Abyssinia Samoa*

Wow, I wrote the below a fortnight ago when I arrived in Addis. I wasn't able to post it and it's been languishing in the draft box since. The locals I met in Addis turned out to be charlatans looking to find a Western wife for their friend. I almost saw a Teddy Afro show in Bahir Dar but the King cancelled. I didn't get sick of injera and only got halfway sick eating local food. I've been astonished by the churches and monasteries of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. I've sat on lots of buses. I've read loads and loads of books. I've travelled with some fascinating folks. The chronology of this blog has been entirely convoluted but I nonetheless make the gesture of posting a photo of the 'valley that leads to the Blue Nile,' one of the first spectacular Ethio-vistas I saw.

And so it begins.
*
No sooner had I arrived in Addis Ababa than I was sitting in a living room in Bole, being indoctrinated into the church of Teddy Afro, the king of contemporary Ethiopian music, and being quizzed on my itinerary. Even with the case of mistaken identity which led to this hospitality had been cleared up, I was a welcome guest. Fitsum, the guy who picked me up from the airport, has this friend called Anteneh. Anteneh knows everyone in Addis, including and Australian guy called Jeff. Jeff had heard that a 30 year old Australian woman was arriving in Addis to teach English and thought it could be me. Jeff, of course, is a Sydneysider and the hyperactive tendrils of this grapevine reminded me of sunny Sydney. So there I sat, bags in hand, drinking St George's beer and getting a crash course in Ethio pop culture. Friendly city.

Somehow, I got twisted up and carried away by the grapevine. Before I knew it, I was hours out of Addis in a spectacular rocky valley at an Ethiopian Orthodox monastery dedicated to St Tekle Haymanot, one of the most sacred saints of the Ethiopian church. In the thirteenth century, St Tekle Haymanot prayed standing up in a cave for 22 years before he lost a leg. Angels interceded and provided him with six wings in order to stay upright and he stayed in prayer in the cave for a further 7 years. Sainthood seems to go cheaper these days. Not only did I see his tomb, I stood in the cave, desperately trying to hide my impiety and ignorance from the pilgrims thronging around. My guide had studied for the Ethiopian Orthodox priesthood for 12 years before turning to the path of Rastafarianism and my travel companion was a devout Orthodox woman who attended Catholic mass everyday. Somehow, trying to keep my balance walking up a hill slippery with holy water dripping from Tekle Haymanot's cave, I found myself becoming the mouthpiece and defender of both Buddhism and Protestantism, atheism being far too risque a doctrine for anyone to mention, let alone propound. Talk about interpollation. This was just one of the intensely odd moments which peppered my day.

(Later. This is the church of Tekle Haymanot, built in the sixties but on a site which has housed a monastery since the thirteenth century. Little about the service has changed since then.)

I've been in Ethiopia for less than 48 hours and am completely sold on the food. Without question it is the best food I've eaten in Africa, leaving the Swahili masalas about which I was trying so hard to enthuse far behind. Ethiopian food is spicy and buttery and uses loads of garlic, ginger and chilli: of course I'm a fan. Because of the complicated fasting rules of the Orthodox church which, amongst many other things, forbid eating animal products before mass on certain days of the week and during the fasting season, there is loads of fantastic veggie food on offer too. The carb which staples the Ethio diet to the table is called injera, a very light, slightly sour, yeasty pancake made from ground tef, a supergrain which grows only in Ethiopia. Every dish gets served on top of a pile of injera which is then torn apart and used to scoop up the sauces. Everyone at the table eats from the same dish and extra injera magically arrives as soon as supplies run low. Even though it resembles grey dirty dishcloths at first glance, I am completely prepared to eat injera with every meal until I leave.

Apart from the fact that I won't be able to post any bright and shiny photos, all bodes tremendously well for the next few weeks here in Ethiopia. I'm traveling to Bahir Dar, the source of the Blue Nile, Gonder, Lalibella and maybe Axum. Hundreds of kilometres of dusty road stretch out before me, starting at 3.30am tomorrow morning. I've got Murakami and Trollope and Kundera in my pockets: things are looking good.

* Important Pike Family Heritage Pun. Possibly to be attributed to the Great Australian Classic, Let Stalk Strine by the ineffable Affbeck Lauder.