Turkana Pics Here:
Omo Valley Pics Here:
Week 34 Update:
The road to the Jade Sea…. And into the Omo Valley.
El Kharama, Maralal, South Horr, Loiyangalani, Korso Gate, Illiret, Turmi, Jinka.
Day 232:
The alarm woke us a shade after 7am and as I lifted my head of the comfortable pillow in the banda which seemed like a dream I could see a dense fog built up around the river. I could hear the water running over the rocks and the usual birdsong in the ample trees all around us. It had been an insanely peaceful night! I jumped out of bed and made it to the bathroom witho9ut the need for clothing, which was a severe luxury. I opened the taps and not only was the water ample, but it was still piping hot. Luxury number two. I tried to go for three and hinted at Catt to brew some coffee, but as she was still in bed and deemed morning coffee a man’s job I had no chance!
The alarm woke us a shade after 7am and as I lifted my head of the comfortable pillow in the banda which seemed like a dream I could see a dense fog built up around the river. I could hear the water running over the rocks and the usual birdsong in the ample trees all around us. It had been an insanely peaceful night! I jumped out of bed and made it to the bathroom witho9ut the need for clothing, which was a severe luxury. I opened the taps and not only was the water ample, but it was still piping hot. Luxury number two. I tried to go for three and hinted at Catt to brew some coffee, but as she was still in bed and deemed morning coffee a man’s job I had no chance!
By the time we had showered and packed up and started the engine it was 8am and exactly the time we had planned to leave. I would have liked to leave earlier as I was fairly convinced that we would have one of those in pronto game drives along the way, but the mist and fog foiled that plan a little. As we left the low lying land and climbed our first hill we emerged in brilliant early morning sunshine. It was clear and blue and perfect for as far as the eye could see and in the far distance we even saw the mountain! This was Mount Kenya, which we had circumnavigated some weeks before and detoured to again in the hope to catch a glimpse. It was far in the distance and right into the sun from where we were, but that did not detract from is splendour one little bit! Even as we drove we could see the misty puffy clouds build around the peak and knew that it would not take long for it to assume its normal form of a mass of earth hiding in a thick bank of cloud.
As we reached the “main” road we turned north once more and followed this well used bush track through private ranches of fantastically beautiful acacia bush and open savannah. We saw herds of Impala and Zebra and even spotted the rare and seldom seen Reticulated Giraffe with their perfect crazy paving patchwork skin and brilliant white lines in between. We saw some Grevy’s Zebra with their strange tribal markings. That made two new species for us in less than two hours and we were fairly thrilled. As the morning grew warmer we saw less and fewer animals, but more and more camouflaged military trucks coming from where it was we were heading. Some of them seemed to be recovery vehicles and the wrecks that they towed were truly battered. The convoys consisted of three or four vehicles each and we although they had local military number plates, we recognised the uniforms of the Welsh Guards who were driving them. Doing the math quickly we deduced that our friend, Ed, was training these guys and we thought about the absurd possibility of bumping into him. As these thoughts were swirling around my slightly mushy brain I saw a sign… It took a couple of takes to compute what it said and then I abruptly slammed on the brakes and insisted on taking a family photo, using a tripod and timer as photographers. The sign read: Lake Turkana – 428km. We were obviously not lost…
As the camera clicked for the first time, a shiny new Land Cruiser with some insignia pulled up. The lady driver, who obviously had something to do with the nearby research station, said that she had to make sure we were not heading in the wrong direction. Maggie’s nose was in fact pointed in the wrong direction, but only for the photo and I assured her that we would not accidently drive into the militaries’ live firing range. She also told us to preferably stay in the car as the area had some very aggressive Buffalo and Elephant. I didn’t quite believe her, but we set off again while she was still watching. Ten minutes later we did in fact saw Ed on the road. As it happened, their bush camp was only a few kilometres from where we took the photos and he was leading a convoy back to Nanyuki. It was rather bizarre to randomly run into a friend from the UK in a small town in Kenya. It was even more bizarre to randomly run into the same friend on one of hundreds of bush roads in the middle of nowhere in an almost deserted northern Kenya. Small world…
We joined a road with a number on a map shortly after that. I have to be honest and say that I was expecting one of those horrible tar/pothole roads and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was no different to the one we were on. In some places it was a little wider and in some places a little corrugated, but the driving was easy and comfortable and we stopped right in front of the gate to the Yare Camel Club in Maralal with lunch in mind. Instead of the normal scurrying of a gate guard to open the gate while saying “Karibu” (welcome), we were faced by a big sign that read: Closed for renovations. Trespassers will be prosecuted. That was not part of the plan.
We were due to meet up with Bob and Anne that night at the Camel Club and travel the remote roads past Lake Turkana together. Not really knowing what to do we drove into town and filled the tank with Diesel again. We had our lunch at the bag of Maggie in the shade of the fuel station roof and asked the well dressed and well spoken pump attendant lady about camping spots in town. She referred us to the Maralal Safari Lodge which was only about a kilometre away. We found it easily enough and enquired about camping. The rate was about half of what we had been used to paying for camping, but they had no facilities. We could use the toilets at reception though and they had a swimming pool, so we sealed the deal and send a smoke signal (SMS) to our travelling companions.
The pool was clear and looked welcoming, but once we jumped in we found it was freezing cold! It was quite surreal to find water that cold on the edge of the desert. It was enough to clean the dust off us and cool us down a bit before we sat on the lodge’s veranda overlooking an artificial water hole. The Impala and Zebra seemed completely undisturbed by our presence in the pleasant environment. Bob and Anne arrived in the late afternoon, dusty and tired from driving from Robert’s camp by Lake Baringo which we had visited the week before. The evening was spent chatting about our plans for Turkana and possible stopping over places. We were over heard by a man who came over to tell us that he had lived in Illiret on the border to Ethiopia for many years and was more than willing to share his wisdom on the route and the area. We agreed to go and see him around sunset.
Sunset came and went and laziness crept in and we never did go and see the man who never told us his name. We knew he worked as a translator and was busy translating the New Testament into the local language. That seemed like a mammoth task and we decided not to bother him after dark. Instead we made a modest fire to cook on, drank some beer and wine and scoffed our feasts before heading to bed. It was surprisingly cold that night and we even needed to get another sleeping bag out to make life comfortable.
Day 233:
We had agreed to leave at 8am and after getting up and doing the usual morning things we were ready to get on the road ten minutes early. I started Maggie up to give the engine a chance to warm up a little at the cold high altitude desert camp. As we were about to get in and drive off the Bible translator came skipping towards us and handed us a perfectly hand drawn map of our route. It was fantastically annotated and detailed and even came with a few short explanations of where to free camp and what mileage we could expect to do. I mentioned that we were planning or making a place called Palm Shade Camp that evening and he confirmed that that would be possible and probably the best plan. With that confirmation of the knowledge that we already had, we set off in convoy into the village.
