Amy feeding Hyenas

Here is a video of Amy feeding hyenas with her teeth.

Fotos

We got some pictures up of our Omo trip this morning, so now you should be able to see illustrations of the stories from down there.

Quick note of clarification: in the pictures of the Hamer women, the red stuff in their hair is a mix of ochre powder and butter that they run into their hair and make dreads with all the time. Its not something they do just for celebrations, it just what they look like. The stuff melts in the sun and drips onto their skin, which is why many of them have it all over. This is one of the main things the Hamer are famous for.

Hamer Market

Our last day in the Omo, before going to the village I mentioned in the last post, we spent in a town, seeing their market. It was market day, so all the people from around walked or donkeyed into town to get their supplies. It was easily the most pure market Ive seen, what we would think of as a flea market almost. Women (mostly) with small baskets of things to trade: tomatoes, butter, cream, milk, corn- sitting around and trading with others. Very few people were there as a “business” just selling things. We bought some souvenirs but then got into the spirit, trading some of our things with people for the rest. We traded some of Amy’s old jewelry, a few headbands Id bought in Addis, a small flashlight, and even Amy’s old pair of holey jeans. It was fun bargaining that way, almost reminiscent of trading baseball cards as a kid. Wait- did anyone actually do that- or were we all too busy saving them and making plans for when we bame millionaires thanks to our mint-condition Ken Griffey Jr. rookie cards? Anyhow, it was a blast.

At the end we were waiting to go and busted out a jar of fingernail polish which we had with us. We sat under a tree in the shade and started painting fingernails- men and women. They thought it was cool, I guess, to get red sparkly nails from some farenjis, because we had quite a few customers.

Mystery Mission

On our last night in the Omo Valley we stayed in another Hamer village. The setting was stunning and the people really nice- they had us for coffee, sorghum logs (a breakfast food or treat, evidently) that looked like turds, gave us fresh cow milk in the morning, and were proud to show us their impressive herd of goats and cows. We got to hold baby goats, only slightly bigger than our puppies, and saw two be born the next morning. It looked painful.

Before going to bed Amy and I decided to go for a moon/flash light walk. We exited the compound and immediately happened upon a group of boys, maybe 10 years old for the big ones, who were playing and dancing. We started “chatting” with them, as much as we could with our two completely different languages and hand signals. They wanted to see the headlamp, so we put it on their heads and they danced, each taking a turn. Then they all gathered together in a little huddle, discussing something very important it seemed. Then the biggest boy, who was their leader it seemed, came to me (I had the headlamp) and very excitedly, with many hand gestures of running, hitting things, throwing, and sneaking, explained to me their plan. I had no idea what he was trying to tell us, but it seemed he was asking our permission for some night-time adventure that only we could make possible. Amy and I looked at each other, shrugged, then gave him the thumbs up. A collective smile broke out on the boys’ faces, they kicked the two smallest ones back to their huts (evidently too small for night time adventuring) and we set off on a path into the trees.

Now, a week or so later, Amy and I still have no idea what they wanted to do. What we did consisted of walking around, them stopping every few minutes to confer in a huddle, then walking more. At one point they all scattered, grabbed rocks, and started throwing them into the bushes. “What are they throwing at?” Amy said. Scooping up a few handfuls of rocks I replied, “I dont know, but Im going to throw some too!!”

After maybe a half hour they had another huddle, then solemnly turned, returned the headlamp to me, and we went back to the huts.

???

Ideas of what they wanted to do: raid a beehive, hunt small animals, throw rocks at a neighboring family, or sneak into a neighbor family’s dance.

The best part was that the boys were sooooo sweet towards us. We were like newborn babies to them- they showed us eash and every bush, so we wouldnt run into the thorns. Every dip in the path was accompanied by a small hand grasping ours, to make sure we didnt trip. And, they wouldnt fight over the lamp. If one boy wanted it, he would take my hand and put it on the lamp, asking me to give it to him.

It was a wonderful, surreal night.

Fishing with the Karo

When we were in the Hamer village, we opened the tent we had borrowed from our friends Rumi and Jeurgen to find they had also included a fishing pole. Our guide said that the following night at the Karo village we were going to stay in there was a lake, and we could try to catch some fish for dinner.

Before embarking on our big fishing trip we opened the fishing pole, to see what it consisted of. Here were the contents: a 18 foot pole with no reel, 6 or 8 feet of line, a bobber, a hook, and one lead weight. Hmmm… not the best, but wed make a go of it. So we went to the lake, which we found was flooded. The pole had no way of attatching the line, so I decided to just try the line by itself.

