Africa, but for how long?

by Neil Harris

Most people imagine Ethiopia to be a barren and parched country where starving women and children in rags beg for food aid. The truth comes as a shock. In fact it is a very fertile country, especially the highlands, perhaps the most fertile and potentially productive in Africa, also the topography is not what most people expect, jagged hills, lakes and raging rivers. I visited Ethiopia twice in the 90s, essentially to raft down the Lower Omo River, but also for a brief look around the historic north. It was a memorable experience, partly as on the second trip I got stranded in the south due to heavy rains sweeping away bridges thanks to the last big El Nino. Would I be disappointed upon my return?

My trip was for four weeks, two in the south, two in the north. I was motivated to return as the completion of the Gibe III hydroelectric dam in 2013 would change the way of life of the Omolitic tribes that live in the lower Omo valley for ever. At present they live much as they would have before the arrival of Europeans, a lifestyle almost extinct elsewhere in Africa.

Trips to Ethiopia usually start in Addis Ababa, the capital. Situated at around 7700 feet, its climate is equitable, but as it was only founded in the 1880s there is little history. My first leg was to the south. This is 4x4 country, although the road network of the whole country is being upgraded to a standard that will see it having one of the best infrastructures in Africa within five years, if the finance continues. Heading south the first stop is the Rift Valley lakes, the haunt of twitchers (often seen in groups of 10-15 looking through large binoculars) as they harbour a plethora of bird life. The combination of fresh and soda water lakes contributes to the variety. My first night was spent in a bungalow on the edge of Lake Langano situated at around 5000 feet, the first taste of rural Ethiopian plumbing. The brown water, when available, is pumped straight from the lake into the bathroom, so you may not get a lot cleaner. Wealthier Ethiopians use this lake as their seaside: there are 'beach resorts'; it is allegedly safe to swim in the lake. Not being a birder, the avian interest was largely lost on me, although my opinion of the maribou stork was changed. Described in the Lonely Planet guide as a bird with a face 'only a mother could love', I rather liked its ugly sinister looks, partly because it is possible to get up close for photographs.

The next overnight stop was Arba Minch, the main town of the south and now a base for American operations against Somalia… oops, not meant to know that. It is situated on a ridge at about 5000 feet overlooking Lakes Abaya and Chamo. These form a National Park. The fauna is meagre, lots of zebras and crocodiles, so little to keep one here. The next day the rains arrived, and a thunderstorm started at 3.00am; thankfully it stopped around dawn. We thought our five hour drive to Key Afar market might be interesting. We reached there soon after midday. Walking into the market area was a very muddy experience - the red-brown stuff that leaves its mark on trouser legs, often for ever. The main tribal group here are the Hamar (pronounced hammer), the most numerous tribe in the far south, easily spotted as the womenfolk often wear a gourd on their head. Where better to keep one's sorghum bowl? Amongst the grain on sale was a 'stall', actually a tarpaulin on the ground, selling underpants, not as strange as it sounds as the men, who are prone to walk around with no clothes on when herding their cattle, are encouraged to wear blankets wrapped around their waist as a kind of miniskirt for modesty (very sexy according to a woman I was with). The pants provide extra safety against flashing.

We made Jinka, the regional hub, late in the afternoon. Here the South Omo Museum provides a good introduction to the Omolitic tribes. There is also a great view from its hilltop location. I was stranded in Jinka in 1997 before hiring a 4x4 to drive back to Addis Ababa, so I was interested to see how much it had changed. The answer was not a lot, although the airstrip was no longer in use (in 1996 an American I was with was carted off to the local jail before we took off; he was carrying a loaded firearm). From here we headed into the Mago National Park, set astride the lower Omo River, home to wild animals and the Omo Mursi, perhaps the most famous of the Omolitic tribes thanks to the large lip plates worn by the women. The government are improving the roads here as a large area has been earmarked for use as a sugar cane plantation. As the tribes have no land rights they are forcibly resettled. A potential problem is that the land here is limited, as most tribal groups are armed with rifles. There is the real risk of inter-tribal warfare as the best areas are sequestrated.

