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

Guest Blogger III

Last October my world traveling friend Dave took a 5 week trip to Africa. We had both been stationed in Africa, at a place named Kagnew Station, in the mid to late 1960’s. Dave was an Italian Linguist and I was a Communications Analyst.

We, as well as many of our Kagnew friends, often rue the fact that we didn’t take in more of the African culture and sights when we were given the opportunity of a lifetime, to do so, compliments of the US Government.

I took several short trips including one to Axum to see the obelisks. My only major trip was a camera safari to a wildlife preserve outside of Mombassa, Kenya.

Last January Dave sent a bunch photographs that he had taken on the trip. He added personal comments to many of them. I recently asked him to expand his comments because I thought that I would make a good TravelBlog.

One of the things that I noticed was that things haven’t really change much since I departed over 40 years ago (Dave and I left Africa a day apart in October 1968). Things still look the same and the outgoing friendliness of the people (to complete strangers) still remains the same. Dave mentions being invited into homes for coffee (Ethiopian coffee is great) on several occasions.

I am breaking his story in to two parts. Below is Part I and Part II will follow in a few days. The pictures are beautiful and each tells a story. You can see them at a larger size by clicking on them.

The Beach Bum

Travels in Modern Day Ethiopia

After 40 years I was back in Ethiopia – it was 40 years to the month since I was discharged from the U.S. Army Security Agency in the highlands city of Asmara, now the capital of Eritrea. I had spent 37 months as an Italian translator at Kagnew Station in Asmara, one of the army’s best kept secrets (in more ways than one). Now, in late 2008, I was back for five weeks of travel and exploration, mostly to visit places I had never seen before.

Addis Ababa, the capital, was a disappointment – sprawling, unattractive, devoid of any charm whatsoever. I didn’t meet a single Westerner who liked the city. But the place did have some interesting attractions, and even though I had never been there, it invoked a vague sense of familiarity. One constant was the role of the church, and how simply touching the cathedral seemed so important to the devout. As was reading the bible on cathedral grounds.




Something else that hadn’t changed was how kids could so totally enjoy a game using just a few pebbles. Or seeing women carrying firewood. Though I did find that a bit surprising in a capital city of three million.












But where the sense of familiarity was particularly strong was in the countryside and smaller towns. I had taken an overnight minibus from Addis up to Bahar Dar, and as the sun came up it was as if nothing had changed – people streamed along the highway out to the fields, some carrying a wooden plow, others driving a herd of goats, men with their arms propped on the staff they carried across the shoulders, some barefoot . . . beneath the surface almost nothing had changed.

Bahar Dar is on the tourist trail for good reason – Tisisat Falls and the monasteries on Lake Tana’s islands are so very colorful. But one of the things I found most interesting was how the monks and priests seemed to genuinely relish showing the tourist their biblical manuscripts and processional crosses.



Another pleasant surprise was the genuine hospitality of so many people. So many times as I was walking down the street, someone would invite me in for coffee, for no apparent commercial purpose. As did these three women.





Across the street from my Bahar Dar Hotel (Taken from in front of my hotel, located to the right, and out of the picture) were a series of small shops. These were basically little rectangular stalls, from 6-10' wide, maybe 4' deep, along the side of the street. They were open only on one side, and only above the counter. A few had display cases under the counter. Some were made of corrugated tin, some of old boards, some a combination of materials. One shop that I passed daily was operated by two sisters (Their place is down toward the end on the left). Whenever I passed by, they would smile and say hello and wave me over. Despite their limited English, it was fun joking and talking with the two sisters in their little stall. Unlike a shop, that you have to enter, you're closer and much more connected to stall keepers as you walk along. In fact you're much more connected to other people in Ethiopia just about everywhere.

















Unchanged, too, was the kids’ desire to be photographed - so many of them are hams. Like this bunch in Bahar Dar.



To be continued .......

The Lizard and the Fried Egg

I have a very unique filling system. The papers, letters and notes that I save eventually go into one of four boxes. These are not the regular store bought cardboard boxes (some assembly required – very dangerous words), that fall apart at the seams, if they are inappropriately handled; these are sturdy empty beer bottle cases. My four boxes are from four different beers.

The way that my system works is very simple. I let papers etc. pile up on the shelves of my computer desk. When the shelves get three quarters full, I transfer the material to one of the four boxes. But first I have to sort through the box and remove stuff that I no longer need to save; to make room for the new stuff that I no longer need to save. This can be an arduous time consuming task.

The other day my wife (who is currently visiting, here in Florida) asked me about some financial notes that I had made last year. I knew right where to look; Samuel Adams Winter Ale. I remembered that this was the last box that I had sorted through last March. How I remember this even amazes me; I’m the guy that can’t remember what he ate for dinner three nights ago.

I found the papers, but more importantly I found a letter written to me by a friend (Greg) on December 26, 2007. My friend lives in the Hotsy-Totsy Brentwood section of LA. In fact, not far from the Swartzneggers (he and Maria shop for groceries in the same store - well la-di-da). He is more of a Beach Bum than I am; he spends a lot of his time on the beach in Santa Monica (he’s friends with Bobby Shriver of the Kennedy Clan) and at Malibu Beach. He is still (mentally) living in the 1960’s and early 1970’s (he even continues to wear tie-dyed shirts). “Surf’s up, dude.”

In his letter he writes (among other things):

“Got your singing Christmas Tell-E-Gram. Nice to hear your single malt juiced, Marlboro cracked contralto. Slay-belles, my rectal obtrusion.” He was referring to me calling him on Christmas night and singing Winter Wonderland on his answering machine.

I met Greg when I was stationed at Kagnew Station in 1967. Someone had nicknamed him Lurch (because of the way he moved his head while making guttural sounds – just like the Addams Family character did) it stuck and to this day we all call him Lurch.

Lurch is an extremely intelligent person, but if you didn’t know him well you might think otherwise. To say that his sense of humor is a little off-center is a gross understatement.

The day that I met him he was crawling down the hall in the Barracks like a lizard. He did this to perfection. If a fly (and there were many flies in Ethiopia – we called them the National Bird) flew past he would try to zap it with his tongue. This was very impressive to say the least. He fit in well with us other nut cases.

Another sight gag that he preformed was the Fried Egg. He learned this from a guy nicknamed Waldo. Together he and Waldo would do variants of the Fried Egg, such as two over easy and a fried egg with bacon. Again, as with the Lizard, this was a true art form appealing to the minds of the demented. In fact, it was better then the fried egg on the anti-drug commercials (and that was a real egg).

He was also very proficient at shooting and killing flies with rubber bands. But he was best known for his putdowns of senior NCOs and Officers. He did this with class and finesse. The victim rarely realized what he was doing or actually saying to them. That was truly a gift.

Tonight I will drink a single malt scotch and smoke another Marlboro in his honor. And perhaps I’ll sing Winter Wonderland. It’s a good excuse for me to indulge in all of my bad habits.

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