I have a friend, who is gay as well and a homo in arms, if you will, as both of us travel in a similar style. He’s one of the few I listen to when they give travel advice. Although to be fair he’s a bit more rough and rugged than I am. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have any problem chucking on a backpack and getting dirty. I’m not, however – how shall I put this – the smartest traveller out there. I remember once, while in Nicaragua, we entered a rather local market and I got a call from my mom, which I decided to take. Not a big deal in my mind but the other gringos with whom I was travelling nearly peed themselves. I didn’t realize that by doing so I made us a moving target for all pickpockets. I was basically exclaiming, to anyone interested in ripping us off, that we had money. Oooops! So, as it turns out, there are many places, being aware of my limited intellect, where I need to take a little extra precaution. Thus, when I asked my friend where his favourite place in the world was and he replied ‘Ethiopia’; I immediately thought, “Oh wow I’m gonna’ have to do some research.” (as all the information I had about the country was quite outdated and I assumed it would be risky travel).
It turned out when it comes to safety; my initial impression couldn’t have been more wrong. Despite having a very embryonic tourism industry Ethiopia is one of the safest, if not, the safest place in Eastern Africa. Upon learning that, my mind was at ease and I really began getting into the nitty-gritty of the country.
Ethiopia, as a country, is a circus. The nation, itself, lies in the northeastern section of Africa making it hugely diverse. Sharing borders with Eritrea to the north, Sudan to the west, South Sudan to the south-west, Kenya to the south, and Somalia and Djibouti to the east and northeast. You couldn’t get a more varied landscape – ranging from the total desert – to arid mountains – all the way to lush rainforest. An hour flight in any direction and the topography of the land changes completely. Forget that, an hour drive in any direction and it is like you’re somewhere completely different.
If you’re into biology (since you are pursuing this website, I assume you are), Ethiopia is as diverse as one can come across. It ranges from; alpine to subalpine; to The Great Rift Valley starting near Eritrea; to wetlands hosting many hippos and huge crocodiles; to deserts and semi-desert ecosystems. If you’re looking for Big Game you will find them south in Kenya and Tanzania. Ethiopia has, however, many varied types of smaller game and is host to many endangered species.
Since we’re on the topic of biology and since I, myself, am a great student of Biology (lie); Ethiopia is pretty much from where we all came. Yes, all of us humans. Our First Lady, Miss Lucy (or the remains of being 3.2 million years old) was found in the Ethiopian lowlands and represents the first ancestor to humans we have. Moving away from biology and into religion, of which I am also not much of an expert, reveals that Ethiopia is one of the oldest Christian countries in the world and the only country in Africa to remain Christian during the expansion of Islam. And… and…and it is believed to host the Ark of the Covenant, which is the box that holds The Ten Commandments. Remember Sunday School? or that Indiana Jones movie?
Now the one thing that Ethiopia does not have, or more correctly, does have but does not have any tolerance towards, are homos. Now I’m very cool going to many a country that doesn’t like me, however, this particular trip was not solo and I would be meeting my boyfriend, Sila, in Addis Ababa and we would be vacationing together. This always proves a bit tricky in deeply religious countries. Being a deeply conservative country LGBTIQ rights are terrible in Ethiopia and many of our citizens face dangers on a day to day basis. I talked to my guide, who I will introduce later in this blog, about gay travel to Ethiopia and he didn’t have much good news to say about it. Basically, in the capital Addis Ababa there is a bit more of a chance of living as your authentic self, but, never openly gay to society. However, there are places where members of the LGBTIQ community can meet and get to know one another. My guide even knows of one couple living together. Being gay in other parts of Ethiopia is impossible. If you’re a member of any of the tribes within Ethiopia, coming out as gay could mean being kicked out or even murdered by your own people. I was told once that a gay tour company organized a tour to Ethiopia and when the government caught wind of it they banned the tour from coming completely.
