Spring break to Africa again: Ethiopia 2010

Ethiopia, April 2010

(Click on the link above to see an album of our most recent trip.)


Spring Break in Ethiopia
By
Randall D. Ball

For Anastasia’s second spring break, we took her back to Africa. The previous year, Christine and I dragged our then nine-month-old daughter to Tunisia. A year later, we were headed for Ethiopia, mainly to visit Misrak, our former nanny (and Anastasia’s first best friend, really) who had returned to Addis Ababa. Before we left our home in Abu Dhabi, a few of Misrak’s friends came over to give us a proper send-off and to have us deliver a few things to Misrak. Then we were on our way, first to Dubai for our direct, four-hour flight on Ethiopian Air, a very friendly, accommodating airline.

At the airport in Addis Ababa, we faced a long queue to get our visa, and yet another long queue through immigration. Fortunately, we had the power of the baby. Anastasia took us to the front of both lines, shaving off a very likely two long hours of waiting. We are not ashamed to use the baby to our advantage (if we had to, we could also have played the pregnant card—Christine was three months along at the time). We waited quite a while for our bag and stroller, but then we were on our way past customs and into Addis Ababa. I spotted her first, this young woman, all smiles, jumping the turnstiles to race toward us, showering us with flowers and grins and hugs. Reunited with Misrak, we felt that all was well, that we had done the right thing. We were in the cradle of civilization, the birthplace of coffee, the legendary origin of the Queen of Sheba, and the possible resting place of the Ark of the Convenant; we were home.

Misrak’s brother had accompanied her to the airport, and he assisted us with bags and led us to a taxi, where all five of us scrunched into the little cab and headed for the hotel. We were an unusual group coming out of the airport, and throughout the week Misrak faced questions and funny looks as she carried this little blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby. I joked with strangers that she was adopting Anastasia, that it was time for Ethiopians to start adopting little white babies for a change. Christine also faced questions from locals, most commonly, “Is that your baby?” Uh, duh!

The next day, Misrak came over shortly after breakfast, a routine that we would follow every day of our holiday in Addis Ababa. She did not have any plans, for us or for herself. She was simply open to whatever we were doing. We’d tell her where we wanted to go, and she’d make it happen. Misrak secured a taxi for us, and we all headed toward the center of town, to the National Museum, primarily to meet Lucy. Misrak was our most obvious reason for visiting Ethiopia, but for Christine, Lucy was the second reason. Lucy is a little older than Misrak; she’s three and a half million years old. Her bones were discovered thirty-five years ago in northeastern Ethiopia, and she was quickly recognized as the oldest, most complete biped hominid skeleton ever found. Lucy, or “Dingnesh” (“wonderful” in Amharic), as Ethiopians prefer to call her, is short, at three and a half feet, but otherwise, she seems fairly human. The display of Lucy at the museum is really just a cast; the real deal, according to a museum worker, was currently in the United States, presumably on a holiday of her own. Apparently, she’s usually locked away in the museum, away from people, but sometimes a girl has to have fun. I wonder if she required her own passport.

After lunch (pasta for Christine and a beef crepe for me) and a nap for Anastasia and Christine, Misrak returned to the hotel, and we walked to the nearby Addis Ababa Golf Club, a nice, serene location far enough from the main streets to make one feel they’re not in a polluted capital city of two and a half million. Anastasia played in a small playground there, meeting up with a few other little kids who took to her instantly; after all, she was something of an anomaly in Ethiopia. We had a mundane dinner (a half-hearted attempt at western food) at the golf club, and on the way back to the hotel, Anastasia started running full force down the street. A little boy commented that she was a good runner. I thought that was quite a compliment coming from an Ethiopian.

Our second full day in Ethiopia found us in another museum, this time the Ethnological Museum within the compound of Addis Ababa University and housed within a former palace. The museum’s ethnological theme follows childhood, adulthood, right on through death, leading us thus on a lifetime according to different tribes. The childhood displays include habits and customs of pregnancy and childbirth (including scarification of the mother’s stomach during pregnancy) along with various toys for children. There were some interesting folk tales with accompanying art as well. Adulthood showed various other customs and lifestyles, clothing, food, the occasional spear and mud-hut recreation, and the death exhibit featured some very colorful grave markers. Why limit your gravestone to a simple piece of granite when you can have lots of colors and lines instead? My favorite part of the museum was a book on a very specific subject for sale in the gift shop: Risky Sexual Behaviors of Migrant Tea Workers in Kenya. I thought it would have made a great coffee table book.

