 |
| High-rise termites... mind where you pitch your tent, guys.. |
'Too much waving and not enough rock
throwing...', is the strange observation we agree at our lunch stop. Long may it continue.
 |
| All he wants (for Christmas) is his two front teeth |
Ethiopia is notorious amongst cyclists
(motor- or pedal-) for reports of surly youths chucking stones at the passing
tourists. Like a derailed train, the
damage to - and by - a sliding motorcycle is out of proportion to the ease with
which the disaster could be caused.
We've been wary about becoming the latest victims of this scary
scenario.
But no - quite the opposite. From the moment we crossed the Mojale border
into southern Ethiopia, we have experienced a wonderful welcome. The countryside threw off the barren desert
dust and greened up quicker than a Tory MP in election year. The road became lined with country folk
herding cattle or camels between towns.
As soon as I finish returning the wave of one group of grinning goat
herders, I'm waving to another group on the other side - it seems rude to
ignore their friendly greetings, and unwise given the aforementioned
reputation.
 |
| Entrusted with the family herd, but not an education. |
From my
viewpoint on the bike, the population of Ethiopia seems to have exploded. The country measures five times the size of
Great Britain, but there's plenty of desert, semidesert and mountains... so
without packed high-rise cities I now understand why it seems so crowded. In 2006 Ethiopia's population squeezed past
the 73-million mark, an huge figure
considering the population was just 15 million in 1935. LP calculated that if the 2.5% growth rate
continued, Ethiopia would be bursting with almost 120 million people by 2025.
Despite AIDS,
which affected 12.6% of the urban population then, and inevitably slowed future
growth, I suspect the population increase is back on track.
In this,
mostly rural area it feels like there are people everywhere - I'm always able
to see someone (and usually many people) no matter where I look. This causes some consternation when we try to
find a quiet spot to bush camp, although I suspect locals are probably as
afraid of stumbling into a bunch of smelly bikers as we are of being stumbled
upon.
My reading
quickly throws up a likely explanation...
'With
almost everyone toiling out in the fields, it’s not surprising that only 38.5%
(World Bank figures) of the population is literate. Since young children are needed to help with
the family plots and animals, only 52% of children attend primary school. Older children are in even more demand in the
workforce, which means secondary schools sadly only see only 12% of kids. If all children under 16 were forced to attend
school, Ethiopia’s workforce would be ravaged and almost half of the country’s
entire population would be attending classes.' - LP 2006
Although the lush, busy countryside seems
completely at odds with the 'famine' I blindly associated with Ethiopia (dimly
remembered from 1984-5?), I suppose with so many people if the crops do fail,
there are a lot of mouths still to feed.
LP pipes up with the following warning: 'the pressures for living space, firewood, building materials,
agricultural land, livestock grazing and food will only further reduce natural
resources, and wipe out larger areas of wildlife habitat.' I can work out for myself that stripping 95%
the countries original forest will lead to soil errosion and thus exacerbate
the threat of famine.
--------------------------------------------
We have abandoned our hopes to see the Omo
Valley region (the remote route that takes you through tribes sporting lip
plates, long necks and droopy ear lobes).
Finding a fuel carrier to extend the range of our bikes was difficult,
and we'd been warned that the inland tracks were likely to be wetter and
muddier than we were prepared to chance.
Despite the tiring few days we had reaching
Mojale, we decide to press on.
Early Sunday morning we start a long day to
try and reach Addis Ababa before nightfall.
Getting into the capital city would, we figure, be slow in the Monday morning
rush hour. And besides, I have to find
fast internet access urgently, to try and smooth out a glitch in my application
for a new Carnet de Passage.
 |
| A stork tends his fishing nets... |
It's a demanding day: hazard-filled roads
where you can't let your concentration waver for a moment. Kids run out to wave at me - will they slip
or stop? - and animals weave between vehicles, or stand idly by, oblivious to
the danger. Frequently, a minivan would
veer away suddenly: presenting me with a choice between a group of deep potholes,
a wobbly guy in a tuk-tuk, or a stationary horse or three. By this point, waving to the locals is
becoming silly - there's just too much else to concentrate on.
When the cambered asphalt town road becomes
slick with mud I have an ominous feeling that I'll soon be sitting on my arse,
rather than the bike. I slide my steed
along tentatively, wishing I had sharp hooves rather than lively rubber tyres
to rely on.
 |
| Probably not a good idea to venture off the main road, then... |
The rain follows soon - explaining the lush
countryside - and the humidity quickly steams up my helmet visor. Potholes now hide under puddles, and muddy
clods clog the tread on my wheels. It's
treacherous stuff, completely contrasting with the cheerful crowd whose
highlight of the morning is evidently three foreign motorcycles going by.
I'm keen on reaching the capital city
tonight - and we've agreed Daan and Mirjam might decide to take another day
over the distance. So, gradually I build
a bit of a 'lead': I'm confident of my
energy levels, concentration and riding experience and don't want to hold up
our trio once we reach Addis. Riding
solo is usually quicker than riding in a group.
 |
| Only camels for lunch today, thankfully |
Stretching out, a little ahead of them, I'm actually enjoying the solitude. We've been living in one anothers' dust for four days, but as a solo rider (normally) I have missed the autonomy and decision-making that makes up part of my adventure.
But, we do tend to travel at a complementary pace and
before long my Dutch companions spot the bike I've left out for them, and join
me for a lunch stop. They have a glum
face on.
5km ealier, Daan had misjudged an overtake
and braked hard - too hard for Mirjam, who collided with his pannier and was
skittled across the road. Both she and
her bike had slid, but nothing broke on either of them, which is a blessing. It's a classic biker crash - I've almost done
the same myself in years gone by - but probably has more to do with fatigue
than anything. There's not much we can
do to alieviate that, other than recognise the warning signs and drive even
more carefully.
If bad things come in threes, then at least
the guys have had their quota for a while.
The afternoon is free from incidents - a period of careful
concentration.
 |
| Great coffee - if you drink it, that is |
We've reached Wim's Holland House before
dark: it's another overlanders' hub and we join a cheeful group who already know
the ropes. Tired and relieved to have
ridden in safely, we let the rain persuade us into taking cheap rooms, rather
than pitch our tents. (Frankly, the
price was virtually the same).
Tomorrow we will scurry around getting
paperwork in order, applying for more visas and researching the road
ahead. I'll be trying to push through my
Carnet application and guarantee from the bank, which could take a while.
Pretty soon, though, we'll only have
sight-seeing to think about. The rock
churches, spectacular mountains and castles of northern Ethiopia await.
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