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You could say that my first day of biking in the Horn of Africa didn’t exactly get off to a resounding start. With a broken down support van and dehydration making the hills more difficult than my graduate biochemistry class, I was getting desperate. Without a second thought, I accepted the offer (or more like an insistence) to join a family for a feast of Ethiopia’s traditional flat bread meal injera. “Eat, Eat,” insisted the house’s elder. Devouring their offerings as if it was my last meal, I was distracted only by a young girl hiding behind an elderly lady in the corner. “First white person,” claimed a man in broken English as he ripped off a piece of injera, dipped it into the goat meat stew and stuck it into my mouth. Little did I know that it would be another eight days until my cycling partner Scott and I would come across another white person during a 450-mile mountain bike trip from Ethiopia’s capital Addis Ababa to the historic Lalibela through the Ethiopian highlands. Go out on the street in any American city and ask people what comes to mind when someone says Ethiopia and, whether you want to blame the media, Live Aid or a little bit of our own ignorance, the belief that Ethiopia symbolizes children starving to death while flies eat away at their wounds, and tribes performing weird and archaic rituals, is all too common. While some of this does take place (minus the tribes cooking up a pot of people stew), Ethiopia is much more, and presents any open-minded traveller with a wealth of opportunities to experience what rural Africa is really about - colourful, vibrant people who are struggling to find their way in a world that has largely forgotten that they’re even there. Within the first couple days of our bike trip, it quickly became apparent that us faranji’s (Ethiopian for foreigner) were going to be the center of attention everywhere we went. “It’s like the circus has come to town,” Scott fittingly put it after being consumed by the masses in the town of Sunbeta. In fact, villagers would stand forever just to watch you change a flat tire. The fascination in everything we did from setting up our tents to loading a new camera memory card was remarkable, especially considering the low attention span we have in the West. Here children are bored with a video game after a few plays; there a soccer ball is used until it no longer has a cover. Unlike other far-off lands, western influence is virtually non-existent here. Unbeknownst to them, this fascina The road between our starting and ending destination included everything from fast, newly paved asphalt to pot-hole lined bumpy gravel. The latter of which was more common taking a great deal of concentration to avoid an up-close and personal relationship with the ground. But concentration on the road ahead at times was a real challenge. It wasn’t so much the excellent mountainous scenery that distracted us, but more so the over-energized children jumping from their huts to grab our attention. For the most part they had three main requests: “Mister, give pen” “Mister, where are you go?” and “Mister, give money.” Being one of the world’s ten poorest countries you can understand the request for money. But unlike some other parts of Africa, you never really feel threatened by the Ethiopians when they want something from you. Most of the time a polite “sorry” was all they needed to hear before leaving you alone. One of our biggest disappointments along route was the severe deforestation that we noticed. In just six short decades, Ethiopia has gone from being covered by forty percent forest to just three now. Overpopulation, extreme poverty, poor government control and inadequate land management are the main culprits. This, combined with the reality that a large percentage of the population still uses wood fires to cook their food, casts a regular haze over the landscape. For a country always concerned about food shortages, the eroded land caused by the removal of the After eight days of slogging up several lung-busting climbs, fending of a few too many children running after you shouting “You, You, You, You,” and surviving the occasional bike-donkey collision, the town of Lalibela was a welcomed sight, especially considering the reception we received. Apparently word got out that two guys on bikes were rolling into town with soccer balls and uniforms (which we brought to distribute to the teams), so the mob scene we were now more than accustomed to was amplified several fold. Likely a contributing factor was the fact that there’s not a whole lot for locals to do in Lalibela. The town itself just got electricity a few years back. But still, when you consider the striking churches that adorn this sleepy hamlet in the mountains, it’s remarkable that more tourists and photographers have not caught on. Nevertheless, Lalibela did recently win some international fame, appearing front-and-center in an episode of the Amazing Race. Fortunately, I was able to enjoy the town at a considerably less hectic pace than those fighting for a million bucks. Lalibela contains such an impressive array of rock-hewn churches that it has been dubbed “Africa’s Petra.” I have yet to make it to Petra, but if it’s at all as impressive as Lalibela, I’ll make sure to put it on my to do list. “The ancient name for Lalibela is Roha – meaning nice view or scenery,” said Teklu, my church tour guide. An understatement to say the least. Most remarkable are not the churches that are carved into the rock, but those chiselled completely away from it, leaving all four sides visible. By far, the most impressive in this category is the church of Bet Giyorgis - known commonly as St. George church. Carved out of volcanic rock with such immaculate detail, I felt compelled to spend a few hours soaking in its stunning setting before After we had our fill of church hopping, it was time to visit a Tej bar. Tej being a type of honey wine that’s an acquired taste to say the least. “You either like it or you never want to try it again,” one tourist bluntly put it. Paint thinner run through dirty socks is how I would describe it. While doing our best with the Tej, we were lucky enough to take part in Praise singing, involving young local couples – the man playing a single-string instrument called masinko and a women singing. Guests are encouraged to suggest lines to the singer who sings traditional and spontaneous praise in Amharic (the official language of Ethiopia), often incorporating your name in a complementary fashion into the singing. You may not know what they’re saying but it’s pleasant to the ears as is Lalibela to the eyes and spirit. On our last night in Lalibela, feeling happy as I chomped away on chat – a mildly intoxicating leaf - I was struggling to finish off my journal with a synopsis of my impressions of Ethiopia. At that moment Scott pointed to a soccer game being interrupted by a bull chasing the players around the dirt field. It suddenly came to me. “Untamed, faranji-free and totally African.”
**All Photos by Matthew Kadey
IF YOU GO
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tion is equally shared. For the typical North American nine-to-fiver, elderly ladies walking barefoot with an ample load of firewood on their backs; children only waist-high herding several head of cattle down a hot and dusty road; beautifully dressed and yet very camera-shy Ormou, Afar and Amhara tribal women; and immense friendliness among the population despite unthinkable hardships are all utterly enthralling to Ethiopian newbie’s. So too are the live chickens strapped to the top of buses.
trees doesn’t help in maintaining fertile soil. We couldn’t help but think that a great way to employ many of the poor would be to begin replanting some of the trees and would be a better use of international aid funds than just dumping a bunch of wheat on their doorsteps.
even entering.