After overnight storms at our campsite, we headed off to find the Mursi, or rather they found us at our lunch stop. Wearing their most outrageous clothes, they await passing tourists in the hope of making money by posing for photographs. The price varies and is very negotiable, but 2 Birr (about 12p) usually buys a photo. With experience I found 10 Birr for multiple photos was a better way of transacting business. For a group photo, everyone expects their fee. The women with their lip plates look mean, the children less so, especially as the young girls are plateless. Later we visited a Mursi village with the permission of the elders. The Mursi can be quite aggressive en masse when they see the chance to make some money, and eventually I felt the need to retreat to our vehicle as the persistence of some of the Mursi got to me.

The next day we headed for Turmi in the far south, stopping at Dimeka on the way for the weekly market. Mainly Hamar, this was small and pleasantly free of other tourists. We were pestered by kids in Western clothes, Hamar who for whatever reason were being educated at a local school. On the face of it this was good news, but once a child goes to school, he or she is no longer welcome in the tribe: not an encouragement to seek an education. Apparently Hamar educated in this way return as administrators with power over the tribes that spurned them.

For three nights we camped outside Turmi in very basic conditions. The campsite is a magnet for tourists, but a great base for visiting local tribes. After yet more rain we headed south to Omorate, close to the Kenyan border not far from Lake Turkana. As we approached the puddles got bigger, not the parched barren landscape expected at this time of year. Our guide said he had never seen it so wet in fourteen years of visiting. The plan was to go down the Omo river and visit a Dassenach village. However, the boat's motor was defunct so we took the ferry across to a village opposite instead. When I say ferry, I actually mean a dugout canoe, not the most stable of craft, although the main problem was negotiating the muddy bank to get in, especially as I was carrying expensive photographic equipment. The punter kept the craft steady although getting out the other side involved a wet shoe as I slid down the slippery bank into the Omo. The Dassenach village was very basic and wet, the houses constructed of anything that came to hand, including offcuts of corrugated iron. The village was almost exclusively women and children; the men and youths were out with the cattle. A common misconception of Europeans is to see tribes like the Dassenach as poor, which by Ethiopian standards they are not. They choose to keep their wealth on four legs rather than in a bank account, or noticeably, spending it on home improvement.

Back in Turmi we went to a Hamar village. These are tidy affairs, thatched round houses surrounded by fences. The Hamar women were the friendliest we came across, with a sense of fun. I allowed one of the girls to take some photos with my camera. Another playfully tried to grab it, but I had a secure hold on it.

The next day would be memorable and tiring. Our first target was a Kara village about three hours away. The Kara are famous for their body painting, the young males especially. This has become a source of tourist income as it makes them very photogenic, though it has led to some going over the top to get noticed. The family pot plant is likely to end up on the head for instance to attract attention. The village we visited, Kochi, is located atop a cliff overlooking the meandering Omo River. The Kara, though, are not cattle headers like the other tribes. Apparently their stock succumbed to the tsetse fly and were never replaced, so they make a living from selling sorghum, maize and beans. They also keep bees and fish. Back in Turmi we visited the Monday market, perhaps the best known in the southern Omo Valley. Here Hamar predominate. Seeing women (never men) laden with firewood brought home how hard life is here.

The afternoon would be the highlight of the trip. A Hamar initiation ceremony was to take place across the river. For around £25, tourists can attend. Before a Hamar male can marry, he has to jump the bulls. The initiates can be anything from 12 upwards. His family are expected to pay for two days of feasting afterwards, hence the tourists to help pay the bills. Some ceremonies are shams put on to make money, but there is an easy, rather unpleasant way, of telling if it is genuine. If there is fresh blood on the backs of some of the Hamar woman attending, it is the real thing. The initiate jumps the bulls naked, mimicking the way he came into the world, twice in each direction. There can be anything up to 20 bulls: on this occasion there were only seven, and to make it easier they are heifers and held in position. Why the blood? The female relatives are whipped, not against their will, in fact the whipper, a recently initiated male, often has to restrain the women who beg to be whipped. When whipped the woman must show absolutely no pain or emotion, the face totally blank. It forms the Hamar social security system. The logic goes like this: with scars on her back to show she was whipped at the ceremony, if she becomes widowed in later years, her male relative is obliged to look after her.

This lifestyle is almost certainly going to change in the next few years, and there is the threat of tribal warfare if the government continue to take Omolitic tribal land. Go soon, or the chance may never happen again.

First published in VISA 102 (Apr 2012)