We had lunch at a little café in the museum. The menu was fairly extensive and sounded good; since we’re pretty well-traveled, we had the good sense to ask if they had everything on the menu. We were told yes, they have everything. When it was time to order, however, suddenly all they had was lasagna, cappuccino, and carrot cake. It was all good, though. After lunch we walked around the gardens of the university’s campus, giving Anastasia an opportunity to run around and hopefully wear her out so that she would nap in the afternoon.

Misrak decided that if we could handle private taxis in Addis Ababa, we could tolerate the packed but much cheaper but less direct mini vans or buses. At times, our fellow passengers were goats and chickens. Anastasia loved it. We’d take a mini bus to one busy intersection, get off, take another one to another popular location, and eventually make our way back to the hotel in that manner. A private taxi might cost seventy birr (about $6.00)—one hundred birr for “faranji” (foreigners) if Misrak weren’t with us; the mini vans cost around $1.

Our daily routine was pretty much set. After Anastasia’s nap back at the hotel, Misrak came over (a ten minute walk for her; we were fortunate to find a hotel in her neighborhood) and took us to the Addis Ababa Restaurant in the Piazza area. The restaurant specializes in traditional Ethiopian food, and we viewed it as a good sign that there weren’t any tourists around. The place seemed to be teeming with locals. A deejay played some Ethiopian pop and hip-hop music in one room; Anastasia danced to it in the middle of the room and had everyone smiling and clapping at the little white, blonde-haired, blue-eyed baby. Christine said she gets it from my side of the family: the desire for attention, to be on stage grabbing people’s attention. The dinner was almost edible. The coffee was rich and delicious, and the traditional injera bread (a flat, spongy bread stretched underneath the food) was good. But the beef was chewy and grisly, at times impossible to swallow. I told Christine that it was like celery; I was burning more calories just by chewing it.

Easter Sunday was a day of relaxation. We walked up the road to the Golf Club again, this time choosing better food: pizza and chicken salad. We ate lunch on the grass and let Anastasia and Misrak play while we enjoyed the sun. It was the warmest day yet (it had been rather cool and cloudy), not uncomfortable though. It was the warmth one feels at 8000 feet. That close to the sun, Christine and I definitely got a little burned. Misrak watched out for Anastasia, so she didn’t get a sunburn. We ate dinner at the hotel, and I made the mistake of ordering a cheeseburger without the cheese (“How about with an egg on it instead? No cheese today,” the waitress told me). The “special cheeseburger,” as she called it, left me feeling ill throughout the night, the one time I experienced any stomach distress at all in Africa.

Monday morning, after four night treks to the poor, unsuspecting toilet, I felt better, relieved that whatever it was had passed through my system quickly. Misrak met us early, and we took a mini bus to Mercado, the market district, to do a bit of shopping and tempt the pickpockets. The guide books—and Misrak—warned us about the pickpockets in Mercado, that if you’re going to lose your wallet in Ethiopia, it will be here. The only white people in the throngs of the crowd, we were an obvious bull’s eye. I sensed one guy following us through the market; I turned around, stared him down, and he decided to move on. Another time, at a busy intersection, I felt a tug at the little backpack I was wearing. Someone had unzipped the front zipper halfway. The would-be thief would have been disappointed; all that was in the backpack was water, two diapers, a baby bib, a toy giraffe and tiger figurine, and some baby wipes.

On our return to the hotel, right after disembarking the mini bus at a busy, make-shift bus “terminal” underneath an overpass, we had a close call. A mini van sideswiped Misrak, while she was carrying Anastasia. Misrak fell down, but I could tell by the way she was holding Anastasia that my daughter would be fine. Misrak hit the ground, her shoes flying off, but she held Anastasia protectively during the fall. Misrak jumped right up and showed way more concern for Anastasia than herself, but Anastasia was fine—just a little shaken up. A concerned crowd gathered, but we left pretty quickly. For all we know, the driver of the van may have been lynched by the assembled mob for nearly running over a woman and a baby. When we arrived at our hotel room ten minutes later, I grabbed my first-aid kit from my luggage, and Christine doctored up Misrak’s cuts—one on the elbow and one on the knee. Otherwise, she was all right. I asked her, “So, how often do you get run over by a bus?” She managed a polite laugh, but that was all.