Our maps did not indicate all the roads through the village and even the most travelled road was not always the correct one. It took three U-Turns before we managed to find the right road out of town. The track was rocky and slow and in places in a terrible condition. It was abundantly clear that we were leaving the civilization of Kenya behind us and heading into real wilderness. We still passed a few villages and the local Samburu tribe’s people seemed more and more traditional in their dress and accommodation choices the further we drove. At the top of the escarpment I stopped briefly and hit the altitude button on the GPS. To my astonishment we were at 2 853 meters above sea level. We had climbed almost 1 000 meters since leaving the lodge that morning. We definitely seemed to be on top of the world in a place I could not spot any higher ground. The next part of the road was very rocky and very deteriorated and as I was seriously contemplating locking the hubs and engaging four wheel drive I saw two things that changed my mind. The first was an overloaded Toyota Corolla coming from the front without any apparent regard for the state of the road. The second was a man on a small motorbike with a three seater sofa strapped across the back of it. I was almost surprised not to see three locals sitting on it at the time, but with those displays of bravery I simply could not succumb to the four wheel drive easiness.
As we skirted the next corner the earth fell away as far as my jaw dropped and we could see the hills in the valley miles below us. There was a misty hue around them and with a small amount of imagination they seemed like floating islands in a pale ocean. It was breathtakingly beautiful! The translator had warned us about a specific place where an ambush would be easy. He had said that we should not linger there and just head straight into the valley below. As I stopped and got out the car to take a photograph I looked around and was convinced that that was the place he was talking about. We had not seen a living soul for the half an hour before then, so I decided I would take the risk for some photographs.
Our decent took us past one last big village. Not really knowing the security situation in the area or the name of the village we decided to stop for a mid morning cuppa at the far edge of the village. We had already done the waving thing as we passed the hordes of people and children in the only road through and we were fairly sure that we were far enough so that they wouldn’t make the effort to run to us. We were obviously wrong! Within five minutes we had a mob of around 30 children from the ages of 2 to 18 around us. They were non threatening and mainly curious. We had a quick chat with the older ones who could speak fair English but as Bob pulled a camera out of the car the crowd scattered, screaming and yelling and running as fast as their little legs could carry them. It was comical and I simply had to join in the fun! I pulled out the big 1DS Mark II with a really wide lens and by the time we re-took my place in our newly formed society the curiosity had overcome the fear and the mob was back. They posed for a few photos and tried on my sunglasses, trying to convince me to leave them behind. I explained that I really needed them to survive in the desert glare and with that confusion we got back in our vehicles and drove on.
The road turned into a track before long and although it was smaller and more remote, it actually improved in quality. It was slow going from the start and it did not take a rocket scientist to work out that we would not be able to reach the Palm Shade camp site that evening. We had been driving for five hours and had only managed about 60km. The area we were in reminded me of parts of Namibia. It was acacia desert landscape and we had just come down a rocky mountain pass into a huge valley of sandy soil, not dissimilar to Kaokoland’s Marienfluss. It was hot, windy and dusty and completely deserted and we loved it! We stopped under the first suitable tree we could spot for lunch and had a short an uneventful chat about which place to stop over for the night.
The last town we were due to pass through was called Baragoi. We did not need anything from it and were not really planning on stopping there. As we drove in I was fairly happy with that fact. The place had a hostile feeling about it which was emphasized by the amount of people with KA47’s on the street. There were two Land Cruisers full of German Tourists who had stopped in the middle of the road and they were walking around with cameras and hand bags and the whole environment seemed like a recipe for disaster. We stopped briefly to wait for Anne and Bob to catch up and by the time they had, it started raining. This was obviously not an every day occurrence in the semi desert frontier town and you could see the confusion of the locals about where the water was coming from. We left fairly abruptly and skidded through the muddy puddles out the other side of the village.
We actually outran the rain and although we were at times driving in the small rivers formed in previous vehicle tracks, it did not slow us down much. We drove through deep canyons and through dry river beds and were seemingly transported from the north of Namibia to a completely different place. It was lush green with trees and shrubs, but still seemed dry and hot. The road often followed a dry river bed as well, which was a welcome change from the lava flows and big round rocks that marked most of the day’s conditions. It was after 16:00 when we pulled into the sleepy village of South Horr and found a camp site sign close to a river.
Peter, the brother of Paul (I kid you not) greeted us and told us it was actually Paul’s camp site. We could however tell us what the fee was, which was even cheaper than the Maralal safari Lodge and confirmed that they had a shower and a toilet. We were thrilled! The shower was a one meter square tin shack, but had ample water and it was so hot that the cold water was welcoming. The toilet was, predictably a hole in the ground with another tin shack around that. It was also outside of the fence of the camp site and seemed fairly communal. What was surprising was that it was spotlessly clean and completely odourless. Word obviously spread across the village that new blood had arrived and before we were even able to pitch our camp there were no less than seven ladies with their jewellery spread out on woven mats. They kept their distance and did not bother us though. What was more concerning was that Paul arrived and he was as drunk as a skunk! He was obviously in charge and after confirming the price for camping informed us that we also had to pay for a night guard.
Catt lost it! I actually thought she was going to kick him and flatly told him that we would not pay anything more than the agreed rate. I looked at him with amusement and asked if his camp site was unsafe. He took that almost as an insult and assured us that our safety was guaranteed and that he would personally make sure that we would not be bothered. My second question was why we needed a night guard if we were safe… He had no answer and had to agree that the guard was probably not needed. There was however a short skirmish between the brothers which I took as Peter being in trouble for undercharging. We finally managed to get rid of the village drunk, the smelly night guard and even the kids and woman selling their wares got bored and left us in peace. The only one remaining was Peter. He was sitting quietly on a fallen over tree and not really making any attempts to approach us.
We made our dinner and had our food and chatted away into the night until bedtime. As we climbed the ladder into our tent Peter said “good night” and strolled off. It was a quiet night with full moon and we had to close the tent flaps to shut out the light. Sleep came easy.
Day 234:
We had set the alarm but between the giggling children and the curio sellers and the donkeys in the village we were awake and up before 7am. Peter had returned already and was tending to his crops in the field next to the camp site. There was no water for showers after the irrigation used all the pressure, but we didn’t mind too much. We had our coffee and breakfasts, fired up the big diesel engines and hit the road. As we drove through town I spotted a very peculiar sign that read: “South Horr Sports club and Camp site with fast broadband internet” I smiled doubtingly and drove on. The villagers were still understandably interested in the strange beings with pale skins that passed through. Peter had told us that the last time they had campers was about 18 months earlier. The sad and slightly upsetting thing however was that every man woman and child that came to the road was there with an outstretched hand begging for handouts. I’ve ranted and raved about that phenomenon often enough so won’t get into it again, but that was the worst begging that we had come across in months.
