Early on Monday morning, before the sun was up, I woke up to begin my journey to Dire Dawa and Harar, in the east of Ethiopia. I was going to visit a young man named Solomon who has lost three limbs in a train accident. He has a dream to prove his worth, start a business and provide for his family, and we are going to try to help.
The beginning of this trip was my first experience on mass transit outside of Addis. I jumped into the deep end on this 11-hour journey. I was traveling with an Ethiopian friend, Girum, who helped find a mini-bus traveling to Dire Dawa. The bus was 90 minutes late, but we got a seat. I would guess that there were about 30 regular passengers on the bus and a handful of others standing in the aisles from time to time. We had a four-person crew on the bus, which seemed like overkill, but which came in handy later on (I’ll get to it).
Once we left the bumpy back roads of Addis, the roads were actually pretty good. We traveled east along the primary corridor between Ethiopia and Djibouti, the port that sends and receives most of Ethiopia’s imports and exports. We dodged the cattle, dangerously passed the big-rigs, and traveled through some absolutely gorgeous countryside. We drove down from the highlands around Addis and through the Awash National Park with bleached white grasslands and dry mountains all around. There are supposedly large mammals that live in the reserve, but they wisely steered clear of our bus as we careened through.
There weren’t many towns besides those that had developed around intersections, and we would occasionally pass rural residents who came to the side of the road to sell firewood or charcoal. In this hot and dry part of the country, I could see houses that were built into the ground—a hole was dug and the roof was put at ground level. But theses houses and any others were few and far between. And then we started to climb back into the mountains where the country grew greener and we saw many more signs of life. This was Oromo country and the round, mud-stick walled and thatched roof houses were even more common than I had seen during my trip south to Awasa. The road from Awash National Park to Dire Dawa must be one of the most beautiful in the country. We wound up the hills and drove along the ridgeline with stark valleys on each side. You could see for miles and the Oromo villages dotted the landscape.
This is also the chief chat producing area of Ethiopia. Chat is a small plant that is cultivated for its properties as a stimulant. People eat the leaves (and eat and eat) and become focused and mildly intoxicated, or so it seemed. If it is popular in Addis, then it is a way of life in the East. Our bus driver stopped several times and almost all the men on the bus, except for Girum and me, stocked up on a “bouquet” of chat. Between the winding roads, and the driver’s extra “focus,” it wasn’t possible to sleep and looking out the window helped me forget about fearing for my life.
It wasn’t just the chat that made the rest stops exciting, every time the bus pulled over, there would be people pushing and shoving to catch a ride. I always decided to stay inside and keep my seat, but things got physical at one of the gas stations. One of our “crew” told a hopeful passenger that there wasn’t room, and before I knew it, all four were outside and shoving at a group of local residents. It didn’t escalate beyond that, and for everyone else on the bus, it didn’t seem to be out of the ordinary. I was glad that our instigator had his back up (maybe this is why they keep four crew members on staff) but I was even gladder to get back on the road. After a couple of traffic tickets (too many passengers, a cracked windshield) and some customs checkpoints, we were cruising again.
As we crossed yet another ridge, the sight on the other side was much different. There were no more ridges and valleys, but flatlands as far as the eye could see. Down in the bottom somewhere was Dire Dawa. Dire Dawa, the second biggest city in Ethiopia, is a much different place than Addis. Its streets are laid out in a grid and shaded with large trees. The dusty streets are filled with small taxis and you could walk from one end of town to the other, just don’t try to do it in the middle of the day when things get really, really hot.
In Dire Dawa we met with Solomon to talk about starting his new enterprise. Solomon is in a wheelchair and missing both legs and one of his arms. He was left in the desert for three days after a train accident along the Ethiopia-Djibouti railway over on year ago. His mere survival is a miracle. I asked him what his dream was, where he wanted to be in ten years from now. He said that his dream was to support his mother, who has no husband and no other children, and prove to her that he is still worth something despite his accident. He requested a loan to start an internet café, but Girum and I suggested that a more modest venture might be a better place to start. Solomon agreed and we decided on a DVD rental shop. This would accommodate his limited mobility and provide an entrance into a related business, while reducing risk and start-up costs. We spent the next two days discussing the details of the business and connecting Solomon to mentors and support networks in the area.
We then traveled to Harar to meet with Solomon’s mother to discuss the venture. Harar is an ancient Muslim city with a historical walled city that dates back to the 15th century and maybe even earlier. The city is at a higher elevation and cooler than Dire Dawa, and the old walled city, the jugol, is bustling with life. There are many small mosques and shrines all around the old town and each of the buildings within the walls is connected to the next, all painted white. Solomon’s mother lives just outside of town and we had to carry Solomon is his wheelchair to reach her. She lives in a one-room house, not much bigger than my bedroom here in Addis, with a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. When we met her, she was shelling peanuts and caring for an infant, her two forms of income, which garners a few dollars a day. She had hoped that Solomon could operate his shop out of her home, but the location wasn’t suitable at all. We explained this situation to her, and though she was sad that her son would move an hour away, she understood that it was in his best interest. As we left, each of Solomon’s old neighbors came out to say hello and many looked at him as if he were on his deathbed. They remembered the Solomon that had four limbs, and acted as though the Solomon with one limb was less of a person, less Solomon. As we waited for our taxi, you could see in his eyes that this attitude affected him. Girum leaned over to me and said, “I don’t think this place is good for Solomon, I think he needs a fresh start.” He couldn’t have been more right, and in Dire Dawa, Solmon was much happier and more hopeful. There’s a lot of work to be done—finalize the budget, acquire land and the shipping container to be used as the storefront, buy the merchandise, etc.—but there is much promise. I’m looking forward to going back.
We paid for a ride back in an SUV that was returning from a trip to Dire Dawa and we made much better time. We left early in the morning and I saw the bright desert stars in the sky. The early morning clouds filled the valleys and the sun rose above the ridge. Even thought we made better time, we didn’t avoid the traffic cops, custom agents, or hustling at the roadside. But at least there wasn’t a fistfight.
Oh, and I tried the raw meat, tre tsiga. The jury’s still out—I’ll tell you more next week.
