Ethiopia Diaries Part II: Shashemane, Addis and Eskista

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In the morning we went to Shashemene. I have heard about this place for many years. In Jamaica the Rastas perpetually preach repatriation to the Promised Land. There is a great Reggae Classic by Deniis Brown called the Promised Land. I had played it and sang it all over Jamaica with rasta and ball head alike. I had watched it performed in Crystal palace in South London. Its a personal favourite and on my Ipod listening to the words about riding on the Kings Highway in the geographical context of the road trip felt right. I remembered my manners and took out my ear plugs and listenend to our guide. He explained how the Chinese were building new roads and it became clear that they had filled the void left between Russia and the IMF. We swapped theories in hush tones about what the implications were for Africa in general, but Ethiopia in particular. We agreed that the free and easy movement of goods and labour throught the country by use of good roads would aid development. The true cost of the Chinese roads was yet to be determined. We sped along the asphalt and made good time. I wanted to take a turn driving, but our driver would not budge. I tried to explain that I had driven all over the world in all terrains. The driver held his ground saying that there would be problems if I hit a cow, or struck a pedestrian. He talked about Izuzu truck drivers who powered themselves on Chat. Although illegal in the US its legal in the UK and I knew all about it; from newspapers ofcourse. I was then introduced to Teddy Afro. I had never heard of him before. A true superstar. Once I had heard the chorus a few times I was screaming, ‘O Bob Marley!’. We all were. We flashed past the lakes: Ziway, Abiata-Shala, Abiata, Langano, Shala. I could not believe just how deep green the landscape was. The vegetation was wonderfully lush. There were shade houses, which grew flowers. Kenya had racked up $360 million industry and is struggling to hold onto its developing nation status with the EU. Ethiopia was on the case and in full effect. The wildlife and birdlife was spectacular although I did not see any Hippos.

Eventually we rolled into Shashemene. There was a sign which greeted us with a familiar face of Bob Marley. In 1963 Emperor Haile Selassie I gave about 500 hectares of land. The main compound is about 3 miles from the main market. There are a cluster of huts that house about 200 people. A large number of men were from Rasta communities in Jamaica or elsewhere in the west. A lot of the women seemed to be local ladies who had ‘converted’. Life looked hard; working the land. I think every now and then from the comfort of an airconditioned office in London I day dream about rustic living in a commune. The reality is I don’t know the first thing about farming or living off the land. I would be lucky to last 48 hours if I lived on that Commune. I visited a place of worship for the Rastas and took a little time with the Elders. I don’t know what it was that I expected, but I was disappointed.  I hoped to see more infrastructure. I wanted it to be a Eutopian beacon to and for Rastafarians world-wide. I wanted it to be the font of all things Rasta. I thought the community would be large and visible, busy and vibrant. I wished that the community was, but it was split between 12 Tribes of Israel and the Ethiopian World Federation – to name but two.

There are a myriad of political issues about the true relationship between the local population and the Rastas. Not everyone approves of them smoking Ganja and receiving local women into their commune. For me it was the shattering of an illusion. I have a lot of respect for those Rasta’s who have made the ultimate commitment to leave the west behind, but it was not for me. I have no skills that I could apply and not enough capital to sustain a long life. Above all of that once stripped of my naivity, I just would not want to do it. It made no sense to me. With entreaties of peace and love, a hug and a photo I was gone. Back to Addis.

We did not have much time in Addis and it was time to really get a better sense of the city and its environs. Driving around Addis my eyes had acclimatised to the sights and sounds a little more. The city had an interesting feel. More laid back than would be expected of a capital. There is a complete absence of the intense hustle of Lagos. I truly doubt whether the women selling Ethiopian gold jewelery from shop fronts in Piazza without metal grilles, armed guards or CCTV could function in that fashion in Nairobi. Come to think of it they could not function like that in London or New York either. I felt at ease and really comfortable in the city.