Our travels seemed easy and smooth with soft sandy tracks under the wheels. We passed some herds of Camels that was deliciously out of place and settlements and villages with brightly coloured Samburu woman standing next to the road. At some point I was contemplating asking permission to take some photographs of the people but my mind was made by a woman standing with a basket full of bread on her head begging for something to eat. I was not going to support that tribe financially or by hand outs and saw that as the little bit I could contribute to saving Africa.
As we ventured further north the conditions changed. The tracks were still sandy but the rocks were more and more prominent. They were dark in colour and sometimes even black and you could feel the hear radiating off them. We had reached the desert! The trees were almost non existent and the few dry rovers we did cross were rocky, not sandy. We drove for more than an hour without seeing any signs of life what so ever. Around a bend and through a river we found a village by the road side. The huts looked like turned over peanut shells and were made from bent branches and covered with whatever materials they could find. Some had brightly coloured plastic sheeting while others had palm leaves or clay. What struck me even more that the fact that every living soul ran to the road with a begging gesture was that I swiftly counted twenty four children and only nine huts. One old woman was the only adult in sight and there were obviously no vegetable fields or herd of shoats (Goats and sheep mixed in one herd) There was no apparent water source and the community really did look desperate and really did seem like their elected government had long forgotten about them. We did not stop.
We reached the rocks at about mid morning. They were volcanic reminisces and were all around us! The driving speed dropped significantly and the heat rose at an alarming pace. The wind was so strong that it flung the door closed after breaking my grip on the handle. It was dry, dusty and decollate and nothing but rocks could be seen in any direction. I was very happy that we had made the trip back to Nairobi to fix the air-conditioning! We headed towards a hill and through these rocky plains and after skirting the side of it ended up on higher ground. I could not believe what I was seeing! At first I though that we were looking at a mirage. It did not change and did not go away and before too long I realized with great delight that we had reached the Jade Sea. We had made it to the southern shores of Lake Turkana and it was more breathtaking and more beautiful and more impressive than any guidebook or explanation could ever manage to describe. The colour of water was nothing like I had ever seen before and the stark, barren and bone dry landscape seemed totally uninhabitable. I was very surprised to see a few small herds of shoats and then spotted the upturned peanut shell shapes of the settlement huts on the lake shore. I remembered that the lake in question did in fact contain fish and I read that there are many Crocodiles in the water as well, so it should not have been surprising to find subsistence fisherman along its shores.
Once we managed to meander down to the lake shore we were driving on what could only be described as a field of fist sized boulders. There was a clear track where vehicles before us had roller bladed across these rocky plains and it was rough as hell! Thanks to the Corolla we had seen the day before we did not stop to lock the hubs and engage 4 x 4, but we were driving at a snail’s pace. We climbed a hill or two and in the distance Catt spotted another vehicle. That was strange only in the sense that it was the first mechanical thing that we had seen in a couple of days… apart from our machines. This one however seemed to be stationary. With the wide open plains and the rocky track it took us just more than 10 minutes to reach the vehicle and its single inhabitant.
Sammy was a tour guide from Nairobi. This was his friend’s Land Cruiser and he had agreed to take it and his friend with some fifteen passengers from Maralal to Loiyangalani and had been driving through the night. They had seen us camped the previous evening, but pushed on instead. The old cruiser must have been from the late fifties and the tires were balder than old fashioned Formula One racing slicks. The back had no canopy and the luggage was strapped to a make shift roof rack to provide shade for the passengers. They had broken down the night before and it had been four hours since the owner and passengers started walking to the village to get some help. The GPS indicated that we were seventeen kilometres from the nearest settlement. A quick assessment ascertained that the rear diff was not working and a broken pinion was suspected. The driveshaft itself was so battered and dented that it was actually quite surprising to find the universal joints still in tact. Sammy confirmed that the 4 wheel drive was still working so the simple solution was to remove the rear prop shaft and drive the battered old girl o9n the front wheels to town. They had no tools at all, but fortunately we could help easily in that department. While we were working under the car it struck me that we were apprehensive about driving this route alone with a modern Land Cruiser in great shape, on fairly new rubber. These guys didn’t even consider it a problem to do the same route in their battered and half dead vehicle.
While the fun was continuing under the car Anne drove past us and as I glanced up I saw one of their tyres suspiciously flat. I pointed it out to them and it took no more than a quick glance to see that they clearly had a puncture. Sammy’s friend had returned at this stage to help with operation prop shaft removal, so I helped Bob change the tyre and by the time that was done, the locals were also ready to move on. It wasn’t a great drama, but the hour we had spent by the roadside clearly showed us just how hot an inhospitable our environment was. We had drunk about two litres of water each and still felt terribly thirsty! I offered some water to the locals who declined, saying that there was plenty of water in town and that we were only about half an hour away. The let us pass and within the predicted fifteen minutes we rolled over the last hill and saw a bizarre and almost comical sight.
The village spread out right in front of us with hundreds and hundreds of huts and a bright green line right across the horizon. The line was in fact a line of palm trees and our destination was aptly named: Palm Shade Camp site. It was easy to find and as we drove through the big swinging gates the word “Oasis” sprang to mind. It had huge palm trees, which were hardly surprising, but also a lush manicured lawn. We established a very reasonable rate for camping and were told that we could actually drive on the perfect lawn and pick any place we wanted to camp. We were told that the water came from a natural spring and was perfectly safe for consumption and that we could even fill our water tanks from their taps. Apart from that, the showers were fed by the same spring and mixed with water from a natural hot spring close by, effectively making that the first ever mineral water shower I encountered. The staff were friendly and the place shady and protected and to top all that, the beer prices were the cheapest we had seen. There was no need to investigate any other lodgings for the evening.
We had parked up and pitched camp just before 13:00, so had a lazy afternoon out of the wind and in the shade. The wind in question was however formidable! It blew over our heads as we sat in the lush gardens, but the tent on the roof of Maggie was feeing its full force. It made the rain cover flap violently around and even swayed the car from side to side. I didn’t worry about it too much as, in our experience in Namibia, the wind always died down at night. We were approached by a man on crutched and with only one leg. He explained that he used to be a tour guide in the city, but since his unfortunate accident he could no longer drive a vehicle. He did however know the village well and offered to take us on a tour, for a fee of course. The fee was pretty astronomical so we declined. The next person to approach us offered us bread and fresh fish. That interested us greatly and after a quick chat amongst ourselves we decided to place an order. It was for a dozen bread rolls, half a dozen green tomatoes and about a kilogram of fresh fish. He agreed to bring the live fish to the camp site and fillet it after proving its freshness. The price for the produce and the service was fair to all and the time delivery was established as 16:00.
