I made my way east from Addis, with nothing but the open sea and its breeze in my mind. Harer (the supposedly remarkable and ancient) city of eastern Ethiopia impressed me little and the so much talked about winding alleys (inside a city wall of dirt) were mostly filled with trash and beggers. Next stop (and the gateway to Djibouti) was Dire Dawa, a industrial town with a railway connection to the coast and with some people actually working. It was a relief to my eyes. A honest guide (who stated the price for his service right away) showed me the train yard, which was the most park like thing the city has to offer and I hung out, watching praying birds soar the sky, while I was recollecting memories from Final fantasy 7 at every turned corner of the scattered train wrecks. A couple of hours later my resent dreams of playing rebel where reawaken by the local police ordering al hotels to collect customers passports, for ID check, for Somalia spies. At that very instant my mind summoned the sound of the alarm from a specific train scene in the mentioned game. I was stunned, but luckily got away from the security check (which was rather inappropriate at 9 o'clock in the evening, with my train (and hopefully me) leaving the country the next morning) by playing sick in my room, One - nil for the home team against the big brother, thought I. But man, would the game take a lot of turns after that first score.
Most Ethiopian restaurants and shops have posters of country propaganda like the classic 'Ethiopia my identity' that I had a copy of but unfortunately tore apart. Haven't seen this much posters since the states, but I guess Ethiopia has a big issue of people migrating from, and forgetting about, this poor country. Another observation is the bookstores mainly having education literature, like books of economics, math, religion or the art of seduction. This reminds me of Cuba, but one can always trust 'Project Gutenberg' on the internet to provide qualified reading.
Men hanging out in 'the park' in dire dawa, Ethiopia
I spent the following day & night chewing khat and exchanging Amharic (the Ethiopian language, pronounced 'americ') greeting phrases for various Djiboutian-styled 'howdys' with red bearded cuffos aboard the 'cargo compartment' train that was to drive me to the beach. It felt great! Except the hails of big-enough-to-kill-a-deer-in-three-blows sized rocks that pounded the outside of the metal train every time we left a small village and its apparently not enough exercised youngsters. I was in the last compartment; that was made out of wood and looked 100 percent Wild West plus 50 years of tear after the movie making. At one time a rock was hurled through the one side lack-of-window, just past my head, to exit the other side, leaving me breathless and the stupid, uneducated, morons-of-the-third-world represented in our cabin laughing their ass off. Luckily nobody got hurt. Khat, is a mild, legal narcotic, that keeps the workers in place in this part of the world. By now I have started to despise this leafy tradition and compare it to standard cigarettes as something by leaders and happy followers recommended, in general socially accepted as a part of the norm. I hate having my opinion taken for granted by the general crowd and if it wasn't for these 'legal drugs' being so accepted I probably couldn't have cared less, if people used it or not. To me (in short) it represents lack of individual critical thinking and proves the body, our biological, animal and traditional side being stronger than our free flying mind and spirit. I have actually been told by local people how it is good for people to not think to much. Then there will be less problem with the police, therefore the khat is good. It noticeable on the streets in Africa, that people do as they are told and don't ever get upset. Most people are excellent followers, of religion, law or pursue of money, quite unlike the decadent western world. For example at the Ethiopian/Djiboutian border crossing everybody had to surrender their passport and accept being looked into a barn T.I.A*. The approved got to board the train again, some couldn't. Luckily there was no gas filling the room. Africans have impressive amounts of patience and survival instincts, and they need it, after all the family's safety is more important than the revolution to most people. To me the suppressing in the Arab world in harder to understand, but maybe that is what religion is all about, following and obeying…
After a (luckily not reprimanded) incident at the midnight boarder crossing, involving a snatch-and-stamp move and me temporary jailed after officials proclaimed me overstayed, I entered Djibouti city in the morning. Like many times before it had proved easier to get forgiveness than permission, but I admit that that night's mishap, had left me a little more aware of some risks, that Africa just isn't the place to fool around with. Eager to get my Eritrean visa and leave on the other side of the 'Djibouti bowl'' having lost as few as possible hours and dollars along the way, I head straight for the embassy, with pack and everything. As I wrote this I was on my ninth night, going to bed with the plan to leave in the morning, still in Djibouti city. FU^K! Pardon my French. If only 'the boiling pot' of Djibouti (the port between 3 continents) were a little less 'empty on soup' I would be able to climb out and leave. Instead I am stuck in this steaming hot prison together with Somalia refuges, Ethiopian prostituted, frustrated legionnaires and even 'French people'. It is like a gift from god that the street food 'in this soup' is actually tasty and cheap, including, crepes, pasta, fish, goat knees 'French style' Shawerma (kebab) that (believe it or not) actually is very similar to THE 'drunk food' = 'a midnight express' only is it a full length baguette instead of a alp bread. Mmm mmhhh.
