19 February - Ethiopian introduction

Crossing the border into Ethiopia was a pretty miserable experience for me. I was suffering the repercussions of the Sudanese wedding in a severe way, it was miserably hot, and I was pushing a bicycle through the dust across a bridge, trying to keep up with Gareth and his endless good temper while fighting our way through customs and the like. Not a happy camper!

We had been recommended the Millennium Hotel by a random customs official and so after some negotiation, I collapsed on the bed to try and recover some sanity. At this juncture I should perhaps redefine “hotel” – which by this point has deteriorated to a place where we can sleep. This is basic, basic accommodation comprising a bed in a mud room with a metal door, a mud hut with a hole in the ground for a toilet, and a shower that usually entails a tap/hosepipe/bowl of water and never really a shower… But this – this was the Ritz! It had showers that spewed water. I was averaging three ice cold showers a day!

I should also go one step further… Ethiopian hotels are a different breed altogether. There are plenty of women around, dressed in fairly western clothes, albeit without showing anything above the knee or the shoulders. This was a fair shock to the eye given the traditional clothes on the part of both men and women over the past month. I was fairly relieved, thinking that I could eventually don a pair of shorts that I have stubbornly carried for the last two months! However, it soon became apparent that “hotel” is another word for “brothel” and that every woman who worked in that hotel, and apparently any other, was a prostitute.

Prostitution is apparently a massive problem in Ethiopia. Alcohol is a second major problem – and the two are invariably linked. We met a sociology student and a restaurant owner, John and Sammy, and proceeded to discuss everything from travels to Ethiopian troubles over a cup or five of beautiful Ethiopian coffee. In particular, they kept returning to the destructive influence that alcohol was having within their community. Coming from “dry” Sudan, it is a strong contrast of cultures that although welcomed by the team who were looking for a cold beer, has some very serious undertones.

Sammy’s restaurant deserves special mention as it was a roadside tarpaulin shack lined with low wooden benches and small wooden tables. The coffee beans were roasted in front of us, then ground and served in a miniature metal tea pot. Alongside the coffee came two or three tiny burning coals in an egg-cup sized container with a piece of bark that gave off a ginger scent. We watched the world go by down the main street of Metema; a world awash with vibrant colour and matching chaos. Donkeys pulled red carts that carried beautifully clothed women and a whip-lashing driver, overloaded buses that would make any health and safety agent balk, and elegant women with rainbow umbrellas… Every frame was another painting. This is Africa.