Climbing Kilimanjaro

One of our first views of the Uhuru Peak

I have long been at odds with writing this last blog post. If I am completely honest, I lost interest. Having been back from the adventure for so long I no longer felt the thrill of telling the story. I began my first term at the University of Exeter and I became distracted, the blog was moved to the back of my mind. However, I had never truly achieved closure with it and I irritated me not to have completed it. After all, My Gap Year is now long over. Many more than 495 days have passed since my first post and so I went back and took a look at the things I have written. I realized the magic of it all. What I had done, what I had seen and what it meant to have it recorded in this blog. Here is my account of Kilimanjaro.

Uhuru Peak had always been the final destination for my gap year. It would be both a figurative and quite literal way of topping off everything I had done. Kilimanjaro is perhaps one of the most famous mountains in the world. The dormant volcano looms over the vast Kenyan Tanzanian savannah in all its mysterious grandeur. Its beauty and exotic appeal beckon climbers of all ages to test its slopes. Enthralled by this igneous temptress, Jacob and I had at last reached the town of Moshi that lies at its base. After the drive from Arusha we spent one last night in the Honey Badger Lodge, a hotel reminiscent of a European youth hostel, so we could get an early start the next day.

A porter making his way past with Mt. Meru in the background

Our guides, Filbert and Robert picked us up on the morning of August 3^rd in a van with our equipment and of course our cook, Paul, our waiter, Pascal and two of the eventual 5 porters. At first Jacob and I thought that having 9 people along was simply unnecessary but seeing them balance 20kg bags on their heads in addition to their own belongings quickly made us think that perhaps they weren’t enough! As is typical of this time of the year, the view of the peak is blocked by a permanent cloud layer, leaving everything to the imagination. This meant that when we reached Machame Gate we were stood in the middle of a sprawling moist rainforest abandoned by the sun. In fact, we would stay within the cloud layer for the whole 10km that day feeling slightly confined and desperately curious to see the top. And yet the jungle retained its own eerie allure, the moss covered trees and hanging vines giving the impression it were under some kind of spell.

Despite the 1200m climb to Machame Camp, it was probably the easiest day considering the relatively easy terrain and our energy levels still being high. Upon arriving, the first thing that happens – after dropping our bags and taking a photo with the sign showing the altitude level – is signing into a book as proof to the mountain authorities that we made it. This is followed by a relaxing tea in the ‘dining tent’ just before having an excellent dinner prepared for us. The food was actually surprisingly good, normally consisting of well spiced fried chicken and fries. As our tent was already set up, all we had to do before going to sleep was to set up our sleeping bags and zip shut the tent door. Of course, this door would have to be regularly opened during the night as for some reason when sleeping in tents the bladder becomes significantly weaker – perhaps the second most worst part of climbing a mountain after altitude sickness. The freezing temperatures combined with the reeking shacks guarding a hole in the ground was unpleasant to put it mildly.

We woke up the next morning to have our first view of Kilimanjaro. The clouds were much lower in the morning allowing us to see the striking snowcapped peak. It was magnificent. It gave the surreal feeling of being on an island in a sea of clouds, as if the sense of mystery had reversed as the ground became the unknown. Seeing our destination filled us with a new sense of motivation but also respect for what we had set out to do.



The most significant observation to be made on the hike to Shira Camp at 3800m is the change in environment. We transitioned from rainforest to bushes to shrubs until the landscape finally became rugged and barren. It was a terrain formed by the lava flows of the once active volcano. However, the position of Shira Camp which overlooked Mt. Meru in the distance gave one of the most spectacular sunsets I’ve seen. The dimming sun cast its orange light over Uhuru Peak giving it a profound majesty. 

Sunset viewed from Shira Camp with Mt. Meru in the back

The third day of the hike was the first time I experienced difficulty with altitude. Rather than consistently gaining altitude, we ascended quickly to the Lava Tower at 4900m and then descended again to Barranco which is only slightly higher than Shira. The purpose of this was to be better physically and mentally prepared for the much more dramatic change of altitude coming up. Just the 900 meter difference from Shira to the Lava Tower gave me a throbbing headache. The Lava Tower is an impressive 100m high pillar like formation of lava rock emerging from the grey lava plain.

