Gonder, an over two hundred kilometres ascent on stony roads. There is a lot of movement already this early: people walk with their livestock in search of a green patch of savanna. Some goats and cows go on their own, they know their way around. Children appear from everywhere to greet us in a hysterical way. The bad road seems to get even worse: every metre has to be conquered in heat and dust, our speed sinks below ten kilometres per hour. The lack of traffic is an advantage, that we're not able to look around us a major disadvantage: the road claims all of our attention. Calm rests do not exist: every quiet spot we sit down at is quickly invaded by children and men, staring at us from a metre or two. It's not easy to enjoy a sandwich this way.
The first night we find a spot for our tent on a desolated stretch of savanna, behind some towering bushes. It's pitch dark when I'm in bed and Peter is brushing his teeth. In the light of his headtorch he sees, about thirty metres away, something resembling a small green-yellow light. And a couple of metres further another one. Then one of the lights moves and suddenly they're gone. No lights, but eyes. But whose or from what? A minute later Peter hears a rustling sound in the big acacia bush behind our tent. He steals over there and uses his headlight to try to discover what causes the noise. Again he sees an eye and close to it another one, about three metres away. He then observes a big bundle of reed sticking horizontally out of the shrubs. Strange reed though, with black and white stripes. Peter takes another good look and suddenly sees the outline of two big porcupines. Both of them are watching Peter. He wonders what to do, not knowing whether they are dangerous or not. He wakes me up, I follow him reluctantly. Unfortunately both porcupines have disappeared and we can't find them anywhere.
The next morning, during our first break, we hear shouting coming from the trees around us. A group of soldiers appears out of the forest and suddenly we see monkeys running, climbing, jumping and screaming everywhere. The soldiers startled the Vervet-monkeys, which are fleeing now. Luckily the men in uniform don't have any bad intentions and we've seen our first wild monkeys!
Once in a while we stop in a village to replenish our water, it's still very hot. Villages consist of no more than a couple of huts alongside the road. Most huts have a yard housing some goats, chicken and cows; some huts turn out to be shops or tea-houses. People are walking everywhere, the high amount of children is especially striking. Most of them wear old and torn rags and walk barefeet on the stony ground. Poverty seems to increase the further we come. Every time we enter a village the entire population gathers around us, staring at us with open mouths.
After having filled our water bottles we attempt to find a quiet place in the shade, which isn't easy at all. During the long climb the sun is directly above us and for kilometres there is not a single suitable place. We are alone when we finally find a tree throwing some shadow. Not even five minutes later two sets of eyes watch us from up close, followed by five other pairs ten minutes later. We are substitute television. While a large black hornbill passes overhead an elderly man and his eight-year-old son approach us. He signals the boy, who starts coughing deeply. He then spits right next to us: blood, and judging by the colour it's fresh. Then the man asks us for medicine. We tell him we're not doctors and advise him to go to a hospital in Gonder. He doesn't take no for an answer though and the whole ritual is repeated twice. We have no intention of making a wrong diagnosis and handing out improper medicines and therefore refuse to help. After a while the man gives up and climbs back to his village.
That same night, camping on the most beautiful bushcamp spot of our journey so far, with phenomenal views of the surrounding mountains and valleys, we get soaked by the first heavenly waters since Cairo. That was three months ago! Finally, finally the temperature goes down. Whilst living in the Netherlands we could have never imagined a rain shower could be so delightful.
Oh, fabulous rain...
