Ethiopian Travels Part II

After Addis Ababa, Bahar Dar and Gondar, I went on to Axum. And although I had been there some forty years before, I didn’t remember a thing. Not that the town is all that big, it’s quite small in fact – you can cover it on foot from one end to the other in about 30 minutes. It’s just that other than the Stelae field, a church or two, and a few tombs, there just isn’t that much that is memorable. At least not 40-years memorable.

But as elsewhere in Ethiopia, maybe even more so, the people were friendly and welcoming – lots of smiles and hellos and invitations to coffee. I even met a few older folks who still spoke some Italian and greeted me first in that language. Like the old gal stationed outside St Mary of Zion who seemed half blind but had a great sense of humor despite her apparent disability,


A Bill Cosby look alike who insisted on buying me coffee,

and Berhane, the gatekeeper at the Stelae field.


Axum is in the Ethiopian province of Tigray, which adjoins the Eritrean highlands and is most similar to that country, culturally, linguistically, geographically. So it was here in the far North of Ethiopia that I had the strongest sense of having returned. I felt a real connection, with the place, with the people.

I was met with friendliness, hospitality, and good humor at every turn. Even at my hotel, where I might have expected the help to be somewhat blasé about tourists, the wait staff in the bar always seemed ready for a laugh.



Later my first morning in Axum I met two sisters, Roza and Helen, whose mother Azeb ran a kind of coffee shop in their house near the Stelae field. They insisted on treating me to coffee.



That same morning I also met Aregay, owner of the Abyssinia Handcraft Shop, who invited me to his house for coffee and popcorn, where I met his wife and a friend.



And still later that day, while walking to lunch, I met a young student, Nestenet, on her way to her afternoon classes. After I snapped her picture, with her OK, I got the idea she wanted me to buy her a dictionary for her English studies. Now the Lonely Planet travel guide warns of a minor scam down in Lalibela, where the kids ask for school notebooks, and after the obliging tourist has moved on, they return the item for a refund. So I was somewhat suspicious, and definitely noncommittal. I ended up blowing it off and never did go back to where she said I could meet her.



Two days later, however, as I was heading out from my hotel, who should I encounter but my young student acquaintance. And, as it turned out, there was a bookstore just a few doors down, which had a nice Amharic-Tigrinya-English dictionary for about two dollars. When I heard the price, I figured even if I was being scammed, it wasn’t all that much, and I ended up springing for two different dictionaries. But she seemed so pleased by these books; it was hard for me to think she was going to return them for cash. Indeed, after our purchase, she invited me to her house to show them to her mother. By the time we arrived we had picked up a whole entourage of kids. Mom, however, wasn’t about to have a pack of curious children staring at the faranji in her house, and she drove them off with a cupful of water as they crowded around the doorway of the living room/coffee shop. Actually, it wasn’t a coffee shop – she made and sold sewa, the somewhat sour, homemade beer made from millet, corn or barley. The sewa wasn’t ready that day, however, and she rustled up coffee and popcorn.



In the course of drinking the traditional three cups of coffee, I was introduced to little brother, a young neighbor who sat politely on the threshold the whole time, grandfather, and an older couple who seemed to be visiting, but who I never did learn if they were friends, relatives or customers.



On my last day in Axum I stopped by Azeb’s for a tea and met Abraha, who cut an almost dashing figure with his natty (sans dreadlock) rasta look.



On the way back to the hotel I ran into several of Nestenet’s friends who seemed pleased to have their picture taken.



Text and Photographs by World Traveling Dave

Memories of Ethiopia

Two of the photographs that I decided not to post on the Guest Blog by my friend Dave, evoked several powerful memories of the time that I spent in Ethiopia.


After seeing them, my first thought was of the children that I had met in the rural areas outside of the city of Asmara. I had worked, with other GI’s, on several projects (including building a windmill) that benefited the local village population. Many other US military people did much more than I did for the people of our host country.

