Introduction

On September 5, 2007, Louise and I kissed our kiddos farewell and headed off to Dulles Airport outside Washington. Some 30 hours later we touched down in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia's bustling capital. We spent the next 11 days in Ethiopia on what turned out to be one of our most exciting vacations ever. We made new friends. Ate delicious food. Drank tej (traditional honey wine.) Negotiated prices at the market. Discussed religion with cab drivers. Enjoyed local music. Learned a lot about the country's history and culture (well, a lot compared to what we knew before, anyways.) Picked up a few handy words in Amharic. Et cetera. We also saw deep poverty, in Addis but especially out in the country side. Poverty, of course, tends to be the first thing many of us Westerners think of when hearing the word "Ethiopia." Indeed, the blind beggars, the ragged rural mud huts and the farmers struggling to plough with no more than a whip and two oxes are all too real and at times heartbreaking. However, we learned, thankfully, that Ethiopia is also so much more -- a country full of humor, passion, welcoming men, beautiful women, hard workers, a glorious landscape, delicious food, great music and dance, a rich history, fascinating traditions. To let anyone who may be interested learn more about our trip -- and in the process, about Ethiopia -- we decided to create this Web site. A handy way, we figured, to share our thoughts and pictures (and a few videos.) Please comment as you wish. Amasegenalo! -- Ola and Louise.
Ola's email: okinnander@gmail.com

Arriving in Addis

When we arrived at 2 am at Addis Ababas International Airport we realized there had been a miscommunication. Louise's colleague and friend Jordan Chamberlin -- who lives in Addis and was going to host us -- thought our arrival was still 24 hours away. Hence no Jordan to pick us up. We couldn't call and wake him up at that godawful hour. And we couldn't taxi it to his house as we didn't have the address. So we waited at the airport until the birds started chirping outside and we could make that call without scaring the daylights out of Jordan. While we waited and sipped tea at the airport bar we heard two guys speak ... Swedish. They turned out to be Christian missionaries who had previously worked in eastern Ethiopia, spreading the word of The Man Upstairs, and were now back in Ethiopia to attend a wedding. They were soon joined by three Swedish women, there for the same purpose. Sebastian, Andreas, Anna-Karin, another Anna-Karin (I think) and Linda all turned out to be very nice, hanging out with Louise and me as they were waiting for their driver. I am, to be honest, a little skeptical about missionary work. Can't help but think thoughts such as: 1) Is this what Ethiopians today really need, Westerners preaching their preferred version of religion? 2) If you're a Swede, believe in the Lord and have the urge to convert others, why fly off to a far-away land? Why not stay in Sweden, where most people are agnostics or atheists, and take a whack at it there?

Any case, the little skeptic inside me stayed silent as I realized how genuinely nice they all were. Truly good-natured young folks -- and only partly evidenced by the fact that they didn't get paid for their missionary work, but took jobs in Sweden and saved and saved until they could afford to go for a year or so. I ended up being impressed with them, and would love to cross paths with them again.

Media matters

Jordan picked us up in his 1989 Toyota Landcruiser, a sturdy and classic 4-wheel drive. It was during this ride to his house that I learned the first major difference between Ethiopia and the U.S.: in Ethiopia seat belts are not used. (This lesson would be reinforced many times later on as I, driven by pure instinct, would scramble to find a seat belt that did not exist in taxis that slalomed past pedestrians, dogs, goats and other cars.)