In the late afternoon we met the owner of the modest establishment. He was a young and tall and very well spoken Samburu by the name of Benedict. He explained the lay of the land and we asked his advice on the road ahead. He confirmed the route recommended by the Bible translator which was not on any of the maps we had. He explained in some detail where the junction was we needed to take and seemed to know the road and the conditions well. He even gave us an estimated travel time which seemed quite realistic. I instantly liked him and understood the obvious success of his enterprise in the isolated village on the edge of a barren and unwelcoming lake. I had noticed a bar on his premises and enquired about the noise levels of the night time guests. Benedict assured me that his clients were not rockers and ravers, but quiet and subdued people who simply enjoyed a drink or two when the sun was setting behind the big palm trees. I was sceptical…
Catt had decided to cook up a dish of Lentils and vegetables we could portion into suitable containers and have as part of our lunches fro the next few days. While she was cooking away I saw Sammy walk into the yard and walked over to have a chat. He told me that our diagnosis was correct. It was indeed the pinion that was broken and that they were searching for an old and broken cruiser diff in town. I laughingly told him that I was planning on sleeping underneath our cruiser that night to guard the rear diff. He smiled and offered to buy me a beer for my help. That was the first time in my life that I had been offered any kind of reward for helping a local with a vehicle problem. I said as much to Sammy and told him that if the roles were reversed, the local helping out the Mzungu would always demand payment and then try and increase the price when the job was done. To this he smiled and criticised his fellow countrymen for just that idea. He said that they would even charge each other for help, but he was not like that. I walked into the bar and paid for the beer, telling him it was my pleasure to help him for free and that it was an honour to drink beer with such an inspirational man.
It was past six o'clock by the time I got back to our camp and to my great surprise our fresh fish and other produce had not arrived. I found Benedict and asked if he knew anything about it. A few quick and short words to his staff resulted in an answer that he would follow it up and report to us shortly. Within ten minutes he was at our camp site and with obvious humiliation and regret told us that he had figured out whom the person in question was and that he was a known scam artist and that we should make other plans for dinner. I was astonished! I tried to remember the last time I had even considered the remote possibility that someone would disappear with money without delivering on a promise and had to concede that it had been more than half a year. Benedict asked how much money we had handed over. It was about the same as the fee for camping for two people, and no great loss to us, but he insisted on refunding us. I argued the point for a while, refusing his generosity and in the end I told him that where I came from we settled non exact debts with a few cold beers. I told him that if he gave us three beers and a cold drink on the house, we would put the nasty incident behind us and tried to explain that the monetary loss was not supposed to be his. Within a flash three beers and a cold drink arrived. In our minds that settled the whole affair and taught us a lesson in trust.
Half an hour later though Benedict returned and handed over the money I had the swindler as well as half the money Anne had handed over. He told us that he had contacted the police who tracked him down and that we could expect the rest of the refund within another thirty minutes. I was blown away! That really was far beyond the expected duties of the proprietor of a place we had been ripped of at. It wasn’t his staff, it wasn’t his loss and it really should not have been his problem. He however saw it as his responsibility and within the promised thirty minutes he re appeared and handed over the last of the money with a promise that the person in question was banned from his premises.
We had some lentils and cold sausages for dinner and I could not help but notice that the regular customers were quiet and subdued and chatting amongst themselves without any of the usual insanely loud African music the bars in villages loved so much. By the time we went to bed the wind had intensified ten times, but the small crowd had grown silent and most of the people had left to go home. The noise in the palm tree leaves was quite astonishing and the swaying of the tent on Maggie’s roof quite severe. I knew we were in for a long night.
Day 235:
By 6:30 I could not stay in the tent any longer. I felt like I had enough sleep, but the noise was almost deafening outside and the flapping and swaying of the tent was quite unpleasant. By the time I climbed down the ladder the staff were around tending to the lush gardens and everyone greeted us with big smiles on their faces. We packed away the tent, made some coffee and went for shower before filling out water tanks and starting our engines. Benedict was around to wave us good bye. I paid for our camping, a few beers we had and left enough of a tip to cover the free beer he offered us. He did not want to know of it, but it was my turn to be stubborn and not take “no” for an answer. We rolled though the gates and into the village just before 8am.
It was easy to find the junction that Benedict had explained. We left the rocky marked track in favour of some sandy tracks and stuck to the lake side. The chosen track was not on any of our maps or GPS’s, but it wasn’t as if we could get lost. We simply had to keep the lake on our left and head north. The going was easy and the speed of travel surpassingly fast. We had some sandy river beds to cross, but even they were not too much of an issue. By the time we stopped for mid morning coffee I suddenly realized that we had not seen a living soul for at least the previous hour. The environment didn’t seem as harsh or decollate as the day before, so I was a little confused by this. There were some trees around and some grass in the open plains, but we did not even spot a single goat or sheep or camel since leaving the last edges of town that morning. The wind however was still relentless!
The deserted plains did start to fill up again at some point, but it was probably the most sparsely populated place I had ever been in. The landscape still reminded me of Namibia which we knew well, but it seemed to change after every river, mountain or plain we crossed. The kilometres rolled by as the sun rose higher in the sky until around mid day we decided to stop for lunch. In that particular part of the journey we couldn’t find any shade. It was horrifically hot and still very windy and there was just no way of comfortably surviving out in the sun. This was the first time since investing in the arguably over priced awning on the side of our roof rack that I though tit was worth its weight in gold! We pulled it out and placed out table and chairs in its shade and had our lunch while drinking two litres of water each. The heat was not something I had ever experienced before! Not even in mid summer in Namib Desert or Namibia’s Kaokoland.
It was almost welcoming to get back in the car and drive with the windows closed and the aircon on. That was the first time since investing in Maggie that I had turned it to the maximum effectiveness and I praised the efficiency of the technicians who had serviced it in Nairobi and the effectiveness of its cool air. Its not that I could not imagine making the journey without it, but I could not see how we could have carried enough water to make the journey without it. If the temperatures were lower and the wind less we may have considered finding a suitable place to camp for the evening, but the most comfortable thing we could do was to carry on driving until the intense heat gave way to the night.
By the mid afternoon we had reached a village called Moiti. It was almost as substantial as Loiyangalani, spanning about forty hectares and covered with the small nut shell huts. These guys used everything from skins to plastic to palm leaves to cover their huts and one permanent building we saw looked like a school. The inhabitants didn’t seem to be happy with our arrival had a real air of aggression towards us. I didn’t want to impose on them and carried on driving though at a pace that did not kick up much dust. On the far side of the village however I had step on the brakes and come to a complete halt. We were faced with a dry river bed, about two hundred meters wide and a sheer cliff of about ten meters down to the sand. There was simply no possible way for us to get into the river and road simply seemed to stop. We drove up and down the banks for a few kilometres and then had to give up and ask for some directions. I drove up to a semi permanent structure and was greeted by five young men sitting in the shade, not really doing anything. None of them had guns though, so I felt fairly comfortable.
