Kuse Kashala

Half an hour drive outside Jinka, near Kako village in the direction of Key Afar, we encountered a truly remarkable man. Kuse Kashala is an Ethiopian, of uncertain tribal origin, who started, some years ago, to make things from the rubbish people threw away. He has no particular answer to the question why, perhaps he was bored, or perhaps he was, unwittingly, attracted by the creative process, who knows. Then, by chance, a few months ago some tourists saw his work, and were enthusiastic enough to purchase some of it. Ever since Kuse Kashala has seen the light. Outside his little hut and atelier he has now a permanent exposition of sculptures of animals, people, anything really, a colourful announcement to passing vehicles – like ours, and we certainly were sufficiently attracted to stop.

A tour of Kashala’s workshop quickly ignites our excitement. His is really a fabulous collection, using used plastic plates, lamps, wooden sticks, metal scrap, animal hides, you name it – as long as it is available locally – and Kashala has incorporated it in one of his masterpieces. Unfortunately, many of the pieces are too big to carry, and others may well attract customs attention when crossing borders: plenty of countries frown upon importing animal skin products. We bought a small sculpture – of course, we couldn’t leave without one -, and we tried to explain a little about a more commercial approach, or at least more customer friendly, but I doubt whether this really got home, not only because of the language barrier, but also because Kuse Kashala doesn’t seem to care much about the commercial side of his business, he just likes making these things. A true artist, perhaps, they still exist!

(1) the sculpture garden along the road, which attracted our attention

(2, 3) two more of the sculptures outside

(4, 5) and some of the works in the atelier, inside; the lower one we acquired for our art collection at home!

(6) and Kuse Kashale himself, in front of a self-portrait

Jinka

There is really no reason to come to Jinka, other than using it as a spring board for visiting the Mursi – about which more later. Jinka is even more insignificant than Jijiga was, much more insignificant, in fact. Jinka does have an airstrip, apparently there are even occasional flights, but they will need to clear the cattle off first. Jinka has a few basic hotels, basic food, a small, very basic market, and a smatter of very basic, dusty streets. And it has an annoyingly large number of young men, members of the local guide association, who hang around at the hotels, and besiege you as soon as you get outside. And then get annoyingly rude and insulting if you decline their services – not very becoming, not a very good advertisement for this town.

(1) Jinka airstrip, full of traffic (non-flying, non-taxiing)

(2, 3, 4) Jinka town does have some colourful shops, and (5) a small market (well, a little bigger than this, but still)

But it is a nice enough drive to Jinka, first through hilly Konso country, then down to Weyto and into what the local people call the Weyto desert, indeed a pretty dry stretch of land, although still nothing compared to what was dry in the north and the east of this country. I think it is mostly the heat, what makes people refer to desert in this case, and hot it is! (claims of high 30o’s, low 40o’s C – given how dry it is, this could well be true).

(6) Konso country, on the way to Jinka, extensively terraced

(7) the so-called Weyto desert, not really a desert, but hot and dry enough

(8) and a dikdik, the smallest of antilopes, and perhaps also the most curious

This part – we are now getting into the South Omo Valley proper – is in fact very sparsely populated. But whatever population there is, is, true to reputation, quite spectacular. Few Western T-shirts, few real trousers, however shabby. No, mostly tribal garb: Hamar and Bena people with short, tight loin cloths for men, and animal skin skirts for the women, who will also occasionally wear a gourd on their head. Men have intricately constructed hair dos, women mostly brown-coloured rasta-type hair. All are brightly decorated, with bracelets on upper and lower arms, body covers with cowry shells or with colourful beads - this is quite different from your usual development country used clothing collection. The first impression, especially seeing the men, is fearsome, and I suppose that it what it was meant to be, the original reason for the tribal outfit. But then, when we make eye contact, and we smile, they smile too, and they are actually quite nice people, the air of invincibility quickly melts.

(9) a fearsome warrior on the way

(10) and another one, note the mobile telephone charge card as ear decoration - yu cannot take this seriously, anymore!

(11) especially not if the next five warriors are actually stilt walking, and having great fun at it (for my Didam audience: shall we invite them for the annual Didam on Stilts festival?)

In between Weyto and Jinka is the town – village, perhaps – of Key Afar, which is famous for its Thursday market. So we, and with us all the other tourists in the entire South Omo Valley region, it seems, congregated at the market, which is really a sad affair, from a market perspective. In terms of goods, like vegetables, or chicken, eggs, pulses etc, there is very little on offer, and in very small quantities. The main commodity seems to be tourist knacks, crudely carved wooden sculptures, beads and other decorative objects – the same we had seen on the people we passed on the way –, and pots and gourds. The few things we do like are so outrageously expensive that we quickly abandon the negotiation process – and then we get the same reaction as from some of the would-be guides in Jinka. The basic concept of commerce, supply and demand, hasn’t penetrated here yet, and us not wanting to buy against asking price is interpreted as white exploitation of blacks. Really! The idea that us paying the asking price would be black exploitation of whites, no, that doesn’t catch on.

But we have been in this country for a while now, and nothing surprises us anymore.

(12, 13, 14, 15) some pictures from the Key Afar market, including some of the fearsome women, a fearsome child, and some of the artefacts on sale