Jordan lives in a beautiful house in the Lambaret neighborhood in eastern Addis. There we were greeted by his very friendly helpers Weynshet, Wubit and Aboy as well as dog Ambesa.
After a much-needed nap, Louise and I launched a crucial mission: visiting Ethiopia's Ministry of Information. I was planning to visit the fistula hospital in Addis the following Monday to write a freelance story about the unique care that is offered there to women suffering from birth-related injuries, but Ethiopia's strict media laws required me to first get a permit from the government. Otherwise, the hospital would not be allowed to let me in and do my reporting.
The ministry building was most memorable for its many anti-corruption posters that lined the walls near the elevators. Oh, and for another thing: throughout the whole vacation I pretty much didn't see any Ethiopians smoke, but the stairwell of this government building was littered with cigarette butts. Go figure.
The bureaucrat handling my case was curious about me and picky about the paperwork (I had to leave to get a passport-sized photo; the photo of me that Louise had in her wallet was of slightly wrong size and therefore no good). In the end, though, he was nice about the whole thing and gave me what I came for: an official-looking paper filled with cryptic Amharic letters that I did not understand but which Jordan (who speaks Amharic fluently) later assured me meant I was hereby allowed to do a story on the hospital. Yes.
The whole experience drove home the point to me that Ethiopia is really a semi-democracy. Press is not really free. Information is tightly controlled. The major newspapers and TV stations are government run (the main ETV channel is even housed inside the Ministry of Information building) and are very unlikely to run news negative for the ruling party.
Any case, with that coveted paper in hand allowing me to do my story I wasn't about to complain too much about Ethiopia's shortcomings in the freedom of speech department.

Millennium mania mounting

Later that day we walked by Meskel Square, a huge plaza built by the Communist regime that reigned Ethiopia 1974 - 1991. There last-minute preparations were under way for the Millennium celebrations four days later. Workers were hammering, sawing, welding. Sparks were flying around brand-new signs welcoming the year 2000.

Non-Ethiopians may now ask: Uh, Millennium celebrations? Year 2000? The Millennium arrived, like, almost eight years ago. True, but Ethiopia operates on a different calendar from the rest of the world; it's the only nation that follows the antique Ge'ez calendar, where the years have 13 months. (One of Ethiopia's most popular tag lines about itself: "13 Months of Sunshine".) Just one more way, it turns out, that makes Ethiopia a pretty darn unique country.

A first taste of tej

In the evening that first day in Ethiopia we met up with Louise's and Jordan's colleague David, his wife Zed and her brother Teddy. After a drink at David and Zed's house in the Bole district, we went to Enesra restaurant on Mickey Leland Road. Great vegetarian food (Ethiopians typically don't eat meat on Wednesdays and Fridays). We had learned beforehand from our Ethiopian friends Dereje and Bete in Washington a couple of things to keep in mind: Eat only with your right hand and never -- that means never -- lick your fingers. During the dinner at Enesra I had to constantly remind myself of these rules of etiquette as I was picking at the food with the injera (the ever-present and multi-purpose bread that is used as spoon, plate, food,...) It was here that Louise and I got our first taste of tej, Ethiopia's traditional honey wine. Smooth and sweet, it went down like a charm. We also enjoyed the man and woman performing dances from different regions of Ethiopia. Clad in traditional dress, they would dance to one song, take a short break, return wearing new dresses, dance to another song with a very different feel to it, and so forth throughout the evening.
















Great company, delicious food and drink, and a stellar performance by the dancers made this first evening in Ethiopia one to remember fondly.

Party like it's 1999

We capped our first evening in Ethiopia by going to Harlem Jazz club on Bole Road to see K'Alyn perform. Our friends Tracy and Mark in Washington had recommended him. They know him from when he used to live in DC. So yes, he's an American performing in Addis. He played in a hip club to a packed crowd, belting out great versions of various classic tunes. The club really got going when he performed Prince's Party Like it's 1999 -- after all, it was 1999 according to the Ethiopian calendar, for another three days. The song was a stark reminder that this was indeed a very special moment in this country's history.