The young man who came to the window immediately knew where we went wrong and explained, in perfect detail, the next junction we needed to take to get us to where we needed to go. He told me that the river was often in flood which was why the track never crossed it and that we had to drive around the mountain with the same name as the village. The junction we did not take was about three kilometres before the village, so we headed back in that direction. It was quick and easy to find and we were back on track in no time. The landscape had turned into a moon landscape at some point though. We were driving over ancient lava flows and through boulder fields of the same substance. These were linked by sandy tracks and dry river bed crossings and I was quite glad that I had four wheel drive engaged and that I did not see any Toyota Corollas on our travels. It was about 16:00 buy the time we reached the popular road again and turned into it for the last few kilometres to the Korso gate to the Sibiloy National Park. We started seeing bigger herds of cattle and shoats and were quite surprised by the amount of people that was suddenly around.
At the gate we were greeted by the man in charge and informed of the park fees. We knew them already, so the $20 per person and $4 for the car wasn’t really surprising. We had intended to camp at a site close to the lake and knew that charge was to be another $15 each. That hardly seemed worth it! The wind was intense and the heat severe and all we were really interested in was to hide from both and cook some dinner. We convinced him to let us camp behind the office building by the gate for no charge. We nestled close to the walls and made camp. In anticipation to the wind that we knew could increase during the night we removed our tent’s rain cover, reducing the possibility of flapping material by 100%. I jokingly mentioned that it would probably rain in the desert that night, but did not believe it for a second.
Through dinner we were listening to the sounds of a translated German soap opera on the big screen TV in the office. This was powered by battery, charged by solar and reception was made possible by a satellite dish with a two meter diameter. It was amazing how the five men working at that station were fixated on the screen while the leading lady was running off with the none leading man. We however were much more interested in our fillet steak dinner and banana bread desert and went to bed shortly after, exhausted! I had to admit that the previous two days were as tiring and challenging as I had hoped it would be. I almost saw it as how uninformed people would perceive a trip through Africa would be like. We had driven off road and used a lot of skill and equipment we had carried for a long time without really needing it. It had been hard and isolated and deserted and breathtakingly beautiful.
Day 236:
Another hot and windy night later I woke with the sun peering over the low horizon. It was before seven in the morning and the intense heat of the day was already on the cards. The wind was howling around the corners of the building and the dust was blowing high off the ground. I was fairly happy that we were at the gate and not on the lake shore where I guessed the wind would have been even stronger. The staff were around by the time I descended from the tent and managed to light the MSR stove in the wind shadow behind the car. We managed the normal morning chores without incident, packed down the tent and visited the hole, serving as a toilet. I tried to rinse our coffee mugs from a tap outside, but the wind blew the small stream of water sideways so hard that I could not get it inside the receptacles. It was time to leave.
We rolled out a shade before 8am with the Finches (Bob and Anne) in the lead. They had made some notes from the detailed park map in the office, so I left the navigation in their capable hands. At the first junction we turned east and left the roads that were known to the maps. The track was rough and slow and headed towards a hill which seemed to be the natural park boundary. We reached a cull de sac half way up the hill, parked up and got out. I was a little confused until they told me that there was a Petrified Forest right there. The clouds had rolled in and the early morning light was dull and almost eerie with the amount of dust and sand in the air, but you could clearly see the massive stone logs lying around the top of the hills. I had a walk around and inspected various specimens and tried to work out what had actually happened there. It seemed like a massive flood of water had crashed over the top of these hills, leaving huge tree trunks in a silt mud some centuries ago. You could see the sediment and the stone sticking out of them and picking out the obvious texture of palm trees was surprisingly simple. In fact, in the half an hour we spent running in them hills I identified at least five vastly different kinds of trees that had been petrified on the spot. It was fairly amazing to see!
We drove back down the hill and back to the junction and followed the tracks towards the Koobi Foro a research station. I had not really done any research on the research station itself, but kind of worked out that it had something to do with ancient fossils in the area. It was bizarre to think that the environment we were in used to be a lush green forest which often flooded. All we saw were ancient river beds, lava flows, volcanic rocks, salt pans and wind swept plains. It was horrifically dry and horrifically hot that day! We reached the station via a lake side road and I felt like I was acting in an old Western Movie. They must have seen us approach for at least twenty minutes before we actually arrived there, but they would not have been able to hear our engines over the noises of nature. As we arrived we were greeted by no less than 6 people who could hardly speak a word of English between them. We established that they did offer accommodation there in the form of camping or Bandas and that they did have a museum. A visit to the latter had to be organized specially and cost $15 per person to see. I asked him when the last visitors came past and when he replied that it had been at least four months since they had opened the museum I replied by simply stating that at the price they wanted it was hardly surprising. He could not fathom the point I was trying to make. I asked about the other fossil sights I had heard and read about and he told me that the roads to them did not exist any more and you could not really visit them without a guide… at an extra cost of course.
We left via the lake road and headed further north and seemingly further into the abyss of the desert. The track became more and more sandy and more and more challenging and I started seeing evidence of previous vehicles that had been stuck in a really bad way! That was NOT a track I would have liked to drive in the wet season, but it was bone dry for us and perfectly passable although it seemed to be a seasonal flood plain we were driving on. The sandy river beds became trickier to drive through as well and I did not actually dare leave the track for a while. We climbed over yet another rocky outcrop consisting of easily visible lava flow and volcanic rocks strewn around the countryside and found a suitable place to stop for lunch. There was no way of reaching any kind of shade, so the awning came in very handy once again. I worked out that we had been drinking about ten litres of water between the two of us and the Finches were on roughly the same. I shuddered to think about Sammie and his passengers driving the desert roads with a litre bottle each and getting stuck for half a day next to a lake with water you can’t drink.
The last little bit of journey saw us unceremoniously leave the park via a sign board and no fences or gates. It was a little confusing and I couldn’t really work out how they controlled the access to the park or why we were charged the $20 per person to enter the place that was marked only on a map. It did not matter really mater that much, but after a fantastic time in Kenya without feeling ripped of or harassed I was suddenly aware of having US$$$$ signs as a big target on my back because of the colour of my skin. I call that racism.
We rolled into the great metropolis of Illiret by mid afternoon. The first stop was the police station and I asked about a man called “Charles”. Charles, as far as I was aware was a very agreeable police chief and the man who had to record the date we actually exited Kenya and entered Ethiopia. I was glad to find out that he was still the man in charge and that he was as friendly and pleasant as his reputation said he was. I mentioned that he was famous in Overlanding circles and that gave him a massive kick which made his chest swell with pride. He was happy to have us in his village. He pretty much guaranteed our safety and even offered free camping at the police station. I thanked him with “Asante sana Bwana Charles” which made him smile even wider but explained that we had decided to check out the local Mission’s accommodation options with the idea of supporting them with a little money. He liked that idea and gave us directions.