I decided to take no chances and contacted a well-reviewed tour company and told them a ‘friend’ and I would be travelling to Ethiopia and needed a tour. I did, however, respond (when asked what kind of sleeping set up I wanted) that two beds or one big bed would be fine. We were not picky. I’m not sure what that translated.
After a lot of research and back and forth with the tour company we decided on five days touring the southern part of the country called The Omo Valley. The valley is known for its various tribes. Afterwards, we would have a three-day stint through Lalabella, which hosts beautiful mountains and some exquisite churches carved from rocks. As the trip came closer, Sila expressed concern that perhaps we were doing too much in a short period and wanted a more chilled schedule, since it was a New Year’s vacay after Christmas craziness. Therefore, in the end, I changed the schedule and we spent four days in Addis Ababa before flying out leaving Lalabella for another day. Addis seemed to have more than enough going for it and I’ll tell you all about it in a later blog.
I had a long flight. I was coming from Christmas with the family and it was just a painfully long flight from Phoenix, Arizona, where we had Christmas. We went through Canada, where I was very happy to obtain a Tim Hortons at four in the morning. If you are Canadian you will understand that. We then went on for thirteen hours to Addis. As a result, when I got to Addis I wasn’t all smiles and flowers, and unicorns, and certainly not at my best when they told me they had lost my luggage! After battling to remain calm, losing that battle, and moving on to chew up a young lady at Ethiopian Airlines; it turns out they didn’t lose my luggage but put it on the First Class conveyor belt. My luggage had aspirations to which I couldn’t live up.
Sila arrived on time and in very good spirits so we immediately jumped a taxi to our hotel; which was located in the heart of the city and not much more than a twenty or thirty-minute drive, outside of rush hour.
Here’s the thing about Addis Ababa. Unlike cities such as Mumbai, Prague, or even Yangon, who wear their historical significance on their sleeves and simply drip with importance and significance; Addis does not. To sum up, Addis is a large city which does not give away much of its glittering past. And a glittering past it has! The buildings are nondescript. The streets are busy with many interesting shops and markets lining every available space. But certainly, nothing that would cause anyone to stop for exceptionally long and marvel umm – perhaps some goat eating a palm frond on the side of the road next to a plumbing store might be of interest. I knew Addis had some interest in it, but it was not giving it away easily. I’ll tell all about Addis later; let’s get into The Omo
The Tribes of Omo
There are always moral choices to make when it comes to tourism. Going into another country with its own culture and rules (oftentimes rules with which one may not agree) can be difficult. It becomes more difficult when money gets involved. I did wrestle with the idea that going into Ethiopia and touring around to see these different tribes may not be entirely ethical. Treating people and their culture as an attraction didn’t really sit well with me, but at the same time that is exactly what tourism is, paying for a cultural experience. I read a lot of travel blogs on the subject and I noticed a large divide between those who said it was completely inappropriate to force people of The Omo Valley to ‘sell’ their culture to camera clicking tourists. While others said it isn’t like that. The tribes are happy to make money from tourists, as it financed a lot of positive things for the tribes’ people, and they are also happy to welcome guests into their camps and show them around. After talking with my friend and talking with the tour company, and after being assured that little harm was going to come from me touring around in this region and everyone involved was happy to be part of the tour; I decided to go. Afterwards, I have to say, that I agree. But again, it is a choice that everyone must make, and I present this experience as to how I saw it and as to how it felt for me. Please use this as only one opinion.
It was an hour flight into Jinka from Addis, and even before we landed, I could feel that we were somewhere impressive. You can see The Omo Valley clearly from the air as everything turns a brilliant green. It goes from a dull beige to green… green… green as if God drew a line and said, “Here is where it starts.”. Jinka airport was barely there but it made the trip from the plane to the parking lot quite easy. Our guide, Babi, with his beaming smile and Rasta threads, was there to meet us; eagerly awaiting to begin the tour with us.