Chat, China and more at the Merkato market

We woke up the next day by Jordan knocking on our door and asking if we were okay. Why did he ask? Because it was 2:30 in the afternoon. We had slept more than 12 hours. Something I hadn't done since I was about 16. We cleared the fog in our brains with some excellent bunna (yes, that's Amharic for coffee) prepared by Weynshet. Then we loaded into the Landcruiser and headed to the Merkato market. Some say this is Africa's biggest open market. Don't know if that's true, but no doubt it's huge. Street after street with vendors selling all kinds of clothes, food, jewelry and various staples. We bought some beautiful hand-made shirts, scarves and a table cloth, after bargaining and drinking tea with the shop owner.
Our guidebook (Lonely Planet) said that at Merkato you can find everything from camels to AK 47's. We didn't see any hump-backed animals or assault rifles, but then we also visited only parts of this sprawling market. One thing struck us as interesting: seemingly most of the of the small, cheap plastic and/or electronic goods we saw at the market, including the flashlight we bought, were made in China. America and Europe, of course, have been flooded with cheap Chinese products for years, but it did surprise me to see the extent of it here. I had heard that the new ring road around Addis was built by the Chinese. For good and bad, China is making big inroads in Ethiopia, and probably throughout Africa, in many different ways.
Merkato was lively and colorful. Vendors shouting prices, children selling napkins and gum, people carrying a mountain of empty water jugs on their backs, taxis fighting for space with pedestrians. We saw no other forenjis (Amharic for foreigners, that is whites) here, and we got plenty of stares and hellos. But as was the case throughout our vacation, the glares and greetings were almost all the time of friendly nature. Almost. There was one guy at the Merkato, a bearded man probably around 50, who looked damnright irritated when he saw us. Even more so when he spotted our camera. We checked him out because of the green leaves that filled up his white sack. Someone told us it was chat. We had heard about chat. It's a mild stimulant, a natural drug, that is illegal in most of the world but popular in some parts of eastern Africa. In Ethiopia it used to be illegal but is now legal. Chew it for some time (hours, they say) and apparently you get a nice buzz, get all friendly, talkative, eager to wax philosophically. (Well, that's the positive spin on it; some say it mostly produces a headache.) Some Christians we talked to said chat is mostly a Muslim tradition. In neighboring Somalia, we've heard, it's become a huge social problem, where many if not most of the men spend their days dazily chewing chat. (For the record: One night in Addis we visited some friends who had a nice little garden where they grew thyme, sage and other spices -- as well as chat. The host broke off a few leaves for us. Chat, it turns out, has a slightly bitter taste. Not unpleasant. We didn't try nearly enough, though, to get even a little bit of the intoxicating effect.)
The guidebook had warned us about the Merkato. It said that while Addis Ababa and Ethiopia in general are very safe places with little crime, the Merkato can be an unpleasant exception. Here, the book said, if you're a forenji the risk of being robbed is real. So we had some apprehensions. As I can be a little absent minded, I had managed to tuck a 10-birr bill only halfway down my rear jeans pocket. One half of the bill stuck up, flapping in the wind like a little flag. I was unaware of this until someone tapped on my shoulder. A young guy with a friendly smile let me know that I might want to tuck my money in. Yes, we felt very safe throughout our vacation in Ethiopia. As it turned out, even at the Merkato, the one place we had been warned about, the locals turned out to be -- with one chat-chewing exception -- very friendly.

Chillin' with Rahel, Gezahegen and ... a hen

Saturday evening we visited a family that is good friends with Jordan. We met mom, grandma, daughter Rahel (Ethiopian women are famously beautiful -- a reputation upheld by Rahel), son Gezahegen, dog Mourinho (named after Chelsea F.C.'s recent coach -- Ethiopians, we learned, are big fans of the English Premier League), and an unnamed hen. The women soon started a coffee ceremony, filling the living room with fog-like smoke and delicious aroma. We talked Ethiopian culture, American culture, soccer and a tad philosophy (Gezahegen had just graduated from Addis Ababa University where he had studied English literature and philosophy.) I was amused by the hen, which was very friendly and relaxed as it hung out with us throughout the evening. It was blissfully unaware that in a couple of days its fate would be sealed and it would be served with injera as dinner.

