Riding to Addis Ababa (04/12/01)

Well, I've been in Addis Ababa for a two weeks and in Ethiopia for three weeks now. Forgive me for not sending out this sooner. This is Africa :-)

So where to start. Ethiopia is like no other place I have visited in Africa. It is different in every way. The people are different. Physically they range from dark black to a light coffee color with straight hair. You can see how Ethiopia is the bridge between sub-Saharan Africa and the Middle East.

Currently, I am staying at the home of the parents of an Ethiopian friend who lives in California. The parents are in California now, but their son, Getty, lives nearby and has given me every courtesy and included me in various social events.

Getty lived in the U.S. for 17 years before returning to Ethiopia in 1997. So, we have had several interesting discussions on the differences in culture and lifestyle between the U.S. and Ethiopia. But before I go there, let me tell you a bit more about what I have been seeing.

The people of Ethiopia are also different in their interaction with the outside world. Ethiopia prides itself on never having been colonized. In my observation, the great pride on this point sometimes serves to their disadvantage. (Note: Ethiopia was occupied by the Italians from 1936 to 1941 but the Ethiopian and Eritrean people put up tremendous resistance throughout the occupation.) In many ways, it is still a "closed" society -- which several Ethiopians have acknowledged to me.

Thus, where those Kenyans or Ugandans who do not know me might be more deferential simply because of my skin, Ethiopians are quite the opposite. Children yell, "You you you", and they sometimes run up and touch me or the bike, or come and shake my hand. Especially outside of the city, I am an unusual site, but there is little fear or deference for "ferengi" (foreigners), but rather curiousity.

Much of Ethiopia is in the highlands. This has often been given as the reason for the Ethiopia's ability to avoid being colonized, but I think this discounts too much the nature and will of the Ethiopian people.

From Moyale the ride took me through plains, rolling hills, and along the lakes of Rift Valley, formed so many of millions ago, which stretches from Ethiopia to Mozambique.

From Lake Awasa, I rode past Shashamene, 25km to the north, which is the home to community of Jamaican Rastafarians. My understanding is that some Jamaicans came to Ethiopia oer 100 years ago. Then, in the 1960s, Haile Salassie donated some land for Jamaicans to live in Ethiopia, and a second wave arrived. There are now over 200 families living there.

The 250km north took me through wide-open savannahs with a smattering of trees, herds of cattle, goats, and donkeys (or mules--I always get them confused--but I do know a jackass when I meet one :-)

The road from Shashamene to Addis Ababa is freshly paved which made for a beautiful ride, but also creates the usual temptation to drive faster than is safe. This is because while the surface of the road has changed, the hazards have not -- there are still all kinds of human and animal obstacles that can appear in a moment's notice.

I should mention that I had been warned about the Ethiopian boys throwing rocks at motorcyclists. And also trying to place sticks in the spokes of the wheels. These warnings came from serveral Europeans who had just ridden through Ethiopia. So from the beginning, I had some apprehension.

But, if I may make a generalization, I think there is something that separates me from most of the other trans-African riders--I wave to the people. I wave to practically everyone I see when I'm out in the country -- and invariably they wave back -- farmers, shepherds, laborers, and children, especially the children. In fact, often the children beat me to the punch. And it is amazing, some of the children are just barely walking and already they have the instinct to wave--I wonder, is this learned or instinctive?

So, I continued my waving like a beauty queen on a float, and I had very few problems. Often times, I saw little boys streaking to the side of the road, but when they reached I was already waving to them and most waved back. It was as if my gesture had disarmed them.

In Awasa, an Ethiopian friend confirmed my instincts. He said the worst thing I could do was to ignore an Ethiopian child. I suspected that that was the sin committed by those riders who reported their problems.

Of course, when I passed through the various villages, cramped with people and animals and donkey-drawn carts, it was not possible to wave to everyone and in fact would seem disingenuous. It was in some of the villages that I had little boys run in front of the bike, gesture as if to throw a rock, etc.

However, I found a solution. I started riding standing up, or standing on my seat, in an effort to entertain--and this invariably brought whistles and cheers. If there is something I have observed in Africans, they are fun-loving and enjoy a good show! I was weaving back and forth behind a truck and doing some showing off and the men in the back tried to hand me a piece of sugar cane as a reward.

So, I had no problems of that sort on my ride to Addis. The main difficulty was keeping my eyes on the road--the scenery was magnificent. There were villages of round thatched-roof huts. Many of these huts were much larger than I was used to seeing in East Africa. I noticed that many of the huts were fenced off. Getty says this is a trait of Ethiopians, that they like to mark their territory.

About 80km north of Shashamene, I approached a small town and the traffic was stopped. I saw what appeared to be a vendor's cart spilled in the middle of the road. There was a big commotion and several women were crying and wringing their hands.

At first, I thought that someone had had their cart knocked over, but it became clear it was something more. I was waiting behind a truck that finally began to make its way through the crowd of people. I hesitated, but a the truck behind me honked and I started carefully forward.