The mission, to be fair, was only a stone’s through away from the police station. Then again… everything is only a stone’s through away from the police station. Robert was the man in charge and he greeted us with an approving look. He was happy to host us at a very reasonable rate and even offered us a shower and sit down toilet. That luxury was totally unexpected, but we did not dare say “no” to the offer! We were shown where to park the cars and warned about the hundreds of children that would come and bother us. Robert’s very clever answer to being bothered was to offer us the lounge in the mission station as safe haven. The building was incredibly cleverly design! Walking into the lounge the temperature dropped by at least five degrees and even though it was right next to the kitchen, there was no spell of frying foods or heat from steaming pots. There was a simple water purifier on top of a small fridge and we were invited to help ourselves to as much drinking water as we wanted. The showers were fed via a small tank on the roof and it was explained that they had to pump water to the tank before we could enjoy the treat.
While waiting for this process to be completed I smiled at my won thoughts: Up to one week before then the standard question to any camp site operator or owner had something to do with hot water, or hot showers. We had endured many cold showers and most of the time they were not unpleasant at all. The hot showers had been great and sometimes even a revelation to our often inefficient first world concept of bathing facilities. But on this day my only thought was: I am so glad the water had not been in the tank on the roof in the sun. Perhaps it will be cold enough to be refreshing… It was in deed!
We had been told that the children went home at sunset, so that was the time we decided to return to our unfenced camp. To our great surprise and delight the wind had dropped off and the only thing remaining was a pleasant and soft breeze that helped to cool down the sand and the air. There was still a group of youths around our vehicles and they were very interested in what we were up to and how we chose to prepare the food we had chosen. They were absolutely amazed by the fact that we also used charcoal to make fire and that we also grilled chicken on the fire. They were surprised that we also ate tomatoes and carrots and potatoes and that we also drank beer. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that our beer was ice cold and our chicken breasts were two weeks old and had been frozen since we bough them. We definitely had it easy compared to the community in the harsh land of northern Turkana!
Robert came past to inform us that he would be away for about an hour. He was on his way to another house to watch his favourite soap opera on TV and would be back for a chat after. Perhaps they did not have it as hard as I had first believed… Seconds before he arrived back in our midst I had decided to bake a chocolate cake. I had used the coals from the chicken fire in the Cobb and made one of those “5 minute cake mix” mixtures that was really too much for four people anyway. While we were waiting for the baking to be completed he started telling us about the community and the schooling projects and how their primary school lasted until the age of 16. There was another young man with him and he told us how he was rescued from his parents. Apparently the poor man had been forced to tent to the family herds since he was three years old and was never given the opportunity to go to school. Robert had found him and taken him in and he was one of the cleverest kids in his school. He also lived with him. He expertly steered the conversation in that direction until the cake was ready and while we were sharing it with him and the boy, the boy carried on telling us about his dreams and ambitions. My Africa radar was going mad sensing the solicitation of adoption and monetary support, but I listened intently to every word, waiting for the punch line.
To my surprise the “punch line” never came. We finished our cake and the conversation eventually dies down until everyone was simply tired and ready for bed. I felt a little ashamed for believing that there would be an ulterior motive and went to bed impressed with the lad for not trying to get money out of us. The wind had died out completely and night was comfortably cool and dead quiet! There was not a single sound apart from human breathing to which we fell asleep quickly.
Day 237:
It always amazes me how bird song can seem deafening. This morning they sounded like they were using Muslim loud speakers and they were sitting inside our tent! It was just before sunrise and the noise was unbelievable and unbelievably pleasant! The tree next to our tent was buzzing with Superb Starlings and they were having a very heated discussion about something. I guessed it had to be football, rugby or politics.
Before I could lift my head and put my clothes on we were swamped by a group of children though. They sat a few meters away from us and were obviously discussing the habits of the strange Mzungus and their bizarre vehicles. It was, to be honest, all very innocent and harmless. The lady chef came around with a stick and wacked them left and right while shouting abuse until they ran away. I tried not to laugh. She was obviously on her way to work and once she had disappeared around the corner of the building they all returned. At that time I decided to make my appearance. As I stuck my head out the tent they scattered again, and this time they were screaming. It was the desired result, but not exactly the most flattering thing that can happen to you. We saw Robert and paid the agreed fee for the camping. His bottom lip visibly dropped straight to the floor with disappointment that we only paid that was agreed and I instantly stopped feeling guilty about looking for the previous evening’s ulterior motive.
After the normal morning things we went to see our favourite police man. Charles was clean shaven and had a very impressive uniform on. He was obviously on his way to do something important. While his man took our passports to record the details he told us about the challenges of his job. He had a massive territory to cover which spanned from Moiti to Omorate and from half way to Moyale to the other side of Lake Turkana. He had 100 men under his command and told us that he had ten vehicles, a couple of boats and a helicopter to his disposal. He explained how the tribes steal cattle from each other at different times of year and how he had to try his utmost to keep the peace. He struck me more as a greatly respected and talented politician than a police chief in the middle of the desert. I liked him a lot!
Once our formalities were done and we did not get into trouble for leaving four days later than what we were supposed to, we headed down the sandy hill, across a wide dry river bed and into the valley’s shrubs towards the Ethiopian border. We got a little lost in the last Kenyan village and the aggression of the people around was very apparent. They did not want us there at all! I humbly apologised for driving into their village and received precise directions for the road out to the border. Well, there is no real border. There was supposed to be a border marker, but apparently that got swept away in the last wet season floods. So passing into Ethiopia was even less ceremonious that the first time we crossed the Equator. We reached the first police post which was marked by a new flag and a thin branch over the road. The policeman checked our passports without any communication in a language we could all understand and waved us on. We were officially in another country.
The tracks became sandier and more challenging and I even had to back track and re plan my routes through some dry river crossings. They had the extreme powder dust holes we had only ever encountered in Namibia before at some point, while following the Finches, I saw that they were driving in our dust and their dust was a hundred meters in front of them. It was quite comical and I blamed it on Northern Hemisphere strangeness. We had been warned about the insanely populated Ethiopia by all the travellers who had driven through the country. The word on the street was that you could not even pull off the road to answer Nature’s call without being absolutely swamped by people within seconds of stopping the vehicle. So it was with some apprehension that we stopped in a dry river bed in a part which seemed deserted to make some coffee. The strange thing was that we managed not only to brew it, but also drink it while chatting away to our companions without a single person approaching us. It was contrary to everything we had heard about the country, but I did not mind that much.
