Our last Harar

Using Addis as our base for the last few weeks of our grand African safari, we established ourselves in a somewhat shoddy hotel with patchy internet, leaking bathtubs, and located above a 7 days a week discotheque, that throbbed through our earplugs into the wee hours of the morn.

When gorging on pizza, chocolate croissants and our daily M&M fix of macchiato and mango juice, got old, we ventured east into a barren, desolate landscape of swirling dust, acacia shrub and one mule towns. We decided on the mysterious town of Harar for our last Hurrah.

Harar is a tiny walled city, of 368 alleyways, a maze of mosques, markets and mayhem. Famous for its markets, it was the commercial meeting point of Africa, India and the Middle East. Today it still contains one of the continents largest camel markets, drawing people in from Somalia and Djibouti to buy and sell these ships of the dessert.  Perhaps more importantly Harer, in the chat centre of Africa and southern Arabia. Chat or qat are the leaves of the shrub Catha Edulis, and chewing them produces a mild high, it is 

illegal in most countries, but wildly popular in such places as Ethiopia, Somalia, and Yemen, to name just a few. After sampling chat in Addis, on our first day, I really don’t get what all the fuss is about, and I certainly don’t understand how the entire afternoon in Harer is spent by almost every one, young and old, laying around chewing bitter leaves, green spit dribbling down their chins. Judgements aside chat is an important export commodity for Ethiopia, and chat planes fly daily to neighbouring countries like Djibouti, freshness being of paramount importance.

We spent some days wandering the maze of Harar and purchasing gorgeous smelling, organic coffee to take back to Finland.  Like humankind, coffee was also born in Ethiopia, and the legend goes that the coffee berries were first discovered sometime between the 5^th and 10^th centuries, by a goat herder, who noticed that his goats were leaping around like hypoactive kids, after chewing on the berries. Unfortunately Ethiopia does not make the most of exporting coffee, and most coffee is exported as  green beans to the west and then processed into coffee, meaning that Ethiopia misses out on the majority of the profits.  Increasingly, however, coffee is being manufactured here, and to support that, Juho and I bought up big, having to buy another suitcase to deal with the excess kilos.

There was another reason, other than coffee and chat, which brought us to Harar: Hyenas. Harar is famous for its ‘hyena men’, who feed hyenas meat, straight from their hands (and also from their mouths!), outside the city gates each night. Juho and I went to view this spectacular occurrence on our last night, taking with us a guide, who looked as if he were 12 years old, but was probably closer to 19. Our guide informed us that hyenas and Hararians were on friendly terms, and nobody, not even a Faranji (foreigner), had been bitten by a hyena in Harar, ever.

After observing hyenas from a distance in the Serengeti, I have to confess I was not a fan, finding their sloping backs and skulking nature creepy, to say the least.  That night in Harar, however my view was altered. The ‘Hyena men ‘, begun by calling the hyenas to come forward, they sung out to the hyenas, in a high pitched tune, not dissimilar to the hyenas own calls. Our guide told us that each hyena had a name, and that the ‘hyena men’, were calling them in by their names.

The hyenas approached tentatively, darting forward to snatch the meat offered to them by the hyena man.  They seemed shy and skittish, but grew more confident after the first few nibbles, and soon everywhere we looked were hyenas. Juho and I were invited forward onto the mat for photo opts, and to feed the hyenas if we were game, we were not. Hyenas are massive! The jaws of a hyena are incredible strong and quite capable of crunching through thick bones. It was a terrifying and exhilarating experience to be so close to the hyenas, and I have a newfound respect and affection for this animal, who received such a bad image from the Lion King. 

Tonight we fly to Istanbul, farewelling the African continent.  Looking back through our thousands of photos, it seems we have had quite a remarkable journey. Many people have asked us “what was your favourite place”, and this is a difficult question to answer. Juho says Malawi, but for me there is no favourite, I loved and loathed things about each place we visited.  There is one thing I am sure about though, apart from the consistent awfulness of the buses, and the repetitive blandness of East African cuisine, Africa is a remarkable diverse continent, a land of contrast and contradiction.

If I had to sum up the essence of Africa, to me it would be in the spirit of a colourful, bustling market, or the chaotic, exhilarating pulse of a bus station at 5 in the morning. Africa is completely different from any other place I have visited, and very much misunderstood and misrepresented in the west.

 

Lalibela, churches built by angels.

Perched high in the mountains, isolated by hundreds of kms of rough dirt road, sits Lalibela, home to astonishing ancient churches, carved directly from giant slabs of rock. The churches date back to the right of King Lalibela in the 12^th or 13^th century. Legend states that god instructed the king to recreate the holy city of Jerusalem here. Furthermore, locals explain the rapid speed with which the churches were built, by claiming that angels took over the workforce at night. As if Lalibela isn’t impressive enough in itself, thousands of pilgrims descend on Lalibela for Fasika(Ethiopian  Easter), dressed in white robes, Ethiopians young and old, crowd into the ancient churches to pay their respects.