Behind us looms the Lava Tower

The hike was nonetheless stunning as it took us through fields of stones covered in orange moss. The forces of erosion had for some reason allowed these rocks to remain like petrified trolls. Some rocks were eroded in a way that made them look like mushrooms where it seemed that only a little nudge was needed to shove the top off. After having lunch at the Lava Tower, we descended to Barranco which took us through a very different landscape as we found ourselves following a stream bordered by oddly shaped small palm trees endemic to the mountain. Going downhill, even if only slightly, almost immediately makes one feel better. By the time we reached Barranco I was feeling a lot better, particularly as on the way down we passed a man who must have been no younger than 70.

Barranco camp gave us another beautiful view of Uhuru Peak, this time from a very different angle. Whereas the slope had previously seemed quite smooth, we could now make out how rugged and steep it really was. It became evident that the hardest part of this ascent had yet to come. Alas, we were proven right within the first five minutes of the next day when we faced the Barranco Wall.

Jacob learns to fly

This is a 257m high cliff face where a path reminiscent of the stairs in Lord of the Rings: Return of the King winds up the whole way. For the first time, we were required to use our hands to help pull us over and around obstacles. Not surprisingly for those who know me, I found this to be a great start to the day! However, while I was only carrying a small backpack, the porters were somehow managing to climb up with 20kg balanced on their heads. The porters really do give an impression of invincibility. Neither the weight, the incline nor the altitude seem to bother them. You’ll see them taking short breaks now and then but otherwise they will be darting past you as you struggle to take another step. Of course, if you like our guides have climbed the mountain around a hundred times then perhaps it does become second nature. In fact, there are some truly impressive record holders on Kilimanjaro. The fastest ascent and descent was made by Karl Egloff who did it in 6 hours, 56 minutes and 24 seconds! The youngest to make it up was 7 and the oldest was 86.

Enjoying Paul's good food

In addition to climbing mountains our cook, Paul, would make us exceptionally good food. For lunch that day we stopped at Karanga Camp where we ate traditionally spiced chicken with French fries along with two kinds of salad. This was actually quite similar to what we ate on safari (or almost every day for that matter), leading me to guess that Jacob and I weren’t the only Westerners who enjoyed it!

From Karanga we made our way up to Barafu Camp, therefore returning to the 4600m altitude we experienced at the Lava Tower. As we ascended through passing clouds and the temperature slowly decreased, the headache came back. By the time we had climbed over the last ridge and arrived at the camp we were knackered. We didn’t get much time to rest however. The plan was to have an early dinner and try to get some sleep before waking up at midnight to begin the final ascent to the top. A mixture of excitement and paracetamol ensured that we would be up the task.

 



At the top with Jacob, Robert and Filbert (left to right)

When Jacob and I got out of our tent (not having got any sleep), it was dark. The moon and the stars shone down on a trail of lights slowly making its way up the mountain. Once we were ready, we joined that trail. Although we felt a lot better than a few hours before, it was extremely important that we only inch our way up pole pole, slowly slowly. This was to avoid having to be rushed down because of altitude sickness as with one poor guy who was guided down past us. Jacob and I were also both strongly affected. After a few hours our heads were throbbing so badly that we were on the verge of quitting.  It was dark, cold and the top was nowhere to be seen. But Filbert and Robert didn’t allow us to stop. They told us that it almost never happens that they have to turn around. So we took another paracetamol, drank a bunch of water and kept going. Then at around 6:00, we reached Stella Point – the first point on the rim of the crater. Now that the sun was slowly rising behind us, we could see how far we had come from Barafu. We now saw the crater of the volcano, what is left of the glacier covering the side of the peak but most importantly, Uhuru Peak was in sight! All that was left was to walk the last few hundred meters around the rim. It was at this moment that I felt my determination replenish. The agonizing headache and sleep deprivation were now only half as bad with the destination in sight. At about 7:00 we finally made it. We stood among the cheerful crowd of people who had made it just as we had, standing in line to take a photo with the famous wooden sign.