Running Entoto

Jordan, who's a great runner, had suggested we go up really early and "run Entoto." Somehow Louise and I agreed. That meant we left the house 5:30 in the morning, drove to pick up Jordan's friend Dereje and then continued to the lower parts of the Entoto Mountains in the outskirts of Addis Ababa, just below the U.S. Embassy. The goal was to run to the famous Entoto Mariam Church up on the hill. To make a long and painful story short: After about 20 minutes of relatively confident jogging uphill, Louise and I got hit with reality: the church we were going to run to was located way, way, way up the steep, twisting road. Not an easy task for a lousy runner like me, or even for Louise. She and I ended up walking up there most of the way (at least we didn't hitchhike up, as she suggested in one desperate moment!) Once we finally arrived, we were glad to be up there. The view of Addis and the surrounding green hills (lush from months of rain) was stunning. The whole experience inspired Louise to write a story about what makes running so special to Ethiopia (it is the national sport here, and you see people running everywhere) and why so many of them are so great at it. As I write this, she is just about to submit her article, which I think came out insightful and entertaining, to Runner's World magazine. (We unfortunately didn't bring a camera along for our run. The above picture is from later in the day as we were driving through the Entoto mountains during sunset.)

The amazing Addis Ababa Fistula Hospital

On Monday I visited the Addis Ababa Fistula Hospital. I had heard about this very special hospital before and wanted to do a freelance story on it. This is the only hospital in the world dedicated to treating fistula, which is a devastating birth-related injury that afflicts many young women in the developing world. Since many women in rural Ethiopia and other poor countries get married and then pregnant when they are quite young -- and also because they often have worked hard since childhood without getting proper nutrition -- their bodies are simply not sufficiently developed to safely give birth. At least not without professional assistance such as by a midwife, which is hardly ever available out in the countryside. One of the patients I talked to - who let me interview her (using an interpreter) and photograph her as long as I, according to hospital policy, don't publish her real name -- has a rough life story that unfortunately is not uncommon. Living in a village in northern Ethiopia, she got married when she was almost 15, pregnant when she was 17 and was due to give birth when she was 18. She endured five hellish days of labor, simply unable to get the baby out. Finally she was taken to a local hospital. They removed the baby but too late -- it had died. Some of the young woman's inner organs at this point had ruptured. Now she had fistula, leaking urine permanently. Her husband soon divorced her. Many women in this situation would now be doomed to a life as an outcast, rejected by almost everyone because they smell so horrible. This girl was lucky in the sense that she had relatives who cared for her and who took her to the fistula hospital in Addis. Despite all her troubles, she appeared very nice and sweet when I talked to her, smiling shyly as she recovered in bed after surgery. The surgery, by the way, is only a part of the process needed to rehabilitate these women, whose lives really have been shattered. The hospital offers language classes, knitting and other activities for the recovering patients, helping them to rebuild their self confidence until they're eventually ready to return to society. It's a whole package and it was very impressive to see. I was fortunate to sit down and drink tea with and interview Catherine Hamlin, who founded this unique hospital in 1974 with her husband. Now 83, Catherine is still active, operating on patients every Thursday if not out of town to raise money for the hospital, plan new health centers and so forth. She and her staff are doing wonderful things for so many women (over the years they have helped some 32,000 women). It was a privilege to meet Catherine and the other staffers, and of course the patients, who seemed so brave amidst their suffering, lifted by the knowledge that here they had found an oasis of hope and care. Special thanks to Ruth Kennedy, the hospital liaison who helped arrange my visit and showed me around. It was an experience that touched me deeply and that I will always remember.

Buying rings, checking out Lucy, getting interviewed by ETV...