Cruising through the streets of Addis was crash course in its history and cultural references. Winston Churchill in the closing of the second World War talked about an Iron Curtain descending across Europe as Stalin drew the Russian forces right up to Eastern Germany. I was struck by the juxtaposition of traveling up Churchill Avenue and catching the full extent of the Derg Monument. I don’t think anything is as poignant a reminder of the painful past of communism of this dark cement obelisk instillation. With muscular drama, it reaches to the sky right in front of the Black Lion Hosptial. At its peak sits a huge red star with a hammer and sickle.

In July 1977 Ethiopia faced the twin crisis of the invasion of Somalia and the succession of Eritrea. Yuriy Valdimirovich Andropov flooded Ethiopia with state of the art Soviet weaponry. The Somalians were repelled and the Red Terror began. At that same time in university campus across the UK student unions were having purile debates about being true communists. Replete in hammer and sickle insignia, beret and a Che Guevara T shirt they discussed whether the Leninists, the Trots or the Socialist Workers were the truth and the light. If only they knew what was afoot in Ethiopia.

We drove on across to Arat Kilo, up King George Street, to the National Museum. That was a timely reminder in Lucy that the origin of man was in Africa. I did not know that Lucy was here. I thought the British Museum or the Smithsonian had stole it – well borrowed it for greater posterity. I was glad that I saw it and that it remained in Addis.

Next up was the Entoto Mountains. They rise magnificently and hug the northern aspect of the city. They provide commanding panoramic views of the capital.  It’s a beautiful vista. It would be a wonderful place to picnic and watch the sunset. enjoyed by herdsman who double up as local militia (that’s the reason that we were told they had a rifle). They were warm in their welcome and happy to pose for the necessary photos. I walked around a little and began to feel dizzy. I had not really appreciated that I was at altitude. I sat down and noticed a troop of runners buzz past me. The penny dropped as to why Ethiopians dominate the world in distance running. I would like to think that I was a fit guy. However pulling my guts out on a rowing machine in a carpeted air conditioned gym at sea level does not compare to a 10 mile pursuit at altitude.  When I stopped feeling ill we went back down the mountain and missed out on Entoto market. I did buy an Ethiopian national tracksuit – It just had to be done.

We had been told that good food could be had at Habesha Restaurant. It served as a good introduction to Bole Road. There were bright sparkling traditionally dressed hosts who sprinkled water on the patron’s hands in a refreshing pre dining ritual. The food probably the best ethiopian food that I had tasted so far. I think I overdosed on the Doro wat. I felt brave and adventurous and wanted to go off piste with my tastes. There was only one thing for it – Kitfo. I don’t normally go for stake tartare, but I felt I needed to earn my spurs and grow hair on my chest. I needed a beverage and locked in on the honeyed sweetness of Tej. I completely under estimated its alcohol content. As the evening progressed the performers came out and the dancing began. They were unbelievably good. I had never seen Eskista before and they were masters of it. The two principal dancers were youthful and had awesome energy. Power and control. I thought at one stage that the woman’s head was going to roll off and that the man would dislocate his shoulder. They were doing it so fast that it looked like a blur – or was that the Tej? In any event I was very impressed and in the way that only drunken or disturbed foreigners can do I got up and started to shake myself. I was ushered to my seat partly for my own safety, and no doubt because I was blocking the view of the true stars of the evening.

I emerged out onto the street just like the days when I watched martial arts movies and then I tried to copy what I had seen. What I lacked in dancing artistry I made up for in heavy sound effects. Addis at night is a very different proposition than daytime. The streets slow down. The street lighting is not universal. Where there is darkness there did not seem to be any menace. There was a residual energy and vibrancy that bubbles beneath the surface in key places and destinations. One of those locations is the Coffee House. Just up from Sidist Kilo on Madagascar St. I went in there thinking it might be more Eskista, perhaps I might get some one on one tuition and learn how to do it properly. What I got was some first rate Jazz improvisation. There were a group of musicians drawn from all over the world. The phrasing was sublime slipping in and out of neo be bop and french jazz guitar. The chap on keys simply smashed it with bravura dexterity and timing. They just tore the house down with their virtuosity. They each showed individual mastery of their craft but blended well to create a sound that bordered on genius. I was in musical heaven. By sheer chance Wayna (pre Grammy nomination) was in the house and treated us all to a top vocal performance. I was in musical heaven. I slept well that night.