The scene: I, surrounded by 8 or so naked Karo boys, stripped to my drawers and waded into the lake with them. One of them has dug up some larvae to use as bait. We waded and then swam out to a tree, which we climbed into.  I baited the hook, threw the line out, and hoped that maybe seven feet from our tree  there was a big fish, with small brains, waiting for a juicy larvae to float by. Hopefully he was also blind so he couldnt see my bright white legs in the water, and deaf so as not to hear the boys splashing and playing in the water behind me.

I was really hoping that the crocodiles the Karo kids mentioned earlier, the ones that they decided maybe lived in the lake, either didnt like to eat farenjis or didnt really exist. Bugs, crickets, and spiders in the water greatly appreciated using me as a drydock breifly before being flicked back into the water. Needless to say, our fishing trip quickly deteriorated into a water fight and then me helping the boys launch themselves into the water.

The croc verdict was that yes, there were crocs in the lake, but they dont often frequent that area, since thats where people gather water and the crocs know theyll be shot if they go there. How the crocs know this, I dont know. A croc education program? Fliers dropped into the water from canoes by the fishermen?

Amy stayed on the bank, playing photographer. Anyhow, it was a nice refreshing dip in the cool, buggy water. Hopefully I didnt catch bilharzia.

If I was a Hamer, Id Hamer in the Morning…

We arrived in the small town of Turmi, the center of the Hamer area, and headed to where there was a bull-jumping happening. The Hamer tribe requires its boys, in order to become men, to jump the backs of bulls. They run at the bulls, naked, and jump up and run along their backs. They repeat this a bunch of times, in the case of the guy we saw, 6 times. As long as they can do this without falling they are declared a man, their unshorn hair is cut, and they can marry.

The ceremony is a celebration for the whole village, with women dancing, lots of singing, and everyone in their best clothes. Another odd facet of the ceremony is that girls related to the boy who is jumping show their love and devotion by getting whipped with long wooden switches- the deeper the cut the more they love him. So these girls were chasing the boys with switches, basically begging to be hit. Many had deep cuts on their backs, and were also getting switched on the breasts, which didnt cut them (they were wearing shirts) but mustve left one hell of a welt.

 

I wont keep you in suspense any longer- the boy in question became a man with no problem. 

 

We arrived at the (dry) river where it was taking place and our guid set us loose, saying to take all the pictures we wanted. It was incredibly awkward feeling- these were people. How would they respond to having their pictures taken? We tried to be nonchalant about it, and it was good once we got warmed up. Many people, especially the men, loved it. They wanted to use the camera, which was funny since they had no idea how to use it. They got the hang of it pretty quick, and loved seeing pics of themselves. Some guys painting their faces drug us into their circle and painted ours too. Later, closer to jumping time, an old man grabbed Amy’s hand and took her over to all the women dancing and shouting and she was quickly enveloped into a jumping sweaty muddy mass of women, chanting with the best of them.

 

That night we camped in the same village, and got invited to their dance. It took place at night, and was a pretty surreal experience. Men jumping, women returning the favor, clapping, bells, chanting, and through all of it dust rising from their stomping feet into the moonlight. The moon and stars were phenominal there with no artificial light to rival them. We both danced and got thorougly laughed at, but it was fun. We fell asleep in our tent, looking at the stars, the sounds of the people still dancing in the distance, and slept wonderfully. We occasionally awoke to people walking by on the path, never failing to stop and stare at the sleeping farenjis.

 

Amy had persuaded one of the girls the night before to lend her one of their traditional goat-skin skirts, so she put it on the next morning and was appreased by the men and women alike. I think they liked it but were disappointed she still had a shirt on. They were fascinated when she put her contacts in that morning, gathering around to see what she was doing.

 

It was great to feel welcomed and not threatened in such a strange place, and fun to have people feel just as curious about us as we were of them.

