The Rocky Road to Addis Ababa

Literally, the road from Debre Berhan to Addis is far from smooth. Besides speed bumps, potholes, vehicles of any kind and state, there’s the checks. A couple weeks ago we got pulled over a record amount of times while making our way to the destination. It certainly didn’t have to do with the fact that our vehicle was full of white guys, and we ended up paying for some deficiency they managed to find. Yesterday I had a similar experience.

Somewhere halfway between Addis Ababa and Debre Berhan lies a border between the Oromia and Amhara region. The Oromia army has set up a check-stop there. Sometimes it’s serious; they open suitcases, check compartments and bags for guns and want to see ID, and sometimes it’s a friendly greeting and a wave to continue. It could be that what happened was because I was a white lady by myself driving a truck, who knows. Anyways, the check by Sheno started normal: I opened the window, made some small-talk, showed the contents of the dashboard cupboard etc. In the centre console were some old bills, left there by the previous user. After conversation about my occupation, destination and reason for travel and why I was travelling by myself, he asked me for some of that cash. I politely refused, asked him if the check was finished and after confirmation I drove on. Not even a kilometre further I got stopped by a soldier furiously gesturing. I had to pull over, shut off the motor and hand in the keys. Although I didn’t do the latter, I understood I had driven into an escalated situation and had to tread carefully. The soldier was clearly upset about something I was still in the dark about, but gradually began to understand it was about the check-stop earlier. The soldier was under the impression I had ignored the previous check and demanded to know why. Now apologies and explanations weren’t cutting it, so I waited. When another soldier appeared, I threw in all the Oromia words I knew were appropriate and that seemed to lighten the mood a bit. After a call was made, it appeared I was in the clear. With a gruff gesture I was let go and I happily continued my journey. For the sake of avoiding further trouble, I picked up a traffic police asking for ride, but I am seriously considering a travel dog. They seem to be afraid of them.

Before Christmas I flew to Canada for vacation. The travelling time from Calgary to Lethbridge is about the same as the trip to Addis. Except there you cover double the distance and the road is for vehicles. It is void dogs, donkeys, horses and church people with umbrella’s asking for money. If I see a cop, I check my speed and continue without a worry. When you drive out of Calgary, you don’t have to turn away at least twenty beggars or street vendors with incredibly cute kids that totally look neglected. There you can check the weather to get an idea of the condition of the roads, here that’ll depend on the political situation. So, as I drove from Calgary to Lethbridge, I realized the privilege of being in a stable country. Sure, there’s thing about greener grass at the neighbours, but I’ve come to prefer reading about protests against curfew opposed to hearing from your Habesha friend that the police was shooting in Debre Berhan last weekend to disperse the crowds who were angry that yet more Amhara’s had been killed by the Oromia people.

Many people travel the bumpy road to Addis Ababa. The name means ‘new flower’, and it signifies the rebirth of the Ethiopians, the progress towards something beautiful. But although the economy is booming, the road to this new progress is certainly bumpy. Many a vehicle has been known to break down before reaching its destination. And the destination, well, that’s a story for another time.