Finding Our Way to Hawassa

On a typical Friday afternoon, after the work at the feeding center was completed for the day, Robin and I headed to our standby hotel, The Embilta, half way between Asko and Addis Ababa in a town I can’t pronounce (which makes it tricky finding transportation) but means “Egg Factory.” We’d actually wanted to stay in the city that weekend at the Churchill Hotel, right across the street from the feeding center, but the African Union World Economy Forum jacked hotel prices to double the $70/night Robin had paid two weeks prior. So the Embilta it was.

            The motivation for the Churchill was Internet in the room but also hitting the Merkato on Saturday. The Addis Merkato is the largest open-air market in the world; Neal Hendrix flew to Addis on one of his many detours from a skate event just to shoot photos so I had a sense of the color and energy and unusual sights via his experience. Robin had wandered around a few weeks before as well and confirmed that there were wonders to be seen and deals to be bartered for. I was in.

            But a kink in our plan far beyond a hotel change took us on a different route that weekend. 

Tewodros and Robin at the pool.

Before my arrival, Robin became acquainted with a man, Tewodros Gemichael, through the normal means of meeting people in Ethiopia: he simply latched onto her as she walked through the streets of Addis on her way to the feeding center. Happens all the time … people want to practice English or ask for something (money), see that we’re white (pretty darn obvious … I’ve hardly seen any whites in Addis and none in Asko since I arrived), and begin talking to (or at) us. Sometimes—often—they’re perfectly nice people. I’d say about 3 of every 5 Ethiopians who learn I’m from American immediately mention “Obama”; a couple of kids once told me that Obama stands for “Outstanding Black African Minister of America.” This is how Robin met Tewodros; on the street.

Since their first meeting, Robin had “coincidentally” run into Tewodros several times on the Wednesday or Friday she trekked into the feeding center: there are millions of people in Addis … these were no coincidental meetings. According to Robin, he had always been respectful and polite and never asked anything of her. I was suspicious of his intentions but her confidence allayed my concerns to the extent necessary to trust that a grown woman can take care of herself.

Tewodros called Robin after at the end of the week and asked if she would like to go to a hippo lake outside of town; Robin asked if I was in … uhhhhh … YEAH!!!! No brainer! We could do Merkato any time, but this opportunity certainly wasn’t going to appear again any time soon! Robin committed us and we were excited.

Saturday morning we set our alarm early at the Embilta so we could make our way to meet Tewodros at a coffee shop just off the Piazza; we were a little vague on the means of transportation to hippo lake, but through broken English, we figured we’d be taking a public bus, but one that was specific to long-distance transport and therefore didn’t (we were told) allow the “standing room only” capacity. At 8:00 on the nose, Tewodros appeared outside the coffee shop and we were off … African style:

Leg 1: First stop was different coffee shop than the one we’d met at, where Tewodros bought us coffee while he had a full breakfast. He snapped his fingers impatiently at the waitress to accommodate our every need (not a lot of needs with a cup of coffee but an awful lot of finger snapping) and we struggled through a conversation to try to understand our day. We understood—we thought we understood—that there were two lakes where hippos hung out, one farther from Addis than the other. The farther lake was so far that it would take a 4-hour drive and an overnight stay. No way. The closer lake was accessible within a day trip. Done. Or not.

Leg 2: We took a mini bus from Piazza to a bus depot just outside the city.

Leg 3: At the bus station, Robin and I figured we’d be getting on the almost-but-not-quite Greayhound-style “tourist bus” we’d envisioned (read: fantasized about), but instead we loaded into another mini bus and headed out of town.

Leg 4: One more mini bus change and then a longer journey. This must be the end of the trail. We unloaded in a small town and walked to Debrazed Lake. Yay!

People fishing at Debrazed Lake, where there are no hippos.

Leg 5: Or not. We got into a badaj and then were at Debrazed Lake. Wow, I marveled … hippos in a lake that’s right next to a town like this?! That’s crazy … don’t hippos come out and pillage if they get grumpy?! We walked into the lake entrance and Tewodros paid some small fees (double for white people) and we started walking the circumference of the lake. There were people lounging around, enjoying the weekend weather. Strange … people just hang out with hippos. That’s cool. I remembered being in Nepal on a rhino trek; sure enough a rhino threatened and we ran, as instructed, in a zig-zag motion to the nearest tree. Apparently rhino’s have pea-sized brains and will follow your exact route, lumbering around the “zigs” and “zags,” all the while falling behind the panic-stricken white people. I wondered what about the method of escape from a hippo. We passed a group of people fishing. “Tewodros,” I asked, “what if these fishermen snag a hippo?!”

“There are no hippos in this lake,” Tewodros replied simply. Disappointment must have emanated from Robin and I; Tewodros suggested we turn back. Yes, let’s.

Leg 6: As we walked out of the lake area, Robin and I quietly commiserated: we were both disappointed but it was what it was, we’d gotten to see a new area and a neat small town. So be it. Let’s not get in deeper. We forced smiles and chatted with Tewodros, who directed us to another badaj. Back to the taxi stand. Or not.

Leg 7: Robin has a keen sense of direction and she soon commented that we weren’t near the taxi stand. She was right (as she usually is when it comes to directions): we arrived at a resort and walked onto the expansive concrete deck, found a table under an awning, and watched people swim in the cavernous green pool. When I went to the restroom, Robin learned that Tewodros was surprised that I’d come along; apparently he was anticipating a day with Robin. Uhh huh. Coffee and tea were ordered, drank, and we were back on the move.

Leg 8: “Lunch!” Tewodros exclaimed. Okay. Sigh. Another badaj ride and we arrived at a resort called Dreamland on Lake Bishoftyu. It was lovely. We ate on an open-air deck and I had fried fish, which was a welcome treat. It was after noon. Robin and I communicated in our quiet code again … it was going to take several hours to get back. Let’s go.