The children would gather around us (and as Dave says “they loved to ham it up in front of our cameras”). Although they never begged, we would give to them tokens of our friendship; usually small change and sometimes even an Ethiopian dollar (40 cents US). We would also bring items to these children such as paper, pencils and clothing from the Post Exchange at Kagnew. Many of these children had never left their village and had never seen the city of Asmara, just 30 miles away.

To the rural population outside of the city of Asmara, an Ethiopian dollar was a lot of money, considering that their annual family income was about $60 US (in 1967) or less. They bartered livestock (goats and sheep) for grain (mainly Teff) and other food stuffs. In drought years the grain was sparse and the livestock were very lean (little spare food or water to give them). But there were always hot peppers that would grow in any soil and under the most adverse conditions. These peppers were a staple in many Ethiopian dinners.

Ethiopia is where I acquired my taste for spicy foods. There was a local dish called Zigny (Zigne) that made Curried foods seem tame. Zigny was a stew that was seasoned with many spices that were roasted to make a powder called Berbere (Beri-Beri) which predominately was made up of local hot peppers. Just looking at the powder would bring tears to your eyes.

The most common Zigny was made with goat meat. It was served in a community pot placed in the center of the dinning area (usually a two foot tall table) and often accompanied by an equally spicy lentil dish. A flat sourdough bread called Injera (made with Teff flour) was used to scoop the Zigny from the pot. As in very many Mideast and African countries no utensils were used; you ate with your right hand only (never your left).

I had been honored several times, by locals that invited me to their homes for a Zigny dinner (one time we brought a live goat as a gift for the host). As my friend Dave said the people there were amazingly friendly and looking for nothing in return but a pleasant conversation.

Unlike my world traveling friend Dave, I’ll never return to Ethiopia; perhaps I should have never left!

The Beach Bum

The Lost Ark

More than 40 years ago, I was stationed at Kagnew Station in Asmara, Eritrea, Ethiopia. Besides sampling the local nightlife (which was my favorite pastime), I did manage to take several trips into the Eritrean and Ethiopian countryside.

Before mid June of 1968 most of my close friends (AKA “The Gross Guys”) had left Kagnew for bigger and better things. Feeling lonely, I hooked up with a local girl in early June 1968. She worked on post and lived in a beautiful house not far from my favorite downtown Asmara bar (The Bar Fiore).

Her mother was half Italian and half Ethiopian and she was ¾ Italian and ¼ Ethiopian. Her mother was the mistress of an Asmara businessman (her Father).

One morning, at breakfast, I had a conversation with her mom and told her that I was going to see the ruins at Axum in a few days. She then related the following story.

When she was young (probably in the 1920’s) she travel from Addis Ababa to Asmara with her mother to be with her father (an Italian builder). On the way to Asmara they stopped at Axum for a day. Axum is a holy site and it was a celebration day. She told me that she had seen the Ark of the Covenant (but had a different name for it) being carried by the priests. I knew what she was talking about and shook my head in disbelief.

My first reaction was that there was no such thing – it’s a biblical myth. And why, if it did exist, would it be in Ethiopia? I went to Axum in July of 1968 and never saw the Ark.

Years later, in 1981, I saw the Steven Spielberg movie “Raiders of the Lost Ark” and I laughed at the possibility that the Ark of the Covenant did really exist. If you have seen this movie, and who hasn’t, you can understand the potential power of the Ark of the Covenant. That is, if you believe that it really does exist.

In this month’s Smithsonian Magazine there is a story by Paul Raffaele titled “Keepers of the Lost Ark”. Paul claims (as my Eritrean girlfriend’s mother did) to have seen the Ark in Axum (Aksum). He also claims to have taken pictures of priests carrying the Ark. He explains how and why the Ark was taken to Ethiopia. This is almost believable.

Believer or non-believer, it is a good article that is worth reading.

The Beach Bum

The Last Fire Drill

In a comment posted to one of my Blogs, a friend said that I should write some Kagnew Station stories in my blog. I feel that most of the stories that I tell about Kagnew Station, Eritrea, Ethiopia, East Africa are a little too obscene for this blog. Most of them cannot be toned down without losing the true essence of the story.