That evening, Misrak picked us up and walked us to her family’s house, a small but cozy, comfortable home on the west side of town. We met her father and dined with him, Misrak’s older sister, and her brother (her mother died seventeen years ago). The food was delicious, and they (mainly Misrak’s sister) had prepared quite a feast. It was traditional food that far surpassed the quality of Saturday’s restaurant dinner. Afterwards, her brother put on some Ethiopian music, and Anastasia resumed her dance routines, much to everyone’s delight. Her neighbors came over to see us as well, with the woman of the neighboring house making fresh popcorn and even fresher coffee, an incredible end to an amazing evening. We still had two days left with Misrak, but that night was a reminder of how hard it would be to say goodbye.

Tuesday morning, we took a series of five or six (I lost count) mini buses out of town, to a mountain top in the Entoto Mountains north of the capital. Happy to be out of the city for a while, we relished the quiet mountain air and enjoyed the scenic view of Africa’s fourth-largest city from so high above. We visited the Entoto Maryam Church, an eight-sided, colorful building that was the site of Emperor Menelik’s coronation in 1882. Menelik was a highly-celebrated African leader who defeated the Italians and prevented their colonization of Ethiopia. His success continued as he modernized his country, founded the capital of Addis Ababa, and established railways to connect Ethiopia with the outside world. We also visited his palace, a simple place located literally a stone’s throw away from the church. There were many sheep grazing around the palace, so Anastasia enjoyed chasing them and petting a few willing—or tolerant—or slow—ones. Throwing caution to the wind, that night we ate at the hotel again, although this time I stayed away from the “special cheeseburger,” opting instead for tomato soup and a fried chicken cutlet. Both were good.

On our last full day in Ethiopia, Misrak again met us early, hoping I’m sure to get as much quality Anastasia time in as she could. She took Anastasia out, apparently to a park according to the pictures she showed us on her digital camera later. I assume they took a mini bus or taxi to get to this park, and she probably had many strange looks as she held Anastasia with no other white people in sight. Christine and I enjoyed our quiet, Anastasia-less morning, watching tv and reading, perfectly content that our daughter was probably safe unless Misrak were to get run over by another bus. A few hours later, hungry but not wanting to go too far and miss Misrak and Anastasia, we ate lunch at the hotel again. I had a four-dollar steak with mushroom sauce and rice; it was very tasty. Hotel prices are not particularly cheap in Ethiopia, but the food certainly is.

Misrak returned shortly after our lunch, Anastasia fast asleep in her arms. Both seemed very happy with one another. Our tour guide returned after Anastasia’s nap, and we went out in search of a few other gift items. A jewelry store nearby proved to be an excellent choice for some unique, hand-made but inexpensive necklaces. Then Misrak took us on another series of mini bus rides across town to a charming local restaurant for one last traditional Ethiopian meal. The injera was of course good, as was the chicken (although Misrak’s sister’s was even better), but the highlight was a chickpea sauce that complimented the injera excellently. All three of us took turns chasing after Anastasia, who was more interested in playing outside than in eating. We were a little early for the music this time, but several Ethiopian women were quick to hold her and play with her. Several people whipped out their cell phones to take her picture, a pretty common phenomenon when Anastasia travels outside Europe or North America.

Back at the hotel, Misrak gave us several gifts: Anastasia received a t-shirt with the Ethiopian alphabet and brightly-colored, stitched hat, and Christine and I each received traditional Ethiopian clothing. Then it was time to put Anastasia to bed and say our final goodbyes to Misrak. There were many tears as Misrak held Anastasia close, telling her, “See you when you’ve grown up, Mamo.” “Mamo” is Amharic for friend or buddy. We wished Misrak well, reassuring her that we’d try to see her again, but we all knew that this was more about closure than future promises. We walked her to the door, then out into the hallway, and finally to the elevator. We said bye one final time as the elevator door rather abruptly closed in our faces, bringing our relationship to our favorite Ethiopian to an end.

At the airport the next morning, the queues were much shorter, probably because it wasn’t a holiday weekend this time (a week earlier, it was nearly Easter weekend). Once we had checked our luggage and passed immigration and security, we looked for ways to spend the last of our Ethiopian birr (we had left most of it in a thank-you card for Misrak). One store had a mannequin that was Anastasia’s size (and color), and she couldn’t stop holding onto it. People were gathering around her, amused by her antics, which continued from store to store. A restaurant worker gave her a mushy mango, and Anastasia started kicking it up and down the airport hall, leading to yet more cell phone cameras being whipped out. At our departure gate, one woman told Christine that our little girl was very active. “I just want to pick her up and carry her in my arms like a baby goat,” she said. The flight home was uneventful, giving us time to reflect on the week and consider how great our former nanny was. Misrak will be truly missed, as we told her several times, especially when child number two comes along. We trust that Misrak would have been up to the challenge.