After visiting the hospital I cabbed it to the Piazza section of Addis (as the name indicates, this neighborhood was heavily influenced by the Italians, who invaded Ethiopia in 1935 and occupied it for a few years). I started talking to a random Ethiopian man on the street, asking if he knew of an Internet cafe nearby, and we ended up spending the whole afternoon together. His name was Negesh. He works for Irish charity GOAL, which does a lot of work for the poorest of the poor in developing countries. First we had lunch. Then we went to the famous St. George's Cathedral (well, to the museum and bell tower at least; we couldn't get in to the church itself as preparations were going on there for the Millennium festivities the following day.) Then we met up with Louise at the National Museum. There we saw a copy of "Lucy," the 3.2 million-years old skeleton that was found in Ethiopia in 1974. Lucy symbolizes the root of mankind and is arguably the world's No. 1 anthropological treasure. For being a quiet little old lady, Lucy is a big deal.
Ironically, the real remains of Lucy were no longer at the museum -- they had recently arrived in the U.S., where they will be on a six-year tour. On the way out of the museum, a reporter from ETV (Ethiopian Television, the country's main channel) stopped Louise and me, wondering if he could ask us some questions on camera. Sure thing, we said. He asked what we thought of the museum and of Ethiopia in general. We told him that we had a great impression so far, that Ethiopians seem very friendly, et cetera. The reporter thanked us and told us it was going to air the next evening as part of a special program on the Millennium. (And air the next day it did. We didn't see it ourselves, but three different families we talked to later saw it. For a moment we felt like minor celebrities.)
One little observation about the museum: it charges Ethiopians 2 birr in entrance fee, while foreigners have to pay 10 birr. At first I was taken aback by this. Can you imagine museums in the U.S. or Sweden charging foreigners more to get in? Can you hear the outcry? But I guess it makes sense here. Foreigners in Ethiopia tend to be pretty well off, and for them 10 birr ($1.20) is still very cheap for getting into the museum. To charge 2 birr for the locals simply means most of them will also afford to get in if they so desire.

Before we said goodbye to Negesh, he helped us take care of a pressing financial problem. Several banks had refused to change three of my $100 bills into birr. The greenbacks were from 1996, which the banks considered real old and hence for some reason risky. Unable to exchange that cash, we were starting to run out of money. It was starting to become a real concern. Negesh came to our rescue. He took us to a little shop that had a picture of a dollar bill plastered on the window -- a signal that this was a black-market currency exchange. We gave him our $300 and in he went -- as a local he'd get a much better exchange rate, he explained, than what we forenjis could hope to achieve by ourselves. When he returned he handed me a thick wad of birrs, ensuring we could indeed afford the rest of our vacation. A great deed by a great dude.

A broken taxi, an honorable driver

When Louise and I cabbed it back home afterwards, we agreed with the driver to pay 40 birr for the trip. The driver was typical of most taxi drivers we rode with on our vacation: he had hung a small cross from the rearview mirror, he smiled a lot and spoke a few words of broken English, and his car -- a Lada -- was in rough shape. (Virtually all taxis in Addis are Ladas, seemingly from the 1980's. I never got a satisfactory explanation for why that is, and if someone knows I'd like to hear it. My own theory is that the Soviet Union, which supported Ethiopia's Communist regime during its 1974-1991 reign, simply gave Ethiopia thousands of Ladas as economic assistance to this fellow Communist country. The Ethiopian government subsequently decided all those cars should be taxis. Again, this is just my theory, and I'm curious to learn more about it.) Any case, we had driven maybe a third of the way and we were on a heavily trafficked road when the taxi suddenly broke down. The engine just died, and turning the ignition key did nothing. The driver jumped out and tried to push the car in order to jump start it. I soon joined him. We pushed and pushed but the engine showed no sign of life. We pushed it to the side and stopped. He opened the hood and checked various things. The car still would not start. When he realized this, that his car would not start anytime soon, that it probably needed serious repair, what was the next thing on his mind, his immediate top priority? Nope, it was not fixing his car. It was fixing a ride for us. Another taxi was parked nearby. Our driver went over and talked to that driver. Then our driver returned to us and explained: We would pay him 10 birr and we would pay the new driver 30 birr. This would make it a total of 40 birr, the same as the original price. I couldn't believe it. His car -- his livelihood -- had just broken down, and he had driven us pretty far, for sure more than a quarter of the way, and he arranged this deal that would mean he would only get a measly 10 birr. For him it was very important that Louise and I should not pay more than originally agreed, no matter how the circumstances had changed. Talk about being honorable. I insisted on paying him at a minimum 20 birr, but he absolutely refused to accept more than 10. This driver cemented what I had already begun to realize at this point: Most Ethiopians are refreshingly honest and honorable.

