Archive for April, 2009
People Watching in Axum
Thursday, April 30th, 2009
Ethiopia’s people walk the dusty streets of Axum like characters from sun-bleached pages of a biblical picture book. I catch them in mid-stride – fetching water, going to church, carrying wood. The town is big, but almost everybody is traditionally dressed. Dignified elders sit on street benches and swat flies with horse-hair brushes, their respectable heads wrapped in white turbans. Most women have exactly the same hairstyle, regardless of age, and that is what mostly makes them look like old illustrations. I try to look inconspicuous and shoot in short bursts from under the shade of a grand tree right in the middle of the main square. Children always are the ones to notice things the most, and it’s them who give me out, eventually, by gathering around and all but climbing into my lens. I leave, my memory card full of green skirts, white shawls, and smiling faces.
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Close to Nature
Saturday, April 25th, 2009
Sometimes, when out searching for raw and untamed wildlife, you must really ask yourself how close you truly want to get to nature.
Shurik considering a career in the adult film industry
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Smile
Friday, April 24th, 2009
a gelada and his choppers
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King of the Simien
Wednesday, April 22nd, 2009
His eyes are in the shade of massive brows. A ridged muzzle, small angular nostrils, and a round jaw with the top lip curling back suddenly to expose sharp fangs set in wide pink gums. If I didn’t know better I’d be convinced his get-up is skillfully sewn of lion skins – so splendid is his costume – from mane to tuft. A cocked fur hat, and on his chest — a bleeding heart, set square in the middle, like a triangular amulet or a medal of honor, to complete the ensemble.
We sat among them (and some cattle) grazing on the hills of the Simien Mountains, and watched these gelada baboons as they fingered the earth for roots and seeds. More often than we cared for, they made monkey love. I was most embarrassed photographing this (how could I not?!) in front of local children who stopped to watch the strange faranga excitedly crawl among the animals.
We climbed over four thousand-meter mountains to catch a glimpse of the elusive ibex with its majestic horns, and finally captured a bearded vulture we had been chasing since South Africa.
At night we camped next to a fire – the local children sold us wood and joined us for some biscuits and marmalade. When they don’t beg for it we want to give more. We didn’t count on it, but it turned out we had to feed our guide as well. He and his daily wage were forced on us by the park under the excuse that he must show us the way or we will get terribly lost – never mind the fact that there was only one road. He came and went as he pleased, often ignoring meeting times we agreed on, but promptly showing up for our simple meals of ramen noodles and canned tuna.
At times, less often than I would think I’d need it, I seek solitude. It has nothing to do with my travel mates or the country I am in – I just want to run ahead, or fall behind, and listen to the world alone – pretending this planet is mine, and mine only. I don’t like to share. In the Simien I got the same familiar urge for freedom and loneliness. I jumped out of the car when we were about to reach our next and final camping site in that area, and saying I must follow a gelada troop I’d noticed, I ran into the forest with my camera cocked and ready. Unfortunately, I only got to steal a few short minutes before a local kid, and then a man with a gun, both sent by the guide for my safety, barged into my cozy bubble and followed me close. Nevertheless, I did manage to steal a moment and that was more than enough as in those few minutes that I found myself alone in the forest, an hour before sunset, geladas decided to run through the same exact clearing on which I was standing in the shade of trees. They ran through the forest and through pouring golden sunlight and through me.
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Children of the Simien
Tuesday, April 21st, 2009
the girl with the dragon egg and the child of fire
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The Youcalls
Friday, April 10th, 2009
“You! YouyouYOUyouuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu” There is a reason every travel report from Ethiopia comes back with the same general complaint. The call of the youcalls (a nickname coined by Russian hitchhikers late in the last century) will ring in your ears the entire stay in the country. Farangas are rare in most of Ethiopia and they seldom stop to socialize (which we are always happy to do), especially if they are in their own vehicle. When you do stop, only genuine adult beggars will come with an outstretched hand to ask for birr (the local currency. pronounced “brr”), but children, and more rarely teenagers, will flock to you, screaming for your attention, just because they simply have nothing better to do and also, yes, because there is always a chance they will get something. As fit for the African pattern, they don’t know what they want so will ask for what they know the English word for, like “pencil” or things they expect you to know, like Highland – the local brand of bottled water. The faranga is a known money bag, so screaming “Money!” is almost mandatory as well. If they bring out the issue of cold hard cash, I simply stretch out my empty hand and say “OK. Give me.” It’s all a game. An annoying game, like holding a finger a millimeter in front of a person’s nose and repeating “I’m not touching you”, but nevertheless a game.
Amazing how even a two year-old, who barely knows his own name, knows to let out a piercing “you” screech, that will be heard over the sound of your engine a mile away. We tried explaining to the older and English-speaking youcalls how rude and unpleasant their shrill outbursts are, but calling out “ante*” to get somebody’s attention in rural Ethiopia is absolutely acceptable, so our efforts to minimize the noise pollution in this country are so far futile.
Shurik discussing life and economics with the local youcalls
* you (Amharic)
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