The Blue Nile

My daydream of a nice, relaxing holiday where I got to sleep in and have leisurely mornings with fresh fruit drinks and coffee was not to be.

As it turns out, the buses in Ethiopia leave early. Ridiculously early. To catch our bus to Bahir Dar, we had to get up at 3:30 am to make it to the bus station for 4:30 am, to wait around for another hour for the bus to get going. And by ‘bus station’ I mean parking lot in Meskel Square, next to the Red Terror Museum. The road to the Meskel Square was dark and empty; the parking lot where all the outgoing buses were parked was a traffic jam of honking taxis and people wearing white cotton floating around in the dark like ghosts. We didn’t have time for coffee, which proved to be a good thing since bathroom breaks were to be few and far between. As far as buses go, this one wasn’t terrible. The seats were decent, we had snacks, we got a lunch break and they played music and movies. It would be, by far, the best bus we took in Ethiopia.

We left Addis and drove into rolling hills and farmland just as the sun lifted off the horizon; fingers of pink and orange stretched in all directions. Acacia trees like giant leafy umbrellas stood amongst the fields of teff. Teff is the tiny grain that is used to make injera, the spongy, slightly sour bread that serves as plates and cutlery for Ethiopian food. It was harvest season, and people were out in the fields, crouching down in the billowy golden teff with a scythe, cutting it down bit by bit. Piles of cut grass were heaped up in rows and then combined into bales. I saw a few women carrying giant bales of teff on their heads; it looked as though the bales had sprouted legs and were walking themselves to market. As the morning unspooled, farmlands morphed into busy villages of clay, cow dung and straw houses with thatched roofs. Children walked to school, books in hand, in their powder blue and parrot green uniforms. Women hauled plastic containers of water on their backs. Villages gave way to a steep decline into the Nile river valley. We crossed the river and climbed the other side. There were donkeys everywhere. The bus frequently had to stop and wait for a donkey or three to amble out of the way. Or to navigate a pothole. Hours passed this way. The Ethiopian countryside looked just like I imagined, only it felt surreal to actually be there; it might’ve all been a dream.

We arrived in Bahir Dar at around 4:30 pm. A swarm of touts, guides and bajaj (Ethiopian tuk-tuks) drivers surrounded us when we disembarked. We had arranged a pick up from the bus station with the hotel, so when a smiling guy greeted us and said he was from the hotel, we followed. He took us to the right hotel, but we found out later he did not work there. He was trying to get us to book a tour with him. Perhaps he would have been the better one to go with.

Bahir Dar is full of waving palm trees and mosquitoes. Blue and white bajajs zipped around palm-lined streets and Lake Tana, the source of the Blue Nile river, glittered in the sun. We went up to a lookout point to watch the sunset over the lake and the river that winds from it like a great blue snake. The blue of the sky meets the blue of the water and the landscape was a meditation on the color blue.

“The world is blue at its edges and in its depths. This blue is the light that got lost. […] This light that does not touch us, does not travel the whole distance, the light that gets lost, gives us the beauty of the world, so much of which is in the color blue.”

Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

Blue Nile river and Lake Tana in the distance
A study in blue: a view of the Blue Nile and Lake Tana in the distance

 

The next day we went on a full day tour of Lake Tana and the Blue Nile Falls, arranged through our hotel. In the morning, we were ushered onto a long wooden boat with a shade covering and puttered out onto the lake. Lake Tana is vast, edged with papyrus reeds, coffee plants and lush forest, its soft blue water ripples like silk. We visited two monasteries on richly wooded islands in the middle of the lake. Birds twittered from the trees and incense hung heavy in the air. The monasteries, round buildings with layers like Russian nesting dolls, perched in amongst the trees. Inside the first layer, vibrant religious paintings covered the circular walls from floor to ceiling. Men dressed all in white sat outside the building in a group; low, rhythmic chanting drifted up and mingled with birdsong. A guide was explaining the finer details of the paintings to a group of hushed tourists when a fracas broke out in the treetops just outside. The group abandoned the lesson to watch a troupe of monkeys fight with a flock of birds. I thought I saw the guide rolling his eyes. The pathway to one of the monasteries was lined with vendors selling crosses, small paintings and coffee. They called, “Look! Look! Looking is free!” as we passed. When we returned to the edge of the lake, we sat at one of the coffee vendors and had a little teacup of freshly brewed coffee and looked out over the lake, studying the rocks in case they were actually hippos.

 

On the way back, we stopped in a reedy part of the lake and waited for the hippos. A purple-brown, bulbous head popped up out of the water with a splash and dove under again and again. A baby hippo poked his head out of the water, waggled its little ears and disappeared. We left too soon; I could have watched the hippos playing peekaboo for ages.

As we stepped off the boat, the tour organizer and a minivan were waiting for us. The tour organizer impatiently ushered us into the van with a group of other tourists and sent us on our way. He’d said it was a quick, one hour drive to the Blue Nile Falls and we’d have more than enough time to get there, see the falls and return before it got dark. And that might have worked out, however, along the way, one of the tires burst. The driver swapped it for a spare and we were on our way again. Briefly. Until the same tire burst again. And this time, there was no spare. We were stranded. A group of children ran out and thronged us, all smiles and giggles and requests for money. We loitered by the side of the road for a while until it became apparent that if we wanted to get to the falls that day, we were going to have to do it ourselves.

Mini van with popped tire by the side of the road
Stranded

 

 

A passing bus was flagged down and half of the group squeezed their way in. The rest of us waited for the next one, hoping there’d be more room. There was not, but we stuffed ourselves inside anyway, pressed into the crush like play-doh into a plastic mould. I should have gone to the bathroom before we left.