Bowling! Bowling??? Yup, bowling

About the last thing we ever expected to do in Ethiopia was go bowling. But as it turned out, Addis has one bowling hall (all of Africa is said to have no more than about half a dozen), we had the evening free and so we went. Jordan hadn't been to this place for a long time, but the 3 staffers there remembered him clearly; he and one other person, they said, were the only two forenjis who had visited the place in the last five years who could speak fluent Amharic. Quite a testament to Jordan and I guess to the power of language. We turned out to be the only visitors there, having the whole hall for ourselves. It was a blast. The lanes are regular size, but different from what we're used to in America and Europe in this regard: the pin assembling is not automated; instead one of the staffers had to put the pins up by hand after each time we knocked them down. It was something to see. Louise ruled the night, putting her two male companies in their place with a jaw-dropping number of strikes. Watch this video clip of her showing how it's done!

Tennis time!

My favorite sport is tennis, and so I was delighted when an opportunity opened up to play with Dereje, who's the tennis and squash coach on the agricultural research campus where Jordan works. The court was red clay, which I played a fair amount on as a kid since it's a pretty common surface in Sweden. But red clay is virtually non-existent in the U.S. so I hadn't played on that for many years. It made me even more excited to be out there. Dereje lent me a racket and out we went. We played a tough 3-seter that took well over 2 hours. I sweat a lot when I exercise, especially when it's warm, and so I need a lot of water. During this match I drank -- no exaggeration -- 5 liters of water. How much did Dereje drink? Not. A. Single. Drop. And he played wearing long pants. Without water I would have collapsed after 20 minutes. But he was fresh as a Federer when the match was over. Amazing. The match result? Well, I will have to take revenge on him some time in the future. For now he remains the champ, beating me 6-4, 2-6, 6-4. Check out this video clip of Dereje demonstrating his deadly forehand.

Next stop: Gonder

We wanted to see as much of Ethiopia we could during our vacation, so as planned we packed our bags, went off to the airport and flew one of Ethiopian Airlines' Fokker 50 turbo props an hour north to the city of Gonder. Throughout the centuries Ethiopia has had several different capitals and from 1636 to 1855 it was Gonder's turn. A royal enclosure with several palaces was built in the 1600's, and most of these impressive buildings remain in good condition today. We spent a full day with a local guide, Fekadu Abera, and a driver, Yonase Stifanos. They were both extremely nice and knowledgable and made us feel right at home. Fekadu showed us three historical places in Gonder: the royal enclosure, Fasiladas' Bath (an outdoor pool where the emperor used to chill out), and the colorful Debre Berhan Selassie Church. The royal enclosure has six palaces and two old lion cages. Abyssynian lions were kept through the centuries in those cages, all the way until 1991 when Ethiopia's Communist rulers fell and the local strongmen in Gonder who had worked for the regime had to flee; the two remaining lions were then taken to the zoo in Addis.
Fasiladas' Bath (seen in the picture above, with Yonase to the far left and Fekadu in the middle) is beautiful despite currently undergoing renovation. Norway's government is financing the restoration project. However, when we visited it was quiet with no workers in sight. Fekadu, our guide, told us that Norway's and Ethiopia's diplomatic relations had entered a crisis mode in recent weeks, with Ethiopia throwing out several Norwegian diplomats and Norway cutting aid in response. (I later read that Ethiopia has accused Norway of supporting "terrorist groups" in neighboring Eritrea, Somalia and Sudan, something which Norway denies.) Any case, one casualty of this diplomatic stand-off between Norway and Ethiopia appears to be the restoration of Fasiladas' Bath. At least for now.
The church known as Debre Berhan Selassie (pictured above) is famous primarily for its amazing paintings that line the inner walls and ceiling. Among other things it has 104 angels looking down on visitors, each one seemingly with a slightly different expression.



Check out this video clip of sunrise in Gonder. Louise filmed it outside the hotel while I was snoozing inside. Who can tell us what type of bird that is?

Pepsi vs. Coke

The war between Pepsi and Coca-Cola is spreading around the world as the two soda giants seek to establish their presence in emerging markets. Ethiopia is no exception. Here, it seems, Pepsi is currently ahead, and by more than just a few bottles and cans. In Addis Ababa we had noticed many more signs around town advertising Pepsi than Coke. Not sure why Pepsi is ahead, but perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Ethiopia's richest man, Sheik Mohammed Hussein Al-amoudi, owns the soda company that bottles Pepsi in the country.

In Gonder, Pepsi dominated even more than was the case in Addis, with the company's blue-white-red signs appearing pretty much everywhere downtown. For example, Pepsi sponsored the little spaces that housed the traffic police at some of the intersections.

Also the flower vase by our hotel entrance...













Pepsi's extraordinarily strong showing in Gonder
suddenly made sense. It turned out that the town
housed a major Pepsi factory.



So what about Coke? Was it completely invisible in Gonder, a city of almost 200,000 people? Well, of course not. Coke wouldn't be Coke if it didn't advertise at least a little bit. We saw one ad for Coke in Gonder. It was at the market, on this horse carrier that served as taxi.

On the road

One of the absolute highlights in Ethiopia was the drive we took from Gonder to another historical city, the amazing Lalibela.



The drive southeast, with a steadfast Yonase behind the steering wheel, took 11 hours, partly on smooth asphalt but mostly on rough gravel.
It allowed us to see a lot of the countryside, passing through areas where we sometimes wondered if the locals had ever met a forenji before.






Many of my all-time favorite photographs come from this drive. We quickly fell in love with the gorgeous landscape. The green, lush, curvy fields rolled along, interspersed with hilltops, ficus trees and colorful flowers. Donkeys, goats and cows grazed aplenty. This was at the end of the rain season, a time when nature here vibrates with life. (Come in January or March though, Yonase told us, and the landscape will be grayish brown, dry and dusty, void of much life.)


In stark contrast to the beautiful landscape was the deep poverty we found in its midst. Here, in rural Ethiopia, poverty is about as real as you can get. Signs were plenty. Women washing clothes in creeks. Small mud huts that served as homes dotting the fields. Young men and boys struggling to plow the fields with the help of two oxes and a whip.
Often when we stopped the car to take in the view men, women or children would suddenly appear. Emerging from a nearby field or walking along the road, they reveled in checking us out -- and we them. In Addis Ababa most people, it seemed, could speak at least a little bit of English. Not so out here in the countryside. Instead they used the most international lingo of all -- body language -- to signal to us that they were curious and welcoming. They may have been materially poor, but spiritually they seemed rich as they repeatedly embraced us with friendly energy.

Leftovers from the war

In 1993 Eritrea broke free from Ethiopia after three decades of struggle for independence. The two countries after that continued to bicker over issues such as currency, trade and exactly how the border should be drawn. In 1998 they came to full blows over a disputed border town. They launched a devastating war that killed tens of thousands of people on each side and prompted both of these impoverished countries to spend hundreds of millions of dollars on military equipment. The fighting lasted until 2000. When it was over not much had been resolved; the two were basically just tired of all the death and destruction. They badly needed a rest.
As we drove through the countryside on our way to Lalibela we occasionally saw old, discarded military tanks and jeeps from this war. They had been abandoned in the fields, typically with the cannon and other parts removed, presumably picked apart and used for scraps by the locals.
As I write this in October 2007, Ethiopia and Eritrea just in the last week have escalated their aggressive talks against each other. The border issue remains tense and unresolved. Both have warned the United Nations that the other country seems to be on the war path. UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon has urged them to cool their heads and do what they can to avoid a return to military conflict.
Let's hope they listen.

Check out this video clip of a farmer using his whip and two oxes to plow the field next to one of these abandoned tanks.

Lalibela: Stairway to heaven

Why the city of Lalibela isn't listed as one of the Seven Wonders of the World I'm not sure. Seems like it'd be a strong candidate. This is one of Ethiopia's premier Orthodox Christian holy cities, attracting pilgrims from around the country, especially during religious holidays.