Exhausted!

We spent about 20 minutes at the top before heading back down again for what was still a long day ahead of us. Furthermore, as the ‘high’ of reaching the top faded, the headache came back full on and so I wanted to get back down ASAP! Instead of walking down the same path, we basically sank back down again by sliding down grey sand. It was far from safe but it meant we could make our way down fast. We were so excited to get rid of the headache, get back to the warmth and get some rest that we were actually running down the mountain. Although it took 7 hours to reach Uhuru Peak, it took little over an hour to go back down again.

Back at Barafu we didn’t have long to relax. We had some breakfast but soon enough we had to be on our way again in order to reach our last campsite of the climb. At 3000m, the descent to Mweka was pleasant for our heads. However, soon enough pain in the brain shifted to the knees as the downward slope began to put a lot of pressure them. I guess you can’t have it all! Going back down also meant that we were returning to vegetation. We began to see shrubs, then bushes and finally we were surrounded by the jungle once more. Our view of the peak was once again hidden by the clouds.

Our last view of the mountain

Before we set off on our final morning, our team of porters came together and sang us Kilimanjaro, Hakuna Matata. In Swahili they named each camp/place we reached followed by hakuna matata (it means no worries). It was a fantastic way to see off the journey and we thanked them profusely for all they’d done for us with a handshake and of course, the necessary tip that they need to support their families. For many young men becoming a porter is a way out of poverty, particularly if they study tourism and return as a guide. Whereas porters are tipped about $20 each, the guides receive around $100 (and we gave the whimsical student tips – the worst type of customer!).

The final descent through the jungle was a comfortable walk in comparison to what we had done in the previous days. At a leisurely pace we made our way down with satisfied smiles on our faces. We managed to get one last glimpse of the mountain through the trees before the clouds hid it for the rest of our trip. Eventually, we reached Mweka village where our transport back to the Honey Badger Lodge was waiting for us. We signed our names into the mountain records a final time and received our certificates for reaching Uhuru Peak. This official recognition gave the accomplishment the final stamp it needed. Kilimanjaro is undoubtedly one of the most challenging endeavors I have ever completed. It was mentally and physically taxing and pushed me to my limits. My gap year was now sealed off having achieved everything I had set out to.

 

The team

On Safari: Tarangire and the Maasai

I was not a newcomer to safaris when my cousin Jacob and I traversed the vast Tarangire, Serengeti and Ngorongoro in our specially adapted Toyota Landcruiser. Having family in South Africa meant that the rare visit provided the opportunity to see Africa's iconic nature. Nonetheless, my fading memory of those childhood experiences as well the uniqueness of the Northern Tanzanian parks resulted in an experience that felt entirely new.  The sheer density of wildlife to be observed is nothing short of remarkable.  Added to this are the rare geographic phenomenon that have given the area the rightful title of a natural wonder.

Our first destination was Tarangire National Park. It is here that during the dry season, thousands of animals - elephants in particular - collect on the shores of water holes to survive the consequent aridity. These water holes, no more than ponds in size, become the scene of the emblematic African biodiversity. The small warthog, or pumba in swahili, disturb no one and stand proudly in what small space they occupy. The zebra, which under closer examination shows closer resemblance to a donkey than a horse, are found standing close to their kind. It is, of course, the effect of them standing together in large groups to give the appearance of one large animal that deters predators from hunting them.  Ever living in peaceful coexistence with the zebra are the gnus or wildebeest.  This populous species takes advantage of its numbers to spread across all open areas where the males seek to establish their own little contested spheres of influence.  Nonetheless, like pigeons flying from a running child in a city square, the gnus give way to the much larger elephant when it is their turn at the water hole.  The largest land mammal is both menacing in its size yet decidedly peaceful in its slow and gentle movements. The giraffe, sometimes reaching 6 meters in height, walk clumsily from acacia to acacia in search of their lofty snacks.

