Jinka

Originally we had plans of touring the Lower Omo Valley via a series of short stops but time and lacking transport had convinced us that we would be better off heading straight for the biggest and furthest town in the region, Jinka.

We arrived at the Arba Minch bus station around 5am to find that both the buses were full. I suggested to Di that we might be able to get one from Konso, a minute later a local recommended the same plan. We caught a mini bus to Konso which broke down en route. Losing only 30 minutes we transferred to another van. We were still ahead of the buses.

When they arrived at Konso I was told that they were still full. No surprise. The real surprise was that no buses originate in Konso. We were offered some standing room on the bus. 150 birr, we laughed. In the end we got them down to 40. We went to board but we were stopped by a traffic officer. This was not going to work. Di snatched our money back and we went in search of other options. A bus full of university students got quite excited by the idea of giving us a lift but they were not going far enough to be of use to us. The trickle of buses ran dry and we were reduced to trucks. After several hours on the side of the road we finally found a driver who would take us. The price was slightly higher than a bus fare but we did get to ride in the cab.

The Lower Omo Valley is known for the 17 different tribes that call it home. They are very colourful and famous amongst ethnographers for their traditions and rituals. Along the way the driver pointed some out, "Arbore", "Ari" etc. He was a quiet man but friendly enough. At lunch he even bought us a drink out of his own pocket. That was certainly a first for Ethiopia.

The day was long as the truck was slow. 16 hours after we had passed the gates of the Arba Minch bus station we arrived in Jinka. 8 hours later than expected. Then again setting an ETA in Africa is just asking for trouble. It was late and all the hotels were full. We pitched the tent and somehow arranged some food.

For our second day in the Lower Omo Valley we planned to backtrack a couple of hours to a town called Key Afar. As luck would have it our truck driver was heading there too, so we organised to meet him on the morning of the second day. We waited for him to show up and eventually he did. Before we were going anywhere the truck had to be repaired due to a few mishaps we had on the Konso Jinka road. He told us he would return and then drove off. While we waited we had time to study our hands. Since leaving Dinsho Di's rash had subsided a little and the skin had become leathery. Each of my hands had developed a dozen or so medium sized blisters, leaving me to believe that the sensation of heat experienced in the earlier stages may have been real. We passed time by playing cards, part way through Di realised the man sitting beside us had out a pen and paper and two voice recorders. We figured he was using this as an opportunity to practice his english. I actually felt kind of bad because we had been talking a lot of non sense. After an hour and a half the truck didn't show. We were nervous that we wouldn't make it on time to catch the markets so we went in search of our truck or some other transport. We made our way to the garage and as we did so the repairs were just being finalised. We climbed aboard and headed in the wrong direction, Karsa, our driver, wanted breakfast.

We pulled into a pretty standard local restaurant which had nothing but meat. Di and I shared a tibs but the real excitement of the morning was eating some of Karsa's Kitfo. I had had it twice before but not in a truly local fashion. I tore of some injera and picked up a large glob of raw minced beef, dipped it in crushed chillis, shut my eyes and ate it. Low and behold it tasted like raw mince, not exactly what I would call a delicassy but each to their own.

Time was short as Karsa had to return to Arba Minch after visiting the market so we left the last of our meal and piled into the big white Isuzu. We bounced our way out of town, just after the gates we came across a group of tourists including the two Italians from Arba Minch. To their dismay they were charged twice what we were just to sit in the back. Covering familiar territory we reached Key Afar in less than 2 hours. We had to walk the last few hundred metres as it is illegal for foreigners to ride in the trucks.

The streets of Key Afar were already bustling by the time we plodded in. The market is known to attract the Ari, Hamer and Banna tribes and they were all there in spades. It took us a while to be able to distinguish which were which but we were pretty confident by the end. The tourist dollar has not passed by the tribesmen and they charge for photos. We had a few 1 birr bills but not enough to snap at whatever we wanted so we had to be somewhat selective. The first time Di pulled out the camera was to take a photo of a fruit stand. Anywhere else this would be free, it would probably go by unnoticed but the owner of this stand sure realised. He demanded 2 birr, a little taken back Di offered him one. He refused and Di walked away. He came running after her, one birr was okay after all but because of the way he had reacted the offer was no longer on the table. He started getting rough with her; pushing and grabbing her, trying to snatch the money. I was just behind and I had a rush of blood. I grabbed him by the arms and yelled something he wouldn't understand. Not watching behind him I nearly pushed him over the food stall behind him. His aggresiveness abandoned him quickly and I regained control of my temper. I pulled him away from the store and let him go. We both puffed up our chests and waved dismissive hands at each other. Still a bit flustered I turned my back and walked away.