Worries over how we’d know where to get off were assuaged when the bus terminated at the back end of a little town and people helpfully pointed us to the ticket office for the falls. After paying the entrance fee and acquiring a guide and an armed guard, we walked through farmer’s fields towards the little boat that would take us across the river, stopping to sample little gold fruit from a kumquat tree. People were loading long stalks of sugar cane onto donkeys and the children were chewing on broken off pieces and jumping around, all hopped up on sugar. The sun dipped low in the sky; twilight approached.

Finally, we crested a hill and descended into the soggy, marshy green slope that faced the falls. It was dry season and most of the falls were diverted into the hydroelectric dam, so the falls were only at about 15% of the wet season volume. Still impressive, though; curtains of water rushing into a wide swath of lush, misty, muddy valley, awash in the soft golden light of the gloaming.

We made it back to the little town just as night fell, and met the idling replacement minibus that took us, without incident, back to Bahir Dar.

blue nile falls in lush valley
Blue Nile Falls

 

Lost Luggage & The Missing Links

The Vancouver airport was seasonally festive. A man dressed as Santa was driven around in an airport trolley by a woman in an elf costume. He ho-ho-ho’ed at all the travellers, stopping for photos and hugging the children. A woman stood in front of a microphone crooning Christmas tunes. Most people were going to spend the holidays with family. Some were probably escaping the celebrations to go and relax on a beach somewhere, perhaps Hawaii or Mexico. I was going to spend three weeks in Ethiopia with my friend Kate. We were trading in our version of Christmas for Ethiopian Ganna. Leaving the cold and dark of the North for the sun and warmth of sub-Saharan Africa.

It is a very long flight from Vancouver to Addis Ababa. The first leg of the journey, Vancouver to Frankfurt, arches up and over the Arctic circle to reach Europe. During car trips through the Rocky Mountains when I was a child, I would imagine that I was a giant and I was running atop the mountain peaks alongside the car. I still do that on airplanes. I imagine that I’m running through British Columbia right up to the edge of the Northwest Territories; taking a big flying leap off the coast of Greenland to the shores of Norway; playing hopscotch over Europe, the Middle East and North Africa.

I arrived at the Addis Ababa airport late at night, a full 24 hours after I’d left Vancouver,  exhausted, discombobulated, excited. Stepping into the chaos of the arrivals hall felt like an odd sort of homecoming. The ghosts of trips past floated through my mind. Outside the airport doors, people were shivering and wearing bulky coats. It was a pleasantly cool evening, for someone who’d come from the city of freezing rain. The air was dry and heavy with dust.

Kate arrived early the next morning. Her luggage did not arrive with her. Another casualty of Ethiopian Airlines. They encourage you to fly into the country on Ethiopian Airlines with a substantial discount on domestic flights once you’re there. But they often lose your luggage. They assured her it would come in on the next flight.

Our hotel was in Bole, an affluent neighbourhood of Addis next to the airport; we could see the airport from one window of our room. A small children’s carnival twirled and twittered from another window. The first item on our agenda was to go see Lucy the Missing Link at the National Museum of Ethiopia. The city was overwhelming at first. It was hot and teeming with people and noise. I’d forgotten what it was like being in a place where you stick out from the crowd and attract a lot of stares and comments and attention. It reminded me of India: a kaleidoscope of humanity, loud and vibrant.

Mini carnival in Bole, Addis Ababa
Mini carnival in Bole, Addis Ababa

 

The National Museum of Ethiopia is quite unassuming for a place that houses the fossils of human ancestry. The basement, where the Lucy replicas are displayed, is dim and dusty and has a chill in the air. There are a collection of glass cases with various animal fossils, like pigs, monkeys, horses, rhinos and giraffes. Some of complete skulls or skeletons but most are just pieces, fragments of skulls, femurs and teeth. The detritus of millennia.

Lucy is presented with little fanfare, another glass case of fragments like all the others. There are two replicas: an upright completed skeleton in one case and another, replicas of the 40% of the skeleton that was recovered, lying there like an unfinished puzzle. The real fossils are safely tucked away in the recesses of the museum.

Lucy, so named for the song ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’ that was playing in the camp during the dig, is also called Dinkinesh which means “you are marvellous” in Amharic. She was found in 1974 in the Awash Valley in the Afar Triangle, part of the Great Rift Valley in northern Ethiopia. The Afar Triangle is where the earliest hominin fossils were found, known as the cradle of human evolution. Lucy is 3.2 million years old, belonging to the species Australopithecus afarensis and one of the oldest known ancestors of the human species. There is evidence that she walked upright on her two feet; possibly, she lived in the trees. She is small, the size of a young child, and in the upright replica, her face is lifted upwards, as though when she died, she was looking up at the stars.

Standing Lucy skeleton in the National Museum of Ethiopia
Standing Lucy skeleton display in the National Museum of Ethiopia in Addis

There are other hominin fossils that I hadn’t heard of before. Selam (peace in Amharic), also called “Lucy’s baby” or “the first child”, is a three-year-old girl hominin of the species Australopithecus afarensis, discovered in the Afar Depression, a few miles from where Lucy was found. She is 3.3 million years old, older than Lucy.

And there is Ardi, of the species Ardipithecus ramidus; another tiny human-ish female. She is 4.4 million years old and was also found in the Awash Valley. She was found in 1994, but her significance wasn’t revealed in scientific literature until 2009. Her remains suggest that humans underwent another evolutionary stage more than a million years before Lