I believe we left off after dinner at Jewel of India. Yes. Well, from there, things started to get even wilder, if you can believe it…
As we strolled up Gabon Avenue to Bole Road (also known as Africa Avenue, because…well, why not?) and back to the Damu Hotel, we reconfirmed our plan to walk to the Djibouti Embassy early the next morning to apply for tourist visas. With only two short days booked on Djibouti’s Moucha Island, and after our three-hour tour of the immigration queue at Bole International Airport, we wanted our arrival in Djibouti to be as smooth as possible.
This plan, combined with the spicy dosas and the dirty wine, gave me crazy thoughts. As I fell asleep, two famous – and unquestionably relevant – quotes ran through my head:
“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me…you can’t get fooled again.”
– George W. Bush
“Look, man, I ain’t fallin’ for no banana in my tailpipe!”
– Axel Foley
I think I could have slept for 48 hours, actually. But we had a mission to accomplish.
The next morning, during the 10-minute walk to the embassy, Jenny and I wondered aloud what a person from Djibouti is called. A Djiboutan? A Djiboutian? A Somali? (As you will learn in a subsequent post, the correct answer is Abdi.)
The visa application was easy, just a single form and $40. There was a space on the form for photos, but I asked the representative if we needed them and she said no. She lied. When we handed in our passports, completed form and cash, she said, “Photo?”
And, of course, we left our passport-sized photos in the hotel room. So, I ran back up Bole to the hotel, returned to the embassy and tried again. “OK, tomorrow at 2:00,” she said. We should have known.
Since we would be 100 kilometers (and several decades) away by tomorrow at 2:00, we decided to cancel the application and get our visas on arrival in Djibouti. Did we fall for the banana in the tailpipe? Reinhold be the judge.
We hoped not, but to make ourselves feel better, we went back to Lime Tree for breakfast and Macchiato #1.
From there, we hailed a Russian Blue (the word I just made up for the blue, Soviet-era taxis choking the streets of Addis) and bounced our way up to Addis Ababa University and the Ethiopian Ethnological Museum.
Once inside the gates of the university, my first priority was to offload some books I carried from the Centre for Human Rights in Pretoria about the 30th Anniversary of the African Charter. Fortunately, one of the first buildings we saw was the John F. Kennedy Library. They were confused that I didn’t have a letter explaining who I was and what the books were, but they took them off my hands, anyway. [SIDE NOTE: In case you’re planning a semester abroad at AAU, you should a.) bring your own sidewalks and toilets, and b.) check out one of the books.]
The Ethnological Museum, further in, is a magical mystery tour if I ever saw one. First off, it’s in Emperor Haile Selassie’s former palace. There’s a staircase outside, built by the Italian occupiers, that has a step for each year of fascist rule and spirals up to nowhere. One of the exhibits is Haile Selassie’s bedroom and bathroom (he had a less-than-opulent throne, shall we say). Still, the museum was quite nice. We especially enjoyed the exhibits of folktales and histories of the diverse peoples of Ethiopia. I think it helped us gain perspective and understanding that would be useful later in the trip.
Later, after a brief return to the Sheraton, we were off to yet another bathroom – this time at the Addisu Filwoha Hotel. The Addisu Filwoha is actually known more for its hot springs than its bed springs, and we, like several dozen Ethiopians that day, wished to bathe in them.
First, though, with the help of Birhanu, who just happened to be nearby, Jenny and I booked massages for the special “Foreigner Rate” of 125 birr ($7.23) each. When it was our turn, we were led into adjacent chambers separated by heavy curtains. For Phase One, we were each instructed to remove all our clothes and get into a massive, paint-chipped tub that was being filled with water from the hot springs. Phase Two involved a man (for me) and a woman (for Jenny) coming in and standing over the tub (where we lay naked) and using a high-pressure hose to massage our legs, feet, torso and arms. Though we couldn’t see or hear each other, we each thought the massage ended there.
Phase Three was behind Curtain #2. Walking naked out of the tub, we were led to individual massage tables and told to lie face up. We are still separated, and therefore unable to give each other the silent “OMG” faces for which the situation desperately called.
Once appropriately covered, a more traditional, if somewhat hasty, massage ensued. In the wake of all that had stressed us thus far, it was nice to find some relaxation.
However, we were now covered in oil and needed a shower. No problem! Our 28 birr ($1.61) entry fee included a hot springs shower in a separate building. Since we booked in as a couple, we were given a private “family” room with a shower and separate bath for 55 minutes. I think we stayed for five…
Later that night, we rejoined Birhanu for dinner. Pizza. With garlic chili sauce. Nice. And Macchiato #2? Not tonight. We had an early wake up call the next morning for our departure from Addis and drive down to Ziway.