Leg 9: We left the resort and found another badaj to head back to the bus station where we caught a mini bus. Ahhhhhh. We were off and settled into our journey back to Addis to see what we could salvage of the day.

After about 20 or 30 minutes, Robin whispered to me: “We’re still heading south. Addis was north.”

“Tewodros!” I said with as much chirp as I could muster, “where are we headed? To Addis?”

“No,” he replied. “Hippo lake.”

“Buuuuuut … I thought you said it was far away,” I said.

“Yes,” Tewodros confirmed, “it is far, but we will see.”

Robin and I exchanged glances and resigned ourselves to the journey.

Leg 10: We arrived in a small town; a directional sign indicated that we were 45 km from Addis Ababa. Noted. We unloaded from the mini van and walked down a small street (where we collected our typical stares and “Hallo!” calls), through an intersection, to a collection of small buildings where several people waited and loitered, some with animals in tow. Tewodros directed us to a shaded area and we sat near a police officer, who I noted had some sort of semi-automatic rifle resting on the table in front of him. We waited, we knew not what for.

After a half hour or so, a dark blue Toyota Landcruiser pulled up in front of the area at which we sat. That was an unusual enough sight, but we were more surprised to learn that this was our next mode of transportation. We climbed into the spacious back seat, just the three of us. (Without having conferred, Robin and I later learned that each of us made note of the vehicle; she sent the license plate number and Tewodros’s phone number to Eyob at the Mercy Home and I texted JT Tyson, whom I know to have extensive international travel experience and is a paramedic to let him know what was going on.)

Typical Ethiopian farmer's homes in rural Ethiopia.

Beautiful landscape made our mysterious journey enjoyable.

Leg 11: After about 2.5 hours in the luxury of a Landcruiser, awed by the beauty of rural Africa, we arrived in Shashemene—which was fun to say if nothing else: SHA-SHA-MEN-EE. We unloaded at a gas station and headed to a mini van depot. Sigh.

Leg 12: “Only 30 more minutes,” Tewodros said reassuringly.

“I don’t believe there are any hippos,” I teased Tewodros.

In this transport exchange, Robin and I conferred that there was NO WAY we were spending the night out here. One way or another, Tewodros was going to get us home, although I know in the back of both our minds we knew it would be impossible. Still, we held our ground if only in principle.

Leg 13: Hawassa. We’d arrived in the promised town. I could see a lake to our right, despite the sinking sun taking daylight with it. We turned left.

“Tewodros,” I said, perhaps impatiently. “The lake is behind us.”

“Yes,” he said. “The tourist hotels are in this area.”

We unloaded from the mini bus and Robin put her foot down with Tewodros; I stepped away to allow them a private conversation, the content of which I was well aware. After a few moments, I wandered back in their direction to find a stone-faced Robin and slightly befuddled Tewodros. “Let us go,” he said. We climbed aboard another mini bus and headed back toward the lake.

We unloaded in a crowded area flanked by lake-side shops and eating establishments. A sign announced “Hike Lake.” Dusk was fast approaching. Tewodros hurried to a cashier perched under a tree near the lake with a cash drawer propped next to him. He rushed back over to us: “It will be 450 birr,” he said, rushed. Robin and I were fighting being perturbed while simultaneously resigning ourselves to our fate: “We’re here now,” we said in unison. We paid the fee ($25.59) for all three of us and climbed on board.

Our colorful wooden boat quietly glided toward the hippos, who were just rousing as the sun sank to spend their night foraging in the woods. It was intimidating but thrilling. We hung out in their vicinity for 20 minutes or so, then headed back to shore, by which time darkness had fallen, as had Robin’s and my hopes for spending the night in our paid-for hotel room with a hot shower and Internet. We silently shadowed Tewodros back toward town on foot, dragging noticeably behind him as we chatted about our new plan to share a room and let him fend for himself, then figure out the return transport in the morning; we had to check out of the Embilta by noon in order to avoid another night’s charge. 

We mindlessly followed Tewodros into a hotel courtyard called “Circle of Life” and found ourselves at the reception desk, as it were. Robin signed us in under the light of my cell phone: US$10/person/night. Fine. Done. The receptionist showed us our rooms … ten dollars worth, for sure: bare lightbulbs, mosquito netting, a single bed, and a sour smell. The woman proudly showed us that water trickled from the faucet. Fine. Done. Tewodros went to his room.

I was starving. Neither Robin nor I were keen on traipsing around town to eat, but soon Tewodros had the same idea. I was thinking that a simple pizza would be great reward for my patience that day. We headed back to the street … lights to what were presumably tourist establishments seemed far in the distance. I told Robin that I wasn’t that hungry to have to continue our journey that far. She agreed. We turned to tell Tewodros, who had his eye on a fish stand right next to the hotel. Fine. We filed into a little tent that served as the seating area and Tewodros ordered from the woman. In a few moments, a plate of whole, fried fish arrived and I ate it heartily. Tewodros ordered another that he and I shared.

We told Tewodros that we needed to head back to Addis first thing. He was disappointed. We tried to explain that there had been a communication breakdown—we tried to be respectful and appreciative. But we needed to leave first thing in the morning. He promised to arrange it.

Robin and I returned to our room, removed our filthy clothing, dusty and smelly from a 10-hour, 167-mile day of travel, and climbed into the bed. Before too long, Tewodros rang Robin’s Ethiopia phone to let us know that the first direct transport out left at 4:30 a.m. No problem, we agreed. We settled in, giggling at our predicament and at our Western expectations. Within what seemed to be minutes, the 4:00 a.m. alarm roused us to a new day of adventures in Ethiopia.