Surrounding the animals are the immense baobab trees watching in their idleness. Along with having one of the most dense elephant populations in the world, the same is true for baobabs which rise from the landscape like dandelions in Spring. Baobabs exist only where there are large reserves of ground water, explaining why they do not appear in for example Serengeti. They are often called the upside down tree because of their reciprocal appearance - legend says that the baobab was cast down from the skies landing head first with its roots upwards.

The first half hour of a safari tour is perhaps one of the most exciting where every animal you see is cause for jubilation and a hundred photographs. Then, slowly but surely, you become accustomed to the wild life and it takes truly special things to awake your interest. This increases from a passing elephant herd, a family of baboons and finally to the big cats. We saw our first lion of the trip laying comfortably on the branch of an acacia. With this rare sighting of a lion in a tree we discovered that all lions in fact climb trees, dispelling the myth of the “Tree Climbing Lion” supposedly home to the Manyara-Tarangire region. In the two days of tours into Tarangire, we could come across more lions as well as 8 cheetah (always in pairs).

On our third day out on safari, we were on the road again on the way to Serengeti. However, on the way we would first make a visit to a Maasai village. We had seen numerous Maasai on the way herding their cattle in their unmistakable red cloths. Like most Maasai villages open to tourism, ours was just off the main road. We were welcomed in the traditional welcome dance which can be seen being performed in this video:

As we were brought through the village gate the Maasai formed a line and invited us to join their famous jumping dance. My years of basketball did little in my hopes of competing with the warriors who soared above me. 

A Maasai village is structured in a simple fashion as a result of their nomadic culture. The houses are made of a combination of dried mud, grass and cow dung. Each house is divided into three sections; one bed for the parents, one for the children and the kitchen.  Cooking is done inside over a fire fueled primarily by cow dung. With only the door for ventilation, I can only imagine how the house fills with smoke as they prepare their meals. All houses are built within a sort of wall built by dried bushes. Inside the village is another ‘wall’ where the cattle are kept at night. The threat of wild animals such as lions is real. The Maasai warrior who guided us told us he has killed 7 lions and thus deserving the right to wear a lion tooth necklace (which he can also sell to tourists at a handsome price).

Outside the village is the kindergarten where young Maasai children are taught the alphabet and numbers in Maa, Swahili and English. They are then sent to boarding schools far away to complete the rest of their education.

The Maasai are a proud but simple people caught in the tangles of modernization. They once controlled most of the area of today’s Kenya and Tanzania and are the southernmost Nilotic speakers. However, they suffered near total destruction in the 1890’s with the arrival of Rinderpest and smallpox as well as successive years of droughts.  Some estimates claim that as much as 90% of cattle died in this period. Furthermore, German and British colonization resulted in much of their land taken away for the purpose of settler ranches. Nowadays the Maasai are reduced to a poor minority in Kenya and Tanzania where they struggle to integrate whilst upholding their culture. Through tourism, Maasai villages can make several hundred dollars a day during high season but this must of course be divided among the 120+ people that make up a village. The consequences of this are yet to be seen, but there might be evidence of “When Tourism becomes a Double-Edged Sword”, as my former colleague writes in the Ethiopian Reporter. For the time being, however, the Maasai and for that matter, Tanzanians in general, warmly welcome more tourists to their country.

My Time as a Journalist in Ethiopia

Working as a journalist in Ethiopia has brought me to the most remarkable places and has allowed me to meet incredible people.  I have reported from various parts of the country, most memorably so in Benishangul-Gumuz and the Wollo Highlands near Lalibela.  It has been a joy and I have gained a lot from it.

While I have relished the opportunity to write and travel almost without restriction, I have been unable to decide if a career in journalism is something for me. If I were a journalist, I feel that I would have to be some sort of travel columnist or commentator on the opinion pages.

