the road to Yabello

From the South Omo Valley we drove back to Weyto and to Konso, and then on to Yabello. The road first crosses the Buska Mountains, as far as I can see the western escarpment from yet another section of the rift valley, before descending in the Weyto desert, a flat expanse of land that looks conspicuously like a rift valley floor.

(1, 2) River valley in the Buska Mountains, ultimately arriving at the rift valley floor, formed by the Weyto Desert

(3) some of the boys go to school, others tend the cattle and goats

This is where the Erbore people live – generating another disappointing visit to a village; the first word uttered when we arrived was “pen?”, and even before we could get out of the car we were surrounded by photo-beggars. We did have a local guide here, part of the mandatory package, who wandered with us in between the flimsy round huts, the tukuls. The other good thing he did was admitting that the boys that had painted their face did this for special ceremonies, a few times a year, but since there was no ceremony now, they mostly did it for the tourists, instead - something I had already suspected in earlier villages.

(4, 5, two more tribal people, Erbore people in this case, and that is it, no more!

Strikingly, it turned out that there is in fact a much larger village 500 meters down the road, which one would normally not see – but our driver had to come here to get our receipt from the entry payments. Here people live in normal houses, ie. square huts with corrugated iron roofs, and here people wear Western cloths; would they do shifts, Monday, Wednesday, Friday one half of the village goes and entertains the tourists in traditional garb, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday it is the other half’s turn? Anyhow, further undermining the authenticity of the whole thing, that’s for sure.

Perhaps the most astonishing thing from the valley floor here is the habit to employ human scare crows: in the sorghum fields small platforms have been raised, every 100-200 meters or so, where young men and boys sit with long branches, and a few pebbles, to chase the birds off the crops. Just imagine the opportunity costs, having all these able young men, well, throwing stones at birds the whole day. There must be a more efficient way!

(6, 7) human scare crows in action

Closer to Weyto there are extensive cotton fields, just before we climb back into the mountains, on the other side of the rift. Past Karat – Konso country, remember?, extensively terraced; in retrospect probably our best tribal experience, almost a week ago – we enter Borena territory, another semi-nomadic pastoralist tribe, who cover large parts of the central southern part of the country. Once again into the village, once again without guide, and without means of communication, yet with all the same recognizable features of a tribal village; this was another totally useless exercise, and we left within five minutes.

We enjoyed the country side, instead, all the way up to Yabello.

(8, 9) cotton, and cotton harvest in the Weyto area

(10) and a tree in a dry river bed, hoping for some rain

Dimeka

Another town, another market. Dimeka’s is on Saturdays, and is marginally bigger than Key Afar. Most people in Dimeka are “normal”, according to our driver, with which he means that they go dressed in Western cloths. However, on market day there are a lot of out-of-towners around, many indeed in traditional dress – although it seems that the women have been encouraged to put on a T-shirt. The main advantage of a market is that people are more relaxed, look more natural than in the villages, where they are only focused on having their picture taken (and if successful, have this totally unnatural pose, unless you get them to laugh - not always easy).

(1, 2) the market, mostly with out-of-towners

(3, 4) the men, in loin cloth, but obviously contemplating new elements to the wardrobe

(5, 6) and the women, some of whom have already made the move towards modern underware

There has been talk of the traditional bull jumping ceremony, a Hamar custom in which they first beat up their wives, and then have the young boys walk over the backs of up to eight bulls, to prove their manhood. As a tourist, apparently you may be lucky, or not; after all, this is a serious cultural thing, important in Hamar society, not to be taken lightly. It was just coincidence that, a few days ago when we arrived in Turmi, they just had had the ceremony; it must also have been coincidence that the hotel was fully booked, that day. But how lucky we were that in Dimeka they were, just today, going to have another such ceremony! And what a coincidence that, just today, there were once again so many tourist around! Who were all going to be paying 300 birr entrance!

If they could just admit that they do this for the tourists, not for themselves.

We skipped the ceremony, went to our hotel instead, and watched some more birds. But we enjoyed the market.

(7, 8) preparing for the bull jumping ceremony, the woman below already dressed in bangles and the lot, to add to the overall noise levels

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

Turmi - the Hamar

A sign announces “Welcome to Turmi”, and that is just as well, otherwise one might even pass through the town without noticing. Turmi is some 2.5 hours drive from Key Afar – remember, where we visited the market? – and in those 2.5 hours very little changes outside. We are in bush and savannah landscape, a bit like the Mago Park, with plenty of trees, but mostly not very high, and interspersed with shrubs. What is most noticeable, is the total lack of traffic – despite that, major work is ongoing to upgrade the road -, and the total lack of people. So here and there some cattle is still scurrying around, some goats, too, but compared to the rest of the country, there is really very little here.

(1) Turmi being announced, just in case, and (2) Turmi centre on a Saturday afternoon

Turmi is Hamar-country, perhaps the most amiable tribe in the South Omo Valley. These are the fierce looking men who cannot help but smile at you, undermining the whole reason for looking fierce. Our tour operator had planned a visit to a Hamar village, far away from the beaten track, necessitating a strenuous walk in the heat, but promising a friendly, un-spoilt village at the end. Something went wrong. The guide perhaps had only understood that I wanted to walk, so I walked, for some 20 minutes, and there was the village. Turmi-West, a suburb of Turmi itself; the main road was actually two minutes away, on the other side of the village – we could have gone by car. When taking photos, I had to take care not to include the corrugated iron from the main town.

The village itself is nice enough, round huts, storage platforms, the usual stuff of a South Omo village. People in the village were friendly enough, too, and even up to the occasional conversation, which however, like so often here, invariably ended with the question “photo?, two birr!”.

(3, 4) the village, round huts, some even with door!

The first family I came across was building their new house, and asked me if I would help. Silly me understood they wanted me to help digging the holes for the support poles. No, what they meant was whether I could give them money, so they could buy coffee, or anything. Of course! That is the first thing you ask your visitors! Other conversations were not noticeably different, and were hampered by the fact that the guide did answer my questions even before translating them to the people I was supposed to interact with.

In the end I think I enjoyed the 20 minute walk the most.

(5, 6, 7) some of the people in the village, including women with their characteristic hair-do including a red mud for a sort of rastafa look

(8) and another inhabitant, happily finishing the dishes

(9) aloe plants survive remarkebly well in this dry climate

(10, 11) watching birds, and watching birds watch themselves, is one of the great activities in our hotel cum campsite in Turmi

(12) and we did come across some hapless Dutch campers, too, complete with laundry line and - get this - "De Telegraaf"!