I was eager, maybe too eager, to get going as I remembered seeing photos in National Geographic while growing up showing the various tribes of The Omo Valley. Also, around the age of 19, I went through a Goth/ Modern Primitive phase, (don’t judge). I was a white boy from the suburbs and I only had a few choices to be edgy and so became wildly obsessed with all the body modifications specific to these particular tribes. Thus, going to Southern Ethiopia and seeing it for myself was a bit of a lifetime dream come true. We saw many… many Tribes on this tour but I am going to relegate my blog to three of them.
The Mursi
I toyed with the idea a lot and discussed it with Babi. I also instantly sent some messages back and forth with my doctor friend, who is a doctor of infectious disease specializing in HIV, about the risk levels in doing what I was contemplating. What was I contemplating? Well, I guess old habits sometimes die hard. As grown-up as I have become, I couldn’t resist the idea of having ritual scarification done by a member of the Mursi people who are renowned for their scars. Babi said he would organize it for me and after a go-ahead from the Doc; I had a new pack of razors in hand ready to go.
Our first encounter with a Mursi was by chance. Much like all the roads in the area, we were travelling down a non-descript road of green vegetation on both sides with, for some reason, there were butterflies everywhere. Seriously, it was like that scene from the Disney version of Alice In Wonderland where all the flowers turn to butterflies, fly away and then I think they turn into bread. I’m not sure. Maybe I was stoned when I watched it the first time.
We took a turn completely out of nowhere, onto another non-descript road with old trees dripping vines from ancient branches and boom we were in the vicinity of the Tribe. The tip-off that we were in the area was when we randomly passed a small group of guys sitting by the side of the road. They waved us to a stop as we rolled by. One of the gentlemen came over to have a talk with our driver and Babi. This interaction would have been completely normal had he not been totally and completely as naked as the day he was born. The only clothing, he had on was a small shawl thrown over his shoulder. To be fair it was quite warm out.
‘Don’t look down’, I told myself as he came over to the truck to see who was inside. A couple of the other guys, equally as nude, also casually wandered over.
‘Don’t look down.’ The first man who was all smiles and waves came over.
‘Eyes up, you’re a gentleman.’ Noticing we had some mangoes in the back he smiled, pointed to his penis and asked us for a mango.
‘YOU LOOKED DOWN dammit. EYES UP.’ Having no idea what the penis point meant, Sila smiled bashfully and handed him one of the fruits. He smiled again, gave us a wave, and went back to talking with Babi. I kept my eyes on the ceiling of the van until we continued. Babi, coming back, mentioned that these gentlemen were Mursi (which I kind of figured considering the stretched earlobes with beautiful jewelry dangling from them and the stunning black skin covered in decorative scars). I began to get nervous, but in a good way.
When we got to the village, we were greeted by a local guide. Each one of the villages has a representative come and meet you, explain the rules, and collect your money. The way the tribes have organized things I think is very well done. Usually it’s 400 bir or 11 usd for two people to take as many photographs as they want. You can barter for souvenirs within the village, and it’s fine to wander around and interact with whomever you like; as long as they are interested in interacting with you in the first place. The money collected from the meager number of tourists coming through the area is pooled into one amount and used to buy amenities for the village. However, the individual souvenirs sold by the ladies around their homes were clearly sold strictly for personal profit. It became evident as things started to get heated when I considered an item from one lady and not the other.
The Mursi people were stunning and profoundly serious looking. At first, I was wildly intimidated. After ever so slightly cracking their stanch façade; everyone was lovely. Most of the women were happy to have us wander around. They didn’t really want to interact with us much except to sell us handmade souvenirs (of which I bought several). The men were more sociable and came over to talk with us. Several had exceptionally good English.
We were shown around a little and a few aspects of the culture were explained to us, mostly regarding how they lived and how the tribe is set up. Being semi-nomadic their homes resembled small, thatched cottages that were round and about the same height as a person standing. All around the camp, there was relaxed activity going on. Lots of childcare, some were making beer, selling souvenirs, or just generally escaping the heat of the day by reclining under a tree. I inquired about the various scars and stretched appendages and why this was done. The only answer I received was ‘it looks nice.’ Fair enough. Upon further research, I discovered that as the area was undergoing colonization, rape of village women was not uncommon, so The Mursi women took things into their own hands. They started stretching their lower lips in order to appear grotesque to their male oppressor and escape the fate of other women in the area. It turns out their ploy worked but over time the enlarged lip became a symbol of wondrous beauty.