Ethiopian Airlines

Ethiopian Airlines has a stellar reputation as an international carrier, but is seen here as having sacrificed their domestic service to do so. We were supposed to fly to Jinka, saving ourselves a few days of bus travel. First our flight, scheduled for Saturday, was cancelled due to “maintenance” that they apparently didnt know they needed to make when we booked the tickets. Then, on Sunday, our flight got cancelled again and rescheduled for Tuesday. We had, at that point, effectively lost 4 days of our trip south.  If they cancelled our flight on Tuesday we would not be able to go. As I was discussing what to do with an Ethiopian Airlines rep, he said, “You should take the bus- its more reliable.” I told him I was surprised to hear that, and that I would be sure to pass his advice on- not to take Ethiopian for domestic flights, but to take the bus instead (even if itll take three days) because its more reliable. So here it is, the new Ethiopian Airlines domestic slogan: “Ethiopian Airlines- Almost as Reliable as the Bus” 

South Omo

Hey all. We are back in Addis for our last few days here in Ethiopia. We leave for Europe on Monday. We got back in today, after spending about two weeks riding in buses up ands down Ethiopia, the main point of which was to visit the South Omo region, and the fascinating people who live there. I know Ive mentioned it before, but Ethiopia is big. We get used to America being big, but we all sorta understand about how big it is. When you go to a new country its hard to grasp the size.  To illustrate: to get to where we were going, Jinka, we took: a five hour bus to Awassa, a 6 hour bus to Arba Minch, and then a 10 hour bus to Jinka. When we got there it still took us three hours in a Land Cruiser to get to the people we were going to see. It was long and we are very happy to have no more days in the bus ahead of us. People are impressive in buses here. In America a three hour car ride, for many people, neccesitates a selection of music, a book, snacks, water, and maybe even more. We need to be entertained, fed, watered, and for God’s sake never bored. But people here board a bus for a 10 hour ride with their clothes and a bag. Thats it- no food, book, nothing. The time is spent talking, dozing, staring out the windows… Even mothers with babies take nothing with them. No diaper bag, no rattles. No, we didnt figure out the mystery of how babies make it through a long busride without needing to be changed a bunch of times.

A Picture Speaks 1000 Words

Who knows if those words are intelligible or not, or in which language they’ll be. Anyhow, enjoy the pics.

We Fed Frickin’ Hyenas With Our Teeth

Harar is an old walled city in the east of Ethiopia, one hour from Dire Dawa. The main attractions, depending on who you are, consist of: winding streets wide enough for two people to walk down, nice views of the surrounding country, 84+ mosques in a very small area, its claim as the 4^th holiest city in Islam, hyenas, “good” beer, smuggler markets, and chat. The winding streets and good views were as good as touted beforehand. For those of you who have been it’s a bit like Sevilla’s old quarter, where you can get lost very easily. The city, for us, was like a minefield of children, all of whom were very excited to see us and yell “farenju!” then ask for money. They were cute and easily dodged for the most part, and very into having their photos taken. While I have been known to admire a mosque or two, I wasn’t too interested in the muslim-ness of the city. The beer was ok, I couldn’t find the one I really wanted to try, called Hakim Stout and the only dark beer that (supposedly) exists in Ethiopia.

 

The markets were big and confusing, but friendly and nice to walk through, at least all of it except the part where the sewer pipe spills into the walkway. They are called smuggler markets because lots of stuff is smuggled in from Somalia or Djibouti, and its first “port” of call is Harar. Our tour guide said that he smuggles stuff in his spare time. We didnt see anything too crazy besides camel meat, some of which we ate. I bought a muslim scarf, and had to haggle not for the price but for the right to be able to buy it- the guy didnt want to sell because I wasnt Muslim. Finally I convinced him by badmouthing Bush a little and pointing out that we both had beards, so I was as good as half Muslim, at least. I did buy it in the end, and he said that the time was soon when Amy and I would “see the light” and “walk the right path” and become Muslim. 

 

The highlight of our trip to Harar was feeding hyenas. Harar has an old relationship with hyenas, of which there are a ton around the city. They think of hyenas as a sort of combined sacred spirit guiding animal, mascot, and garbage man. The hyenas eat their garbage, and they feed them meat so the hyenas dont eat their people. There are a few crazy individuals lucky enough to be dubbed the “hyena men” who feed the hyenas every night on the outskirts of the city. They develop relationships with the animals, calling them by name and touching, pushing, and chasing them. This is, like many things, not only an ancient tradition but a tourist attraction, so we went to see it. Both of us participated as well, feeding the hyenas by sticking a 5 inch of so stick in our mouths, putting meat on the other end and getting a good whiff of hyena breath as they gobbled the meat off. It wasnt too scary, because it was obvious that the hyenas were pretty used to the attention. Still, we had hyenas a few inches from our noses, and that was pretty cool.