The peak of Fasika celebrations occurred on Saturday night, when an incredible mass of people flooded into every church to pray, sing, light candles and wait for the early morning hours to break their 55 days of fasting. We lay on our stomachs on the roof of one church, peering down below at the crowds of people, clad in white robes, waving their candles and praising their god. Children slept huddled together, whispering and giggling, excited to be part of a massive sleepover.

On the morning of the last day of fasting we had visited the Lalibela market, where thousands of people gathered to buy and sell. The main item to purchase on this day is chickens and goats, to be consumed in the feast preceding the final prayers of Fasika. We watched as bleating goats were dragged up the hills to the village, they seemed to know that their hours were numbered.

On Sunday morning, we awoke late to the sounds of animals being slaughtered for the feasts. It is impressive in Ethiopia how little goes to waste, every part of the animals is consumed, and the skin and fur turned into paintings, bags, drums and chairs. In the marketplace there is a degree of recycling to rival the markets of Melbourne, from bracelets made from beer bottle tops, to old umbrella spare parts. The only difference is that these things are sold for a couple of cents.

We left Lalibela by plane, cheating a little bit, but hey if you had spent the past few weeks, bumping over shocking mountain roads, in buses falling to bits at the seams, I’m sure you would take the 40min flight back to Addis too.

Ethiopia: The birthplace of mankind.

After the monotony of East African cuisine, Addis Ababa sent our tastebuds into convulsions. Colourful dollops of spicy wat on top of tangy injera, Spaghetti piled impossibly high, mouth watering pizza dripping in cheese, freshly squeezed mango juice, strong honey wine, served in glass vessels resembling flower vases and piping hot macchiato, available at cafes every 5 steps or less. After months of eating tough boiled meat with tasteless Ugali, Juho and I were in food heaven.

Addis is a chaotic city of more than 2.8 million people, and it seems to be ever expanding, as half the city is under construction. I immediately felt very underdressed as gorgeous specimens strutted past in 10 inch heels, immaculately dressed as if they had stepped straight off the catwalks of Milano.

Beyond the gates of Addis Ababa the country changes dramatically, gone are the flashy clothes, replaced by faded robes, bare feet or cheap plastic sandals, and donkeys laden down with heavy sacks. Three hours into our journey north to Bahir Dar, our bus broke down on the side of a mountain. We sat outside and marvelled at the view over the deep gorge and the Blue Nile River, which snakes through the valleys on its way to the Red sea. This was enjoyable for the first hour, but after 6 hours of sitting in the baking hot sun, not so much.

Eventually the part we needed arrived and we were on our way again in the late afternoon shadows. Creeping down the narrow mountain pass, our bus side swiped a truck and lost the side mirror, leading to another lengthy delay as the bus driver had to report to the police station to file a report.

We arrived in Bahir Dar close to 11pm, and half the bus (including the poor driver) piled exhausted into the closest hotel. Bahir Dar sits on the shores of Lake Tana, which is the source of the Blue Nile River and home to island monasteries from the late 16^th century. Recovering from a bad cold brought on by the cool climate change of Addis, and the traumatic bus journey, Juho and I spent lazy days sitting on the balcony overlooking the wide, palm lines streets that border Lake Tana.

From Bahir Dar we travelled north to the ancient kingdom of Gonder. Bus rides in Ethiopia are something else entirely; winding through fields and villages, surrounded by crumbling rock fences, past shepherds tending to their flocks, and donkeys transporting wares, you can’t help but feel like you have been transported back to another age. In the Ethiopian countryside people live much the same as they have for thousands of years, in the same kind of stone houses; following traditional farming practices, preparing the same injera outside their huts. To top things off buses here blare religious Amharic music at full volume, making us feel as if we are living in a bizarre film clip.

Not only does Ethiopia have its own language (Amharic) complete with a beautiful, baffling script, but they also have their own calendar and concept of time. At 6am it is 12 o’clock, after one hour of sunshine it is 1 o’clock, and when sun sets instead of being 6pm, it is once again 12 o’clock, pretty rational really, but it does make it confusing when finding out what times buses leave. The Ethiopian calendar ( based on the ancient Egyptian Coptic calendar)  puts Ethiopia 7 and a half years behind, so I have been transported back to my early 20’s and lets not even get in to how old Juho is.

Gonder castle, sits on a hill in the centre of the city, behind high stone walls. It has a history to rival the drama of Game of Thrones. Gonder was a place of extreme brutality and endless conspiracy, of queens, kings, ladies, lords and priests all trying to undermine and overthrow each other. From the towers you can see to all corners of the kingdom, and it is easy to imagine armies of horsemen approaching in the distance.

Leaving Gonder took us though the stunning Simien Mountains of jagged peaks, deep valleys and soring eagles. Unfortunately it also took us down and up extremely narrow mountain passes, along unsealed rocky roads, in an ancient bus, packed with people and chickens. We arrived late in a one horse town south of Axum where we bedded down for the night in a flea bag hotel for the grand price of $5.

Aksum, the Queen of Sheba’s capital, dates back to 400 BC and was the centre point of a powerful empire which dominated the sea-borne trade between Africa and Asia. Today Aksum’s secrets remain largely undiscovered, buried in tombs underneath the ground, real Indiana Jones kinda stuff.