We found some Banna youths who were clearly at the market to bait tourists. Each of them had donned the full regalia with body paint, feathers and jewellery. At 2 birr per person, per photo we took a few but depleted our money stocks pretty quickly. With no small notes remaining we just wandered around taking photos of the market as a whole. The shops were charging farenjis double or triple the normal prices so we saved our money for Jinka. We loaded onto a bus heading our way and waited for it to leave. Key Afar market had been interesting but it is just as easy and less hectic to see the Ari, Hanna and Banna on normal days.

For our second day in the Lower Omo Valley we had budgeted for a day trip to a Mursi village but we had been told that if we waited the Mursi would come to us. The following day a peace concert had been organised by USAID. All 17 tribes of the region were going to be represented and each would perform a traditional song and dance. This meant that we had a day to waste and that's pretty much what we did. The morning was soaked up with typical time wasting activities and in the afternoon we accidentlly undertook a walking tour of the town before visiting the local ethnographical museum. The only business we had to take care of was to move our flights to Tanzania back a day.

The third day was the big one and it started with some excitement. For the locals anyway. A plane buzzed low overhead and the towns people ran to clear the airstrip of the grazing sheep and goats. The plane circled and landed. Over a hundred locals waited for their new guests to arrive. A handful of older, white tourists climbed out. A few brave locals approached but the rest just stood back and stared. The newcomers were quickly whisked away to "a safer place" by their guide.

Overnight the excitement had reached frenzy point. Excitement coursed through the streets as truckloads of tribes people were shipped into town. Songs and chants poured forth from the trays of the Isuzus. The Mursi were the loudest of all. Di and I, desperate to get a good position for the show went in search of the stadium. Three local trouble makers showed us the way. The crowd had already begun to build by the time we got there. Luckily someone told us the show didn't start for another 9 hours otherwise we would have wasted a lot of time. Our assumption that it would be a night show was clearly unfounded. Unfased we left the stadium to peruse the Jinka market. The stalls were selling the usual unappealing junk but the number of colourful people strolling the streets more than made up for it. We found a corner of the market abounds with fruit. I was in heaven as I sat on a concrete verandah and ate banannas and passionfruits. From the size of the gathering crowd there was something comical about a white guy chowing down on fruit in public. The onlookers were all friendly, the more brazen of the group decided to try his english. He was a nice guy, a truck driver and he offered us a cheap ride back to Arba Minch. I said we'd take it if we couldn't get a bus ticket. Worn out, we left the heat and bustle of the market. I picked up a pineapple on the way out. Back in our hotel compound I sat down and devoured the entire thing.

In the afternoon we sold our left over kerosene which confused everyone involved. Since when did farenjis sell stuff to them? Especially at the market! We took our money to the bus station where we wanted to pick up our ticket back to Addis. This meant that we would have to wait for the bus to arrive then beat the crowd to get a ticket. Never a pleasant experience. To our surprise and benefit the bus had just arrived when we got there and a helpful local forced himself through the jostling mass to buy our tickets for us. We were wrapped, with a spare day up our sleeves we were very likely to make our flight out of Ethiopia.

The concert began at 6pm but we got there just over an hour early. The crowd was not much bigger than it had been in the morning. The guy I was standing beside informed us that we could go and watch the rehearsals if we wanted. With nothing better to do we readily agreed. We passed through a small gate and into the practice area. All 17 tribes were singing and dancing at the same time, a very uplifting experience. We took our time and watched each tribe perform. It was a perfect chance to get some footage. In the end this may have been better than the concert itself.

6 o'clock was approaching so we left the practice arena to get pole position at the main stage. Like everything in Ethiopia the show started late. It kicked off with some preachy USAID representatives talking about peace and the US's ambitions and they didn't finish until it was dark. A chant/song could be heard building in the background and then the first tribe came into view. They sang and danced in a poorly floodlit area for about 10 minutes before they were ushered on. The rest of the groups proceeded in the same matter until they had all given their display. The range of talent was quite vast; some of the singing and dancing was good and a lot of it was grating but the entire concert was a fantastic cultural experience and we repeated many times how lucky we were that our trip had coincided with it.

Our legs ached from standing for hours on end so we took a seat on the slanted ground near by. Two well known Ethiopian bands from far afield were the big finale. We watched the first few songs but Di was tired and I didn't want her walking alone through the dark streets so I escorted her back to the hotel. As we left a crowd of youths were flooding into the arena.