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

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