The single most annoying fact, except that everybody loves their beans, is the linguistic fact of the word for beans (fuul, and pronounced 'fool') being impossible for the common man to separate from the word food. This results in daily dialogues (if you can call this lack of communication that) of me trying to find 'anything but fuul' to eat from the 'non-speaking' street vendors. The scene is kind of similar to the classic John Cleese sketch about directions to the left or the right, right? At least the standard here around, is just beans for breakfast, or as night snack (who the f...k, wants beans for night snack, what happened to a burger?) and not like in Sudan, for every single meal. If I can, I will never have beans again in my life. And I will curse whoever stuffs me with those smelling things after my passing…
Why is there nothing except white bread in most parts of the world? I will miss the great fresh mango juices and the spicy chicken with yoghurt though. In Yemen I have also been served some great ice-cream and fantastic frozen yoghurt. These places are kind of rare though. My favorite ice cream parlor in Djibouti served chocolate or strawberry scoops for 0.2 dollar together with the day's wise word. Ex. 'Cleanliness is next to godliness', 'don't life over your budget' or 'always go for the dark haired girl'. I just love this kind of street preaching! Compared to the, in Yemen to offend, confrontations about how 'I am not living the Muslim tradition' in the way I dress. The street food places also houses a lot of characters and in Djibouti and for maybe the 28th time in my life have I concluded that it is a damn shame that I don't speak, are to lazy to learn and spend the few classes of it that I took, throwing wrapped paper at that poor pink dressed lady teacher, French. It seems to be a great language! One cool feature that the old men (and me as of last week) here shoulders with grace is the 'henna prepared' beard and hair. It is a local (Yemenite) tradition of cleaning and coloring body and hair from dust, bad omen and the like, resulting in fiery red hair, sailor's beards. And fingertips, an almost permanent 'lady's decoration' that is at least not as awful as the tattooed beards on many 'traditional clan women' in this corner of the world. Every clan that wants respect has to have facial tattoos or carvings (!!!) as show mark. This was common in, for example, the 'Nuba Mountain's in Sudan but has been seen a little here and there along the road.
I am now in Yemen, where the 'Khat' is more common than ever, the 'sticks' (a men's traditional piece of wood, seldom used for walking, but rather bracing the shoulders, gesticulating or beating off dogs with) are fewer and people are shorter than what is practical. This would have been 'to bad for them' in the real world but is more to my disadvantage since they have customized everything according to tiny land regulations. But this is nothing new and I can now proudly state that my ability to fold myself in third has significantly increased.
It is amusing, how the local people in neighboring countries speak of each other. I have heard to many advises before crossing borders and I can safely state that none of them been accurate to the real situation. For example, in Djibouti (where French is the 'western language') people told me that everybody in Yemen spoke English. Even though I have meet a few people speaking good English here, I still claim this being the least English spoken country so far on my trip. But this opinion can be affected by people here, appearing to be unnaturally stupid. Together with their height it might just make them the poorest people on earth. But I am convinced that the intellectual situation is a result of drug abuse (and misconception from my traditionally different way of thinking) rather than bad genes or lack of schooling.