What has irritated me in the past few months has been the overwhelming independence and the lack of knowledge/experience of what I am supposed to be doing anyways. First of all, as a journalist you have no schedule; there is only the deadline for your articles and any appointments you have made. This makes it difficult to find motivation to go out and do things, which brings me to my second point. While the aim of a journalist is quite straight forward (find stories and write about them), without any training or contacts it is difficult to find good things to write about. 

A lot of the time I relied on my creativity to put together my impressions and observations into a readable story. This is most evident in my last article, which may or may not be published tomorrow. Originally, I planned to meet my friend Julius so that he could show me the work his NGO has done. This would have made a relatively easy article to write as all I must do is put facts into sentences.  However, fate would have it different when some internal problems in the NGO would make it inadvisable for me to write about them. Since two other stories I had as back up didn’t work out either, I was forced to create something out of what I had observed on Entoto. However, as it turns out, the article might actually be better than anything I could have written purely about Julius’ NGO. As it happens, to turn something that is at first sight bland into something of interest to the reader is quite a stimulating challenge. It is in fact what I prefer to do over a more generic, explanation-of-fact based article. 

Only today did I meet Yacob Wolde-Mariam, a veteran journalist and editor of practically every English speaking Ethiopian newspaper since the early 50’s. He is 85 years old and and has lived through Italian occupation, Selassie’s Empire, the Dergue dictatorship and the current more democratic and development oriented regime. He speaks 5 languages (Oromo, Amharic, English, French and Italian) and has travelled to various parts of the world, including Germany, as a correspondent to international conferences and events. 

He still works passionately as ever as an editor of articles by coming to The Reporter every Friday to proof read all the articles that pass the preliminary check. He sits by the window on the desk diagonally across from me listening to music and in deep thought while he awaits the next article.  Once he has gone through them, he goes over the corrections with the respective journalist and then brings it to the next person responsible.  He also corrected my article and was pleased with it only giving a correction on Ethiopian history.

Yacob actually gave me a signed copy of his own book, “Brief Autobiography and Selected Articles”. Judging from the preface and one of those articles, I quickly determined some similarities between him and myself although he naturally claims a vastly superior wealth of experience and knowledge.  Rather than articles about restaurant openings or reports on events (which I am sure he wrote plenty of), they are what he calls “timeless”. This means that they can be read at any time without any reference to a specific moment in history such as an event. They are first person and generally criticize some point in society.  For example, the article I read was called, “Man, the inferior sex” which spoke against rampant sexism in the city of Asmara (current capital of Eritrea) and praised women.

Interestingly enough, Yacob began by studying engineering in Imperial College in London.  Yet he spoke of how German and French philosophy along with his love of literature overcame him and brought him to pursue a career in writing instead. It seems to have worked out!

With or without the guidance of this new mentor, I feel quite ready for my early morning departure tomorrow.  Although I now feel settled in this city and sad to leave yet another great group of friends, I am content and prepared to return to a land of reliable convenience. Of course, that is not to say that I would skip what is to come first.

The climax, or quite literally the ‘summit’, of my gap year is still to come.  Tomorrow I leave Ethiopia to fly further south to Nairobi, Kenya where I will meet my cousin Jacob and stay for one night. Then it is off to Northern Tanzania where the wilds of Serengeti, Ngorongoro and Tarangire await with the finish on Uhuru Peak, Mt. Kilimanjaro.

Full list of my published articles:

From Misery to Self-sufficiency
Ring in Addis' Shared Taxis
Down in Langano
The Historical Turnaround of the Gumuz
TESFA for Ethiopia
Where will you watch the World Cup Finals?
The Forgotten Mountain

The Wonderful Accidents of Travel (Unpublished)

A few of the articles I have written did not make it though editing to the final newspaper.  Of those, this piece on my experience in the Kuk Yelesh Maryam Church near Debre Birhan, Ethiopia is included. Enjoy!