We still had to get to the immigration station at Omorate to legalize our entry into the country, so we pushed on in that direction. In the middle of the bush, for no apparent reason I saw a boom gate made from sticks and was forced to stop. Before the dust even settled we had about a hundred people around us cupping their hands against the glass of the windows to see inside the car. I was very uncomfortable to say the least and did not want to open the window. The obvious leader of the pack walked over, shooed away the crowd and signalled me to wind the window down. The engine was running, first gear was engaged and my foot was itching, but I did as he asked. He introduced himself as a policeman and wanted to know where our armed guard was. I told him we did not have one which made him want to provide us with one… at a cost of course. He explained that it was absolutely compulsory and that we were not allowed to go to Omorate without an armed escort. I opened the window a little more, showed him the non existence of a back seat and invited him to sit on the roof. He grunted and walked back to the Finch mobile behind us. They gave him the same treatment, but showed him the GPS with the clearly marked track to our destination. He was trumped and stormed hurriedly past us and threw the gate open, unimpressed that he could not score a free ride and make some money along the way. “Welcome to Ethiopia! I am ready for you” was about my only thought.
Before long we joined the main road to the town on the Omo rover and drove that 18km on the wrong side of the road (left) in as many minutes. We saw bridge that was busy being constructed and far for complete and found the immigration office in town. It was guarded but locked and we were told to have a sear on the concrete steps outside. I had been warned about the time things take in Ethiopia as well, so patiently sat down, preparing myself for a long wait. The immigration officer arrived within a few minutes though, unlocked his office and invited us in. There once again I expected some issue, but was pleasantly surprised by the lack of and the ease at which the immigration process were dealt with. There was no customs office there, so the new “border letter” that Ethiopian customs required from your embassy was never asked for. Our Carnet was not stamped and we not offer it to anyone. I did ask about changing some Kenya Shilling for Ethiopian Birr and got offered a rate of twice as much as the listed rate. I smiled and declined. That was the second time in less than two hours that someone wanted to “score” some money from me.
We drove the 18km back along the same road, passed the point where we had joined it and continued at much the same pace to the town of Turmi, home to the Homer tribe and our first cultural experience in the Omo Valley. A place called Mango Camp Site was recommended to us, so we pulled in there first. We asked about camping and the quoted rate was 70 Birr per person, which equates to about $4. I explained that we had not had a chance to acquire the local currency and asked if we could pay in Shillings or US$. This sparked a conversation between a group of men with a calculator and after no less that twenty minutes of talking and punching numbers they eventually smiled and said: “Yes, we will take $50. I greeted him, turned on my heel and walked back to the car. He did run after us and said we could “talk” about it before I explained that because he tried to rip me off I will tell the world that he was dishonest and we would not negotiate with him for anything. That was the third strike in four hours in the country and I was not impressed.
We stopped at the lodge next door and as we walked into the office a young man walked in as well. I recognised him from the Mango camp and before we could utter a word he rattled off something in Amharic which we could not understand and then waited. Catt asked about camping and the lady quoted $15 per person. I almost lost it! I knew that was three times the going rate in the area and I knew the little shit in the office had told her about our altercation at Mango Camp so I demanded to see the manager. The friendly, serious and older man greeted us respectfully and when we asked about the price for camping the gild wanted to interrupt us. I silenced her and asked him again. He calmly told me that it was $15 per tent and we could join in the Buffet dinner at $6 per person that evening. They had fantastic facilities and a nice atmosphere despite the receptionist and her gang, so we decided to stay. It was standard car park camping, but as I understood things that was what Ethiopia had on offer and nothing more. I was starting to understand the rules of engagement in this new country and did not like it one little bit.
The afternoon was calm and pleasant and we were even approached by a man who introduced himself as a local guide. He told us about a traditional dancing ceremony that was happening late in the afternoon and invited us to it. I specifically asked the total price per person. This, he said, was 200 Birr, which I knew was 25% more than what it should have been, but decided to let it slide. We agreed that he would meet us in town at a certain time and that he would take us to a shop where we could change currency as there were no banks there.
We left the lodge just before 17:00 and met our guide at the agreed spot. He took us to a shop as agreed and the man was expecting us. We changed $100 at a reasonable exchange rate and followed a motorcycle into the bush. I felt a little uneasy when we passed the first guy with the big AK47, but we soon arrived outside a small settlement and were offered a place to park the cars. We were the only Farenji (White people) there, but the Homer boys and girls were getting ready for their dance. This was pretty much a mating ritual and could be compared to a “kiss chase” game. The guys formed a half circle and showed off their stuff by jumping high into the air to the beat of the stamping feet of their friends. If the act impressed a specific girl, she would enter into the half circle and get chased around a bit by the man in question. She would play hard to get for a while and then leave the circle to give another couple the chance to play. Within ten minutes of the start of the ceremony some other vehicles arrived and a horde of Farenji joined our little group. Our guide walked up to me and while the dancing was happening told me that the 200Birr per person covered only the village fee and I had to ad another 1 000 Birr for his guiding fee. I freaked! I told him he was dishonest and that he could forget about seeing another penny from me and basically humiliated him in front of all his fellow guides. He was suitably unimpressed and so was Catt. She kept on reminding me that we were outnumbered and that there were at least two AK47’s around. I had already sized them up and knew the one did not have a magazine and the other was carried by a half blind man. Besides I was PISSED off and did not care. I loudly proclaimed that all I wanted was to go back to Kenya where people are honest and I wasn’t getting ripped off at every opportunity. Strangely enough that pacified him and he let me be to watch the rest of the dancing, which I was not interested in any longer.
At the end of the dancing the village banker approached me and I asked him to follow me to the car. I handed over the agreed 200Birr per person and started the engine. The motorcycle driver we had followed to the village asked me about his guiding fee and I bluntly told him to FUCK OFF and drove back to the lodge. At the lodge I told the manager about our experience. He angrily shat all over his receptionist and security guard for letting the “skelm bliksem” onto his land and assured us that he would sort him out. I hoped that involved cutting his balls off to be honest, but by that time I had calmed down and was ready for my first Ethiopian meal.
The buffet was fantastic! I had my first look and taste of Injera. It was a dough type substance which could easily be mistaken for a grey foam cloth you wipe your hands with. I didn’t really think it tasted of much, but it was nice to dip into the expertly made tomato soup. They had spicy chicken and some bean sauce and goat goulash which was really tasty! I had three helpings before digging into the fresh fruit desert. When it came to bed time I was uncomfortably stuffed with food, had a comfortable amount of beer inside me and had completely relaxed about the unpleasant first day in the 9th county of the trip.
Day 238:
It would have been nice to wake up to birdsong in the lodge car park that morning, but the sound of about ten 4.2l diesel Toyota engines starting up was what woke me. Ethiopia seemed to be 80 series Land Cruiser heaven and our chosen car park was filled with them. They were all tourist vehicles which we aptly named “Farenji Busses” and were similar to the Mzungu busses of Tanzania and Kenya. Only in the Omo valley it was the human zoo of the tribal villages that attracted the hordes of tourists who were willing to pay whatever it took to have a glimpse into the traditional lives of the small tribes. We were no innocents to this concept and knew we were there to learn about the tribes as well. It was however our intention to immerse ourselves into their environment rather that visit show villages on the edges of towns.