You might think that I dislike people here, but I tell you it is not true. I don't dislike them much more than most other people. I also think I have started to adapt well to the Yemenite society. Today I found a trashcan loaded with leftovers of roasted corn, just when I finished eating my own corn. So it seems, I eat roasted corn (while walking) at the same speed as the average Yemenite in downtown Sanaa. How's that for adaptation, huh? I have a problem with the women dress though, more than often I hastily grab for my sword, thinking I just saw a ninja sneaking up on me from behind. Women here might have the most beautiful eyes I have even seen but it is still a shame that the average Muslim women don't do more stealth action, like sneaking around on rooftops and in alleys nightly. As late as today (the day of writing) did I found myself surpriced by men holding hands on the street, I wonder if I ever will get used to this?
One hour after originally posting this blog (yesterday) and stating Yemenites as a bit on the slow side, I got outsmarted by a well dressed, English speaking middle aged man, who produced a good story and of coarse 'had a small problem'. I gave him 10 dollars on a handshake and never saw him again. F*^king Arabs! No, honestly that happens everywhere, but my readings and respecting of old Arab scalds and the belief that everybody is highly religious have obviously clouded my mind. Can't believe he would go over all that trouble (buying me food and paying the buss aso.) just for 10 dollar. I guess he really needed the money. The story really did sound to good to be true, which always means it isn't. It has become very obvious the last month how more confronted you get, when alone, and how much more shit you get into. Not a single scam during the whole time in the trio, then 2 'successful' and a lot more attempts. Well, 10 dollars feels cheap for the experience and really is compared to earlier incidents. Djibouti taught me, how you probably go safe from the thief if you are his friend. Yester night I also came across a kid on the street selling brightly colored Chiclets (blue, pink, green, you name it) as pets. They seemed well enough even if it stroke me as highly unnatural and quite unnecessary. If I will posts more from this trip I will try to post a picture of them.
Man with funky shirt in Djibouti. a city that hosted great somalian sallad and a lot of cool characters. Felt a little lika havanna.
Me feeling like a character from a old rpg, after hair treatment in Djibouti city. By the way, In Aden (Yemen) I encountered Sega mega drives (in original packing) for 15 dollar, to bad my backpack's full.
In Djibouti I was told, that eating with your hand increases the appetite, here in Yemen, they say it is done because, you never know where the spoon have been. I Think the problem (and there have been serious problems 4 times this trip so far) more often is the food itself though. The last time I hade beans was on the boat from Djibouti to Yemen, which I am sure, would have been a great trip it wasn't for the damn beans. They were foul and forced me to dehydration (couldn't drink for 20 hours) and made me enter the worst toilet I have ever seem 27 times! The crossing continents trip was no more than 18 hours, planned to take 10 but this kind of schedules have I learned are but mere approximations. There is also a problem with people not understanding the concept of time. As for the guy on 'the hell ride out of the Nuba Mountains', who stated the journey to take 3 hours, after which we asked again. he then said 3 hours once more, after of 2 of them we asked and got the answer 2 hours left. The trip took 7 or so hours, Nonni would know. I was passed out most of the time and didn't even notice the dying old women climbing me to vomit over the side. The boatride featured the Yemenites singing (towards Mecca or Yemen, I don't know) in the sunset and spectacular scenery (which I unluckily couldn't photograph, because of the paranoid Muslims on board) once the coast of Yemen came to the horizon. Yemen is a mountainous country with impresive cliffs along the coastline. If one had the proper gear with him and this was a free country, real climbing adventures could be made here, most of the inland rock seems kind of soft though. The city of my entry (Aden) is actually sitated on an old vulcano, with the center, in the, and called crater. As for the toilet, it was a 1 meter high, tiny shack, without floor, nailed to two logs that you had to balance on while producing in between them without falling in the sea. The shack was hanging in ropes! off the rare end of the ship and proved challenging the whole windy night. If one would have gone in the sea, the crew would never have noticed. Also was the inside of the shack swarming with the biggest coach roaches (some 5-7 cm) I have even seen. But it went alright and I have eaten back by strength with hummus, kofka and kebab.