Soon, I could see the real source of anguish. There was a body, covered with a tarp and a hand protruding; a pool of blood beside collected beside--its shade of red indicating how recent the accident had been.

People were wailing. The whole community seemed to be there, mourning the loss of own of its members. I was shaken. Pedestrians being killed by cars was nothing particularly African. In fact, just before I left San Francisco, there had been a spate of pedestrian deaths due to red-light runners. Still, I had not witnessed a dead body of an accident before. And what made the scene peculiarly African was the outpour of sentiment by the community.

The other thing that I think made this event unusual is that Ethiopian drivers are more cautious than the other places I had driven. The mini-busses were more courteous. Trucks had pulled out to pass, and upon seeing me, pulled back! So, I suspect that this type of accident was less usual than in other parts of Africa.

The ride to Addis Ababa climbs up to a height of 2300+ meters -- I believe it is the fourth highest capital city in the world. (Asmara, the capital of Eritrea, is situated at exactly the same height). So, as I climbed into the hills of Addis on this sunny day, the air cooled and the streets began to congest.

In true Moonride tradition, 270km of perfectly paved road ended with a 1km stretch of dirt road under construction right on the edge of the city. And wouldn't you know it, I got a flat on the rear tire! I stopped at a gas station, but the number of motorcycles, and those that can repair motorcycle tires, in Addis, is much smaller than in Kampala -- the location of my last flat.

So, I pumped in the can of Tire-Fix and rode off in search of my hotel. I rode by the stadium where there were droves of people lined up to see Angola v. Ethiopia in the African Youth Football tournament.

Addis Ababa is a bit tricky to navigate -- and there are few street signs in any language. After a few inquiries I was able to locate the Baro hotel in the Piazza district.

Very briefly, the next few days were miserable. It rained. I continued to fight whatever sickness I picked up in Awasa. My hotel sucked -- the rooms were damp and dank and infested with bed bugs (which gave me bites and a rash that lasted for many days after I left).

The bright spot was a few of the travelers I met. In particular, were a Canadian couple that had just arrived in Addis--Warren and Carol. Warren was also a motorcyclist and a "barnyard mechanic" like me. He and I tried changing my rear tube and we failed miserably--mangling my rim, and poking holes in the spare tube. But in the end, we had a great time and laughed at the whole thing!

After a couple of days, things got much better. The weather cleared up. Getty showed up with his friend Brook who knows the best motorcycle mechanics in town. And I got some medicine at the pharmacy that was putting me on a slow path to recovery.

I spent the last few days doing the usual dance of documentation and motorcycle repair. Brook introduced me to Johnny -- former Moto-cross champ of Ethiopia and top-notch motorcycle mechanic. In addition, Gary Kout back at home has been lining up a few parts for me.

(I continue to benefit from the original research Gary and David Baumgarten did for the first trip. They selected gear and products that continue to last and work well, e.g., Pelican Cases, Acerbis hand guards, Aerostitch riding suit, and more. I write more about this later, but I just want to note, that much of the preparation for this trip was really done by Gary and David 5 years ago!)

The other major accomplishment was that I received a visa for Sudan. There is a long, interesting story here -- perhaps a whole chapter for the book :-)

Before I send off this mish-mash of impressions, I want to write a little something about the music.

Throughout all the other countries of Africa there had been three types of music that I was consistently hearing: 1) Hip-hop/R&B, 2) Country, and 3) Lingala.

Yes, everywhere I have gone American Hip-hop and R&B proliferates -- and they have the very latest stuff. For me it was a bit of a disappoinment because it is often THE most popular music, more so than their own local music.

The next BIG surprise is the incredible popularity of Country music -- yes, Don Williams (whom I had never heard of -- Dad, I'll look to you for an education here), Dolly Parton, Ronnie Milsap, the Dixie Chicks, etc. Even in Ethiopia this is popular!

Finally, there is Lingala -- this is the music of the Democratic Republic of the Congo (DRC) which eminates primarily from Kinshasa. Lingala is the language that it is sung in. (Note that many West Africans refer to it as Ndombolo. Artists such as Kofi Olomide, Awilo Longomba, and Extra Musica are widely popular throughout Africa. Ethiopia was the exception here--there is much less familiarity with other African music. They seem to listen to their own music, American music, and a little bit of Reggae. I could find almost no one familiar with West African music.

Well, that's it for now. Every time I write one of these journal entries, I think of a hundred things I wanted to say. I think that I have overemphasized this and underemphasized that. So, please understand, this is just stream of conscious as I race to update you before the Internet or power fails again. The Internet here is up and down more than a New York elevator.

They have only a single ISP here, and no plans to add more anytime soon. The old antitrust attorney in me continues to appreciate the wisdom of the Sherman Antitrust Act. If you going to have a capitalistic system, then competition is the best way to make it work.

Gotta go!

Jim

P.S. Sorry there are not more photos. It ain't easy to upload from here.