Wednesday: Get Me to the Greek
On Wednesday morning, we made a discovery that was equal parts pleasing and frustrating: our hotel had free breakfast. All that angst the previous two mornings was unnecessary. There were eggs and pancakes and yogurt and orange juice every day. We kicked ourselves while sipping Macchiato #1.
After breakfast, we hauled our brand-new-but-already-broken-grocery-store-luggage down to meet our driver to Ziway: a half-Ethiopian, half-Italian, half-Greek tour guide/Volkswagen mechanic/Beetle racer named Lucca. Thank goodness he was an excellent driver. I stopped counting after the thirteenth time we almost hit a goat, cow, dog or donkey on the highway. One time in particular, as a half-dozen donkeys were crossing the road, two of them decided to “get a room” right on the center line. *Blush.*
Descending from approximately 8,000 feet in Addis, the landscape heading south out of the city was breathtaking. Expansive fields, incredible acacia trees, timeless rivers, ancient mountains and colorful people whooshed by for about two hours, until we rounded a corner and Lake Ziway came into view.
In Ziway, we went to the home of Gary and Peggy Ifft, an American couple from Bloomington, IL (Gary was Jenny’s boss at State Farm Insurance) who have lived in Ethiopia for more than a decade. After lunch with them, and a strong cup of coffee (in place of Macchiato #2) brewed in a jebena, we toured a couple of the primary schools Gary & Peggy built and administer in Ziway. After introducing ourselves and hearing some songs, we could tell that the next few days would be really special.
Thursday: Injera, Obama, and Head! Head! Head! Head!
Thursday began with breakfast at the hotel, which included Macchiato #1. We would need the caffeine, as Gary was taking us to school.
At the primary school in Ziway, we met the kitchen staff, learned how they were feeding students breakfast and lunch for $0.25 per child per day, and watched Jenny try her hand at making injera on a mitad. Let’s just say practice makes perfect.
Soon, it was time to introduce ourselves to the 2nd and 6th graders. As usual, Jenny was a star. Not only is she a professor, she’s a lady professor. That’s a big deal. And it was important for the students, particularly the young girls, to see what a woman can accomplish. The boys, however, did not seem to appreciate the fact that I quit my job to move for my wife’s. So it goes.
During each introduction, Solomon N., the school principal and our translator, opened the floor for questions. One student, who we later learned was Solomon’s own kid, tried to pin the professor down.
Hand up. Question. Translation. Solomon: “He would like to know, what is a noun?”
I whipped around to look at Jenny, her eyes big, her mind backpedaling into left field to catch the question and throw the answer back towards home plate before the runner tags.
“A person, place, or thing!” Jenny retorted, proudly. You just can’t get one past her. Who do you think she is? Bill Buckner?
After successfully answering all questions, and amazing the kids with the fact that Jenny and I have met Barack and Michelle Obama, it was time for lunch and Macchiato #2. Like our man Prufrock, we were beginning to measure out our lives in coffee spoons.
We returned to the school, sated and refueled, just in time for “Question & Answer.” This time, though, the students were on the spot. It was like a trivia/game show competition and there were only four contestants left. Final Jeopardy!
In the end, the winners received not only a gift-wrapped book, but a photograph with a couple of pasty ferenjis. What a prize!
Considerably more impressive is the magnitude of incredible work Gary and Peggy are doing in Ziway and neighboring Adami Tulu. In addition to multiple schools and feeding programs, they also established a small home for vulnerable children. Samuel’s Home is just down the street from the Ifft’s home, and we visited the kids who stay there just before bedtime. The highlight of the night was the multiple performances of “Parts of the Body” – apparently an exercise the kids learned at school.
It begins with a child leading the other children in a recitation of parts of the face, working down to the feet while pointing at each part along the way. Eyes. “Eyes!” Nose. “Nose!” Lips. “Lips!” Chin. “Chin!” One little boy really wanted to capitalize on the rote memory aspect, and got stuck on Head. “Head!” Head. “Head!” Head. “Head!” Head. “Head!” for a hilariously long time.
Speaking of which, this post has been going on for a long time. The next one will take you to a ramshackle government school, get a bajaj stuck in the muck (watch out!), treat you to a feast of sheep stomach and assorted wines, and invite you to a wedding. Do you want to come along? Please, say “I do.”