We left shortly after them and headed through town. I have to admit that I fully expected a fight with our guide from the night before and was ready for him, but he was no where to be seen. There was an obvious road construction going on in the area and it seemed that someone had decided to tar the Omo valley’s routes. There was however not a single Chinese person in sight, which made me believe that this country was actually employing their own people to built their infrastructure. It suddenly scored some points with me. It was right on the edge of a town called Key Afer where we reached our first stretch of tar since leaving it at Nanyuki more than 1000 km and one week before. It was almost strange driving in such silence.
At was Thursday and Key Afar boasted the largest market in the Omo valley on Thursdays. All the tribes from the area came together at this market to peddle their wares and to trade their livestock and it seemed the perfect place for us to experience the people. As we arrived we saw a mega herd of Farenji wagons and followed some of them to a suitable car park at a hotel. We were approached, as usual by a young man claiming to be a local guide. We knew that we would not be allowed in the market without a guide, but I was really not keen. I gave him a massive peace of my mind about the price quoted and the price we were going to pay and we agreed on a total and all inclusive fee for the lot. He seemed happy. After I told him ten times (I counted) that we will not under any circumstances part with more money that we had agreed on, we parked the card and got ready to walk. Right at that second I thought I recognized someone across the street. It was Andrew, the Mzungu we had met in Nairobi and whom we had become good friends with. I shouted and waved my arms and within a minute or two he had fetched Lucy who could not believe the coincidence. We thought we may bump into them there, but were still pleasantly surprised at the reality.
Elvis, our guide was more than happy to take on two extra clients and with out further ado we set off into the market. It was fantastically colourful and bustling with people and life. I was very sceptical about Elvis the guide, but from the work “Go” he was fantastic! He walked straight in and started explaining the different tribes to us. There were Homer, Ari, Bumi, Bana and Konso and although they were all very similar, they had subtle differences in dress and traditions. We sampled some peanuts and fresh honey and bought some of each and he marched us straight past the curio stalls without a pause. I liked him instantly! He did take us to a stall that sold traditional coffee pots and Catt simply “had to have one”.
On the way to the cattle market we tasted some local maize alcohol drink which was basically moonshine. I commented that would probably be able to run our Multi fuel stove on it. Part of our deal with Elvis was that we could take general photographs along the way. He had a great eye for what would make good images and pointed out scenes as we went along. Every time someone mentioned a fee for photographs he scolded them and chased them away. He was a true asset to our experience. The cattle market was small and busy and very impressive as well and after the in depth explanation about the workings of the market, we headed back towards the cars. It was after mid day and I asked our esteemed guide about the possibility of lunch. He smiled, pulled out his mobile phone and placed an order at the hotel we had parked the cars. On the way he marched us into a meadiary. Yip, they also made wine from honey and it was delicious hooch! We polished off two bottles and felt a little drunk as we walked in the heat of the day.
We had a quick lunch at the hotel for next to no money and paid Elvis the agreed fee. He smiled and was really thankful and did not even attempts to get more money out of us. I liked him still. The last order of business was a visit to the toilet before heading to our chosen town for the nights sleep. I really wish I hadn’t.
Warning to the squeamish: Skip this paragraph… So in the bag of the yard was an outhouse. This was not dissimilar to the outhouses that he had seen and used and some of them had been fairly disgusting while others had been fairly clean. Some holes in the ground had been small and some big and some almost impossible to aim for. This one took the cake! The hole in the dusty floor was about ten centimetres in diameter. It was ringed by turds of various ages and phases of decomposition with soiled underwear and bits of toilet paper drifting in the pools of piss in every corner of the room. The smell was unbelievable. As my prostate was in perfect health, I decided to aim from the outside and actually managed to knock some of the shit back into the hole with the steady stream. As I heard the thuds of the bits in the bottom of the hole, I heard the swarming of flies from the darkness and was almost knocked back by the sheer force of the escaping insects. I ducked just in time, finished up and walked back while gagging. Catt asked me where the toilets were and I said: “Just don’t, it will scar you for life…” She understood and we left. (I did warn you to skip this paragraph)
As we climbed the hill out of town we could not get out of first gear for five kilometres. We were climbing fast and steady and as we got to the top of the mountain we saw the beauty of Ethiopia for the very first time. It was astonishingly breathtaking! The rolling hills and valleys were as green as you your imagination will allow you to believe and the picturesque villages on the hill sides made perfect images. The road was wide and good and the going easy. It was not quite done and we made some construction detours and actually needed four wheel drive once again, but we drove the 41km through the mountains in just more than an hour. We inspected two places of accommodation and settled on the Jinka Resort who predictably offered car park camping, but at 50Birr ($3) per tent. We could not really argue with that!
We were, predictably approached by a guide who could take us to the see the Mursi tribe. That was the tribe with the massive clay disks in their stretched lips and the one tribe that I was very interested in photographing. They were also notoriously aggressive and very well armed and you were not allowed to go anywhere near them without an armed escort and a guide who could speak the language. They were the first tribe to charge a fixed rate per photograph and who learned very quickly to count the clicks. To be perfectly honest, it was a little sad, but I really wanted the photographs, so had little choice. We explained the predicament about the lack of seating in Maggie and also had Andrew and Lucy who wanted to accompany us. The guide was ready with a solution and after much negotiation and a confirmation, on paper that we were not going to pay a birr more than the agreed rate we settled on about $50 per person for the outing. It sounded like a lot, but involved the hire of a Land Cruiser with driver, guide and guard and included insurance. It included national park fees, vehicle park fees and guide fee with tip. The only thing it did not include was the price per click for photographs, but I was more than willing to pay that extra. It was about a 250km round trip through mountain passes and over sharp rocky terrain, so I didn’t think it was too expensive for what you got.
We invited everyone for dinner and cooked undisturbed and uninterrupted by the camping spot we had chosen. I even had a shower before bed time and was as excited as a little boy about what the next day had in store for us. I could not wait!
If I had to do it all again:
The South Horr campsite was pretty crap and we should have inspected the whole town before making a decision. We did not know about it before the time, but it was a lesson we could learn from for future travels through small villages.
We could not foresee that the man was going to try and rip us off in Loiyangalani. We had come to trust local people at local camp sites and I really enjoyed not looking for the angle in everything that I was told. He almost tainted my Kenya experience, but every other person we had dealt with the country was fair and honest. He was the exception and by making a scene I think he will be sorted out by the community.
I would recommend skipping the Sibiloy National Park. The best part of the lake was in the south and the park really did not offer anything the surrounding area could not. There is a road the trucks take from North Horr to Illiret and I would probably take that next time.
Ethiopia has a whole new set of rules and tricks to learn and I have been quite apprehensive about it all. It’s all about asking the right questions though and making sure you understand the deal perfectly before committing. I think we have an interesting and frustrating month to look forward to, but if it was easy, everyone would be doing it.
I probably would have tried to write a lot less words about the week, but I am too tired to go back and edit it. Sorry.