But it's also the showcase for some of mankind's most impressive feats when it comes to architecture, construction and sheer perseverance. Without going into too much detail, Lalibela
-- located in Ethiopia's remote mountains -- is famous for its rock-hewn churches. In other words, the city's 11 churches were not built in the usual sense of the word -- they were carved out of the existing mountain. Pretty amazing stuff. Legend has it that King Lalibela sometime in the 1200's visited Jerusalem, got inspired and upon returning to Ethiopia ordered the construction of this holy city. It's said to have taken 40,000 workers 25 years to perform the feat.

The most famous of the churches, the masterpiece, is Bet Giyorgis (Church of St. George.) It is the only one that has been carved free from the mountain on all four sides, making it a 15 meter high independent structure. Unlike most of the other churches that were undergoing restoration when we were there because of serious wear and tear, Bet Giyorgis remains in excellent condition.




For some reason weaving seems to be left almost exclusively to men in Ethiopia. We didn't see any women weave but several men. Here's one in Lalibela.

Louise and Yonase with some of the local friendly faces who greeted us as we strolled by.

Foosball mania

I first noticed it in Addis, then in Gonder, then in several villages along the road toward Lalibela, and finally in Lalibela: Ethiopian boys love to play foosball. These table football games were seemingly everywhere, typically with a half dozen or so boys crowded around each table to play and cheer on. I have played a few games of foosball myself in my days. I'm pretty bad but I do really enjoy it. When I first saw the kids play it on the streets of Addis I felt that itch; I really wanted to join in. However, I couldn't muster up the courage to ask. In Lalibela I was watching some kids play when one of them asked if I wanted to join. Yes. I finally got my chance. It quickly became clear though that this forenji could not compete with the local boys. Sure, they smiled and seemed all friendly, but in the end they showed little mercy as they punished me with hard shots and various tricky moves.
Louise caught a little bit of the action on camera. Let's go to the video tape...

Thanks and goodbye

We flew back to Addis. Our vacation was coming to an end. On our last day in Ethiopia we took it pretty easy. We visited the family of Seble, sister of Louise's friend and colleague Tigist. Among other things we got to enjoy a wonderful coffee ceremony, complete with grass on the floor and bowl of popcorn. (For some reason coffee ceremonies in Ethiopia are not complete without popcorn.) Turns out Tigist's brother, Biruk, only a few days later was going to move to the U.S. to study at college in Iowa. He told me there's apparently a fairly large Ethiopian community in Iowa. Who knew? Any case, he seemed excited about the opportunity and I'm sure he'll do great.
Check out the photo of this very welcoming family. Why is the picture hazy? Because of the smoke from the roasting of the coffee beans, of course!


We want to thank a lot of people that helped make our vacation so great. We can't name them all because they were too numerous, but of course there's Jordan. Not only did he open his home to us, giving us shelter and food, he introduced us in a very natural way to the local scene. That was invaluable. Our thanks and hearts also go out to his helpers Weynshet and Wubit (pictured here) as well as Aboy. All extremely warm and welcoming. We also appreciate the efforts by Bekele at the Ghion Travel agency in Washington, who worked with us to arrange the flight in and out of Ethiopia. (No, they have not sponsored us to say so.) Also Mrs. Etenesh at Hess Travel in Addis, who arranged our trip to Gonder and Lalibela, did a great job and made everything easy for us. We will fondly remember our young guide in Gonder, Fekadu Abera, for his enthusiasm and impressive knowledge, and our driver Yonase Stifanos for his wonderful sense of humor and amazing ability to slalom past a long stream of people and animals on the road without any accidents.
Those were just some of many people for which we feel great appreciation.
Oh, we don't want to forget my mom, Kerstin, and Göran, her live-in boyfriend ("sambo" we say in Swedish; why isn't there a good word for it in English? "Domestic partner" just doesn't cut it.) Without them flying to Washington from Stockholm to look after our girls Isabel and Sofia while we were away our trip simply would not have been possible. Thanks!!
The day after we returned home, Louise and our girls all put on brand-new dresses from Ethiopia. I can't say that it made the 3 girls look Ethiopian exactly... but it was a great way to combine the feeling of being home again with some memories from this stellar vacation.