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

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"!

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