While looking through my files I found a story, written in 1999, that I could post to this blog. But before I post the story I must first give you some background information.

Artwork by Roxie HowardKagnew Station was a communications monitoring post located in Asmara, Eritrea (8200 feet above sea level). It reached its peak (no pun intended) in the late 1960’s and its closing began in 1973 with the withdrawal of the largest unit stationed there; The Army Security Agency. I had the good fortune of being there during the prime years (1966-1969). Subsequently I am the antagonist in a chapter of Michela Wrong’s non fiction book about Eritrea.

All that being said, here is a homogenized story about life at Kagnew Station in the late 1960’s. This is for you Pal Val.

It was the summer (rainy season) of 1968. Company "A" had just gotten a new Company Commander (LBJ – a sobriquet given to him because of his physique). I was on "A" trick, sharing a two-man room on the second floor with Little Willie. We were working Eves on the next to last day of the cycle. That night, after work, knowing we only had just one shift to go before our 48-hour break, we did what came natural; went downtown to savor some of the local nightlife.

At the ungodly hour of 0645 the Company fire alarm went off. I, as well as others, thought that this must be the real thing. Usually in the past we had always been warned of upcoming Fire Drills. Most of the guys would shack up downtown to avoid participation.

Grabbing what we could to cover ourselves, we headed for safety in the street in front of the barracks (I wish I had a picture of this). Guys came out of the barracks in sheets, in blankets, in under shorts and some with towels wrapped around their waist.

The alarms and noise in the street had also awakened the dependants living in the family housing across the street from A Company. As we gathered, they gathered, waiting for the Fire Trucks to arrive.

Out of the building comes the new CO. He sarcastically congratulates us on our ability to vacate premises in orderly fashion. Boos and hisses followed. Most of "A" Trick dropped their cover, walking naked back to the barracks and bed. The dependants living across the street were appalled at sight of us being au natural. Some of the guys even waved the distinguishing mark of their sex at the dependants. The families complained to the Post Commander. From that day until the day I left Kagnew that October, we didn't have another fire drill.

The Beach Bum

HIM and I

"Click on Photo to enlarge"
More than 40 years ago, I spoke to an Emperor! Haile Salassie ("Might of the Trinity") I of Ethiopia. Our conversation consisted of (H.I.M.) “You are tall, are you a basketball player?” My answer was “No, your Majesty, I play Baseball and Football.” End of conversation; which lasted less than 20 seconds. However it is my 20 seconds claim to fame, I had a conversation with a living Emperor. How many people can say that?

His Imperial Majesty (HIM), Ras Tafari Makonnen adopted the name of Haile Salassie I when he ascended to the throne. His official title was the Conquering Lion of the Tribe of Judah, Lord of Lords, King of Kings of Ethiopia and Elect of God. We (GI’s) also called HIM the “Lord of the Flies”. There were at least 20 flies per person living in Ethiopia and Eritrea in the 1960’s.

The title Ras in Amharic (like in Hebrew) can have several meanings. Prince or Duke is the most common translation. Since Tafari Makonnen was the Crown Prince of Ethiopia before his ascension to the throne I assume that the title Ras meant Prince.

Haile was a cool little guy that spoke with a British accent. We were told to not look down on the Emperor, so all that I saw was the top of his hat when he was speaking to me.

He enjoyed reviewing and inspecting the US Troops that were stationed at Kagnew Station, Asmara, Eritrea. He liked Americans, which is unusual for an African leader. He would visit Kagnew at least once a year, mainly to get his annual medical and dental check up. Later he would award himself another medal for his visit. Haile really liked medals; he would award himself with a medal any chance that he got. They looked good on his uniform. And he loved wearing his uniform.

I shouldn’t really knock Haile, he was a fairly good Emperor (as Emperor’s go), except when it came to his treatment of the Eritrean people.

And who else (besides Haile Salassie) can claim that a Religion bears his name. The Rastafarians called him Jah – the living God.

The Beach Bum