17/07/14

 

The priest asked us to stand up and follow him through a dark curtain that revealed a pitch tunnel. I watched as the people in front of me were consumed by darkness and seemingly disappeared into an endless void as they entered.   It became my turn and, reminded of my childhood claustrophobia, I nervously let my fingers pass along the cold, stone wall of the tunnel as I listened to the soft footsteps of hundreds of pilgrims inch forward in silence. 

This is Kuk Yelesh Mariam, 10km outside of the unsuspecting town of Debre Birhan.  It is a bit of a hike getting here.  First, a bajaj takes you as far as roads allow when you must get off and make the rest of the trip on your feet.  It is perhaps another 2 or 3km along an uneven surface until the church.

Like many other rock-hewn churches, this one was hammered and chiseled out of the rock face of one of Ethiopia’s spectacular plateau drops. Built 22 years ago, it became the life’s work of a single man.  It is important to take shoes off and for all women to wear appropriate dress for church before entering the grounds. There are four churches on the premises, the most remarkable of which is to be found by walking around the hill, along a path built on the side of a cliff. Engraved red, yellow and green Orthodox crosses adorn the precipice while below them are the entrances to the caves.

I arrived on a Sunday afternoon at about 14:00 (8:00 Habesha) together with two friends. As I peered into the left church entrance I saw a large crowd of people seated closely together, eagerly listening to the priest holding mass. The priest stood in the middle of the cave where a curtain divides men and women.  Behind him the caves went on into three further openings hidden behind drapes. As I found a place to sit down I gave a quick wave to my friends sitting on the other side. The priest spoke for some time until the scene from above unraveled.

The blackness of the tunnel is total and absolute.  You are made blind. You do not know where you are going, how long you will be there or if the ceiling will begin to close in.  It is perhaps one of the closest sensations of your soul being lost and forgotten that can be created.

Indeed, the tunnel is symbolic of hell. It is an experience created for people undergoing difficulties in their lives and who seek spiritual support.  It is all the more cause for rejoice when the people round the last corner and light guides them out of the tunnel. The phrase, “follow the light!” is made into reality. You emerge into another cave where sunlight shines on pictures of Mary that embellish the walls.

A queue is formed that leads the crowd further into this new cave where a priest stands waiting.  In his hands, he holds a bundle of smooth, black rocks. He first rubs them across your face and then draws a cross on your chest with them.

With the priest’s blessing, the passage was complete. The crowd dispersed to go home or appreciate the other churches further down the cliff. The stairs zig-zag unceasingly below when at last, the path takes you to another cave where the entrance is protected by a roof painted in Ethiopian colors.  A crowd of people was sitting outside but as was the case previously, they were eager to show a foreigner what they were all here for and let me go in. 

The cave was filled with people but rather than being spoken to, they watched and listened as priests spoke to God.  Reading from Ge’ez scripture, priests nervously read pages and pages while holding a type of candle.  A higher priest sitting in a separate cave segment, removed from the crowd, intermittently corrected them on their pronunciation. Some of the readers had painted around their eyes in white adding a whole new mystique to an outsider such as myself.

I had no expectations before entering Kuk Yelesh Mariam. It had only been recommended as a site of one of Ethiopia’s rock-hewn churches.  I had come so close to skipping it out of exhaustion from the previous days’ travel and the danger of not getting the last bus to Addis Ababa.  All these concerns were taken away when I stumbled into the most magnificent manifestation of Orthodox faith I have seen so far. It seems as much as one can see this country, a new surprise lies around every corner. We walked away tired but content and made it back to the capital that night, in time for dinner.

My Trip to the Remote Benishangul-Gumuz

My journey to the far western Benishangul-Gumuz region was probably the height of my experience as a journalist in Ethiopia.  Being in such an isolated and obscure place was exactly what I was looking for when I chose to do this.  At home, when I watched or read about journalists reporting from these places in far off and poorly studied regions of the world the Tom Sawyer in me became filled with excitement. When I got the opportunity to do this, I simply couldn't refuse. 