I decided that it was time to get in on the “bod mod” action and signaled to Babi to ask about getting cut. Again, all I could think was, ‘Oh if my mother knew what I was doing she’d kill me.’ As soon as word got around that I was to be scarred everyone wanted to come over and see the foreign guy who was about to go under the blade. It was explained to me that a tool would be used to lift the skin and a little nip would be cut to create a scar. Seems easy. The lady who was doing the cutting had a fierce look about her, which I suppose was appropriate. When I mimed the fact that I was nervous and ‘was it going to hurt?’ she nodded yes and laughed. I guess Mursi humor.
Turns out the ‘tool’ she was going to use was just a bit of twig with thorn on the side. She gave a hat tip to sanitation, which I appreciated, by rinsing her hands off with water and got down to business. She pricked my skin with the thorn, pulled it up a little bit, and gave a quick slice to the skin underneath. Not painful at all really. However, the situation got a bit chaotic as everyone in the village wanted to see. I had a huge crowd around me with everyone crowding in; children who had previously been playing in the dirt decided to come over and give the wound a grab. They giggled at the funny white guy cringing with each slice. Eventually, I had had enough and decided we were done. My artist indicated that she wanted to create a pattern all the way around and down my arm. At that I smiled and said, ‘No no no this is beautiful enough.’ Babi translated and she seemed appeased.
I walked back to Sila who shook his head and gave me the ol’, ‘What am I going to do with you?’ look. I know it well, from my mother.
Once I clotted and had a moment to pick the small stones out of the wound, I thought it looked quite nice. The experience cost me 50 BIR, for which I tipped an additional 50, making the total about 3 USD. I was incredibly happy with the experience. I’m not going to go running back for a second one, but I was very happy I’d done it.
The Hammer
Let me start out by saying these people are gorgeous. Gorgeous. Fin. I mean seriously. The Hammer people of Ethiopia are stunning. They are best known for the women putting red ocher into their hair and rolling it around into cylindrical dreads. This ocher then drips down their skin giving it a radiant red bronze hue that is just stunning. Their clothes consist of goat hide to form a skirt and both women and men adorn, (and I am using the word adorn here for a purpose). They adorn themselves with incredible jewelry from earlobe to ankle. And their eyes! Forget it. Some of these people have the most intense hazel eyes that could get away with anything. They are also known for their Bull Jumping Festival, where young naked men jump over bulls and women receive lashings from a whip as a way of supporting their male family members. As in so many cases in life I feel the men get the better deal here.
We first came across the Hamer people at a local market, which sold everything from jewelry, to oats, to goat hides. Sadly, we arrived a little late in the day and only managed to see the final moments of the market as most people were getting ready to pack up. We made a short walk over to their village to find most of the women had come back from the market, but the men were still out in the fields. This meeting was a lot more casual than the Mursi and the ladies were happy to just let us sit with them and have a little chit chat.
Jewellery must be a very important part of the Hammer culture because it took one lady about two seconds to notice the rings I had hanging from my ears and nose and we immediately began comparing our various ornaments. I liked her a lot. She had a brilliant smile and an extremely easy laugh. We talked, through translation, about her children, of which she had many. We talked about her husband and how her family made a living. Turns out she stayed in the village to see the tourists on the days we came, while her husband tended to a herd of cattle. Her house was a stone’s throw away from where we sat. Cattle were what kept her tribe going and cattle were their main resource and a large part of their currency. You were as rich as the number of cows you owned. Of course, there were a few ladies offering up some souvenirs and I was not going to turn down the possibility of owning one of these stunning necklaces, so, for the small sum of 10 USD, I walked away with my own choker cum full décolletage necklace. As we walked away, I made a mental list of functions where I could possibly showcase my new necklace.