A yemenite, with the traditional knife that every single man carry with him. Never had it drawn against me, although a homeless guy falshed a smal knife while backing away after I called him 'a crazy person' when he was bothering me on a bus
I was also told in Djibouti that if you eat the meat of lambs (the smaller the better) you will become stronger than Hercules. Kebab is lamb, right? How strong do you get from mushroom soup G? Honey was also (according to my highly superstitious guide in Djibouti) a key to exceptional strength. To bad you put those on the shelf, papa!
A sorry accumulation of factors makes the Yemen streets some of the most dangerous I have experienced and note that the number of vehicles or intensity off traffic can't even almost compare to ex. Egypt or Asia, Driving license not being required, cars always having 'first way' over pedestrians and the majority of drivers (who barely can see over the staring wheel) being dozed, by Khat are some reasons for respect. Most of these automotive dangers come from the plain white/yellow Toyota minivan taxis, what can't compare to the bling bling decorated Djibouti vans, which all states there 'belonging' in huge typing, so if it is 2Pac, west coast, Arsenal or X-men. The African way of using the horn (it is actually required to honk it before passing a vehicle or person or before turning a corner) seem to be even worse in the Middle east. At least in Yemen is the situation, unbearable and I (hoped I wouldn't have to say this but) look forward to the quite and clean streets of Sweden.
Djibouti is a tiny country stuck in between Africa and the Middle East. The slogan of the Djibouti harbor is; 'the port to three continents'. It used to be a French colony, which becomes obvious when one gets served the hilarious and bland 'happy cow' pirate copy of the French 'laughing cow' cheese brand. Sadly the place feels a bit forgotten. Supposedly the country used to be kind of rich, and then shit happened, all wealthy people took off and refugees from Ethiopia and Somalia turned up instead. All the prostitutes in Djibouti comes from Ethiopia (which supposedly means first class) were they have to attend a certain school to learn French before being qualified. A guess this is necessary even though I been told about old Ethiopian witches, casting love spells on people after request. In addition to the French army having lots of their legionaries here, there is, nowadays also a big American army base here and it is not surprising that the traditional people feel overrun. Still I was very surprised to experience the police being paranoid and 'secret' towards foreigners and discriminating and fascistic against the local people. For example did the trying to keep local people from speaking to tourists, for risks of leaking information, remind me a lot about Cuba. But Djibouti was a confusing time and I probably shouldn't say too much about it. T.I.A* after all
But I am back in the Muslim world and there seems to be quite a lot of 'sand' in between me and Europe, so I have decided to fly to Syria (which I have heard great things about, have some hummus, check out the rocks in southern turkey, stop by for a beer in Riga and return home on the 24 of April. I will have to return to Africa, hopefully with an off-road mc to really experience the savanna and cruise the coast of Mozambique There are rickshaw drivers in African cities, just like in Asia, except that they suck! Not one single time did I end up at the right place on the first try, often it took 3 or more stops to find the way but for most both I and the driver gave up and the journey, ended with me more lost than before and in a new part of the city. It requires its man to perfect urban people transportation and I think I might be able to take more pride in it (while working the streets back home) having these clowns in mind.
The streets of Sanaa (Yemen capital) houses some increadible classical arcitecture. Sometimes sureal and easily draw your mind to the old kingdoms.
The city of Yemen features a street cleaning program (something seldomly seen in Africa) resulting in some surpricingly clean mayor streets, and some overly trashed back alleys
Me and a salt lake in Djibouti
Oh, no! it the return of the killer iron, about to swallow a poor yemenite
the 80's ? Yemen! (to bad it's leonardo on the picture instead of a 'take that' member) but check those haircuts out! pretty cool huh, maybe I'll come home like vanilla ice... The 0,000067 percent of the Icelandic population that accompanying my in the depths of Africa have now made their way to Eastern Europe and will hopefully stop by in Helsingborg on their way home, so we can finalize 'the caravan trio songbook' and indulge the promised 'Africana' pizza at the Babylon pizzeria in Eneborg, closing cultural ends of this trip once and for all.
* This is Africa
posted by Landstalker at Saturday, March 10, 2007
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