Kolcho - the Karo

One more village, why not? The Karo are one of the smallest tribes in this area, numbering perhaps 1000. They live in the village of Kolcho, which is attractively located on a hill overlooking, once again, the Omo River. But what else can I say? When we arrived, there were five other four-wheel drives parked under the specially constructed car port, just off-loading the tourists. Yet, there were sufficient women and children left to immediately line up next to our car, too, for the inevitable photo, against the inevitable two birr. And although I do believe they have their traditional outfit, once again consisting of very little cloths, I just don’t buy it that they are all permanently so elaborately face- and body-painted, or permanently have a nail through their lower lip, or anything else that – I think – is just an addition to attract the tourist’s camera.

(1, 2) Kolcho is brilliantly located, with views over the Omo River, although the village itself is the ususal collection of round huts

No guide here, so no means of communication; however, I do find a young guy, perhaps 20 years old, who speaks quite good English. He tells me that he studies in Arba Minch, in boarding school, and is just visiting back home. Then he asks me for my pen. You can take the boy out of the village, you can’t take the village out of the boy.

Another observation: a man invites me, no, he insists, that I come into his yard, where he and two of his friends are sitting under a thatched roof, eating from an enormous bowl of nuts, or grains, or something. They immediately ask to be photographed, and hold up the bowl in front of them, to increase the attraction of the photo’s subject matter. They never, once, contemplate to offer me a grain, or a nut, or whatever it is they are eating from the bowl. In my culture, you would never not offer some nuts or grains to passing visitors you have just asked in. And in many poor countries I have lived - Haiti, Indonesia, India, you name it -, people would share what they have with visitors. But here tourists are not seen as visitors, with whom you could have a human interaction, they are just seen as mature resources, that can be milked.

Apparently, we pay 200 birr – almost 10 Euros – per person entry to the village, plus 50 birr for the car. Plus all the individual photos, of course. I have no problem with paying, after all, everywhere in the world people pay to see something that is unique. But let’s not do as if we are coming to see an almost extinct culture; let’s just call it by its name, we are here in the South Omo ethnic museum – or call it a zoo, if you like -, and the people here are the museum’s assets – and hopefully their main beneficiaries, too.

We are in the low season, now; imagine the high season, quite possibly with more visitors than objects to look at!

(3, 4) this is the problem with photos that you pay for, they are just not spontanuous (unless you can get the person to laught a little)

(5) and this is how unrealistic it really is, if you zoom out

(6, 7, 8) a few more Karo, but I just don't believe that this is how they always go about their business, I suspect that the traditional outfit has been enhanced somewhat to appeal even more to tourists

(9) on the other hand, the cattle boy outside the village is just as traditionally drerssed as the people inside the village - except for the face paint, for the nails through his lower lip, and perhaps a few more additions

Omorate - the Dasanech

Did I say there was very little between Key Afar and Turmi? Between Turmi and Omorate there is even less – except for birds! In the dense savannah we see plenty of Guinea Fowl, and another walking bird, don’t know the name, and in the trees carmine bee-eaters and a whole range of other colourful birds fight for camera attention – once again, it is almost like a Mursi village!

(1) Guinea Fowl, plenty of them - could well, on occasion, be used as surrogate chicken on the menu (without telling you, of course)

(2) and another walker, perhaps the Arabian Buster?

(3, 4) but really, the most fun are the colourful birds, and especially if they agree to pose together!

The other feature of the landscape is the termite hills. Everywhere, they reach for the sky, like chimneys, sometimes higher than the surrounding trees. The only colour, apart from the birds, is provided by Oleander trees, some enormous, and many in full bloom.

(5) the termite hills, as chimneys rising from the earth

(6) oleander trees bring some colour

Omorate is a village you cannot miss, if only because it is at the end of the road, on the Omo River. The village itself is not much, despite its dual carriage way main street, but the reason to come to Omorate is to visit a Dasanech village, another tribe of this region, numbering perhaps 6000-7000 people, of which the most accessible 500 live just across the river, in a small hamlet. And Dasanech are indeed a culture on their own, although during the day it is mostly women and girls, and some old men that are present. In terms of cloths, they do not wear much, but body decoration is splendid, and very creative. An older woman has a head-dress of bottle openers, whilst the young girls have used the tops of soft drink bottles for their own head cover. Beads galore, necklaces, bracelets, the whole garamut. Sadly, I somehow have the impression that much of this is in response to tourist interest, the sillier you make your outfit, the more likely they are to take your picture– going rate two birr. And while not as insistent as the Mursi, they are really only hanging around to be photographed, and they make sure you know it.

(7, 8) our river transport, the same as used by local people

(9) a Dasanech hut

(10, 11, 12) and the people themselves, although I wonder how authentic the bottle tops are

Many of these girls should be in school, of course, but here only boys go to school, or so I am told by our guide (I wonder whether even this is true, given the number of young boys playing in the river, but anyhow). I don’t think any of my well-meant arguing why girls should go to school, too, will change the situation in the short term, the tourist business is simply too lucrative (just crossing the river, in a dug-out canoe, cost 3 US$ each!; and there are 20-25 photogenic girls lined up at the canoe landing place). In the long term, I hope, and I think, this culture will slowly die an inevitable death. Living in the very basic conditions that these people live in is not really necessary anymore, in 2012. But everybody will choose their own priorities. The few men we talk in the village all follow the British Premier League Soccer on television. They all think Arsenal is on the wrong track, and should sack the manager. As I said, a matter of priorities.

(13) cows being watered in the river - the only permanent source of water here, and (14) a woman making her way in between the cows