Originally, I only planned to see Bahir Dar and Gondar with fellow volunteers when I set out from Addis Ababa on the 2nd of June.  This was the case until a Canadian man approached us asking where we were from - our various accents sparked an interest (French/Ethiopian, English, Dutch, German/Danish). As conversation ensued the Canadian man came to talk about what he was doing here. He was from a Canadian charity called devxchange that was funding a project in the 200km away Benishangul-Gumuz region with three others.  They told me how they had been there and how successful this project had been, how the cultural mindset of the people had been completely turned around.  This got me very interested and they agreed to let me write an article about it and gave me the number of Feru, the director of the project.  Feru showed particular interest, as I would be the first to write about his program in the 8 years of its existence.

Chines road construction

Still a lot left to pave!

The trip to the Gumuz is about 200km west of Bahir Dar but takes about 5 hours due to difficult road conditions. Only the first 100km are paved and on many dirt roads, maximum speeds only reach 30km/h. Currently, huge road construction is underway to pave the road all the way to the far off Great Ethiopian Renaissance Dam on the border to Sudan. This will eliminate a major logistical hurdle for the many truck drivers delivering materials there. All thanks to the Chinese of course. But despite the slow pace, the drive goes past such remarkable country side that it is really a good thing.  The contrast between the lush green and the freshly ploughed deep brown of the soil is spectacular. Heading closer to Sudan also brought us in a region of Muslim majority. In the town of Injibara, what will supposedly be the largest mosque in Ethiopia is currently being constructed. In what was perhaps some sly joke towards religious diversity a ranting Jehova’s witness also gave us some flyers. Of course these were more of a source of comedy than anything. It was however in this town that I began to feel the extent of how far away from anything I was going.  I felt like in whatever direction I could have walked, I would have experienced the same hopeless result.

Mountain separating Gumuz
from Amhara

Gumuz lowlands

The border between Benishangul-Gumuz and Amhara couldn’t be more geographically complete. A large and steep green mountain oversees the underlying Gumuz low lands.  There the oppressive heat and the lethal authority of malaria make the land nigh on inhospitable. It was of course tribal warfare that lead to this separation of these lands.  The militarily advanced and traditionally elite Amhara drove the Gumuz away and took over their territory.  The Gumuz have historically been enslaved to the Amhara and as such have been discriminated and kept on the edges of society and country as a backwards and neglected people. This illustrates only a fraction of the difficulty of uniting a country of 80 unique tribes all carrying their own languages and dialects.

Gumuz farmer Andargie

Gumuz farmer Gisa

It was well over 40°C when we reached the town we would stay at. For all my attempts to recall it, I can’t remember its name. It was a small town but growing due to its location on the way to the dam as well as a center for the urbanizing Gumuz. The hotel I stayed at was minimal but better than I expected. The rooms had toilets and even fans for the inescapable heat. Upon arrival we had lamb tibes (Pronounced t’ehbs (harsh T)) for lunch, which tasted alright-ish. That evening I found out that this was actually a trucker’s motel. Here passing truck drivers partied late into the night and brought prostitutes back to their rooms. Luckily I was so tired that my ears were spared of most of it. 

Lamb tibes

And suddenly.. hailstorm!

In any case, following an hour’s rest in our rooms, my investigative work would begin.  Feru introduced me to the model farmers I would interview and showed me their farms. What ensues is all in my article, “The Historical Turnaround of the Gumuz”. 

I was truly impressed with all that I saw. Feru has built a sustainable operation and the results were to be seen everywhere. In the way everyone greeted Feru as a close friend or the way farmer Andargie’s eyes gleamed with pride as he told me he is sending all 12 of his children to school.  While anthropological laments of the loss of their ancestral culture are real, I feel that this shouldn’t stop the way of progress, which is finally arriving. The people are poor, rely on deprived nutrition and suffer from preventable diseases. Who is to blame them if reaching a higher standard of living is followed by wearing western clothes and perhaps having a smoke now and then. Listening to Feru’s visionary plans for the future, I see great things coming from these people. The land they live on is extremely fertile; it only requires the necessary investment and belief to make things happen.

Me with the man himself, Feru