The Daasanach Tribe
Before I left Phoenix, my wonderfully protective Aunt Yvonne decided, about 15 minutes before she drove me to the airport, to check any travel warnings for Ethiopia. I have always taken travel warnings seriously but also with a grain of salt, so I had not really read any beforehand. Turns out, we discovered, that there was a Stage 4 or Do Not Travel, no go zone in the area of The Omo quite close to Kenya and awfully close to Southern Sudan. I probably should have thought of checking. This border can be quite volatile as there have been many disruptions over cattle and wars with Sudan. Oh crap. Again, I tend perhaps not to worry about these things so much which could very well be to my detriment. Since I was bringing my boyfriend into all this, however, I got nervous. I instantly sent off a WhatsApp message to the tour company asking about the area. He immediately replied that it was absolutely fine. “Can I trust this guy?” I wondered as Aunt Yvonne loaded me into the car.
This was the only part of Ethiopia where we had to register before visiting as they needed a record of who came in and who went out in case something happened. I questioned Babi, perhaps a little too intensely, about the safety of the area and he reassured me that it is totally safe and if there were any skirmishes; he would have known about it well in advance. “Okay”, I felt better.
We were on our way to see our final Tribe of people, The Daasanach Tribe, are known for the men having very ornate and dramatic jewelry, their AK47s, and their female circumcision. I’ll just leave that one there.
We crossed the Omo River in a wooden boat which was honestly gorgeous. Upon climbing up the opposite bank we arrived in the area of the Daasanach Tribe. It was a large flat area of land perfect for cattle. I was still a bit nervous as I could literally see the border of South Sudan, which, just saying, was ranked the third most dangerous country in the world. However, from where I stood everything was lovely and quiet, so I decided not to focus on the “what ifs?”. It was around this time that the gentlemen of the tribe started coming back from a day’s work, cattle herding. Yes it was true; each carried his own rifle given to him by the Ethiopian government as their way of keeping the border with Kenya safe from cattle poachers. Also, true to the rumours each man was heavily adorned with many a feathery or beautifully crafted jewel. It was such a contradiction to see these guys so elegant and carrying loaded kalashnikovs. I didn’t know how to feel.
We made our way into the heart of the village and as we got there several of the women of the tribe made a circle and started singing and dancing for us. It was suggested that we join them as it would be a nice gesture on our parts. Sila is not much of a dancer so I jumped in and attempted, rather unsuccessfully, to keep up with the dipping and swirling ladies. Even though I did not do anyone I know proud with my white boy from the suburbs moves, it was all very good fun. For the Daasanach people, like many of the tribes, cattle are currency and they protect their cows at any price. This village was one of the larger villages with about 550 inhabitants. Here was the first time I noticed a wealth discrepancy amongst the tribe’s people. This was interesting and different as, for the first time, there were rich villagers and poor villagers. Some of the tribe’s people were living without food while other households had more than what they comfortably needed. Before, with the other tribes, there may have been an uneven distribution of wealth but not as much as I noticed here. It was the first time I would say I felt the sad hand of poverty.
We made our way back across the river as the sun was starting to set and decided to have a sunset Habesha beer with a few of the boatmen resting on the banks of The Omo river. Well actually, I had two, and since Sila isn’t much of a drinker I had his as well. It was New Year’s Eve and as the sunset on 2019 we drank our beers, talked with the boatmen, and listened to the Ethiopian top forty from a small radio 20 feet away. If this was a red, no travel zone, it wasn’t showing any signs of it this evening
Mark Scodellaro
Neo hippie, yoga non- guru, and man of mystery. Avid traveller but only recently started writing about it. Yoga enthusiast, activist, and teacher in Bangkok. Loving father of four fur babies.
This piece was prepared online by Panuruji Kenta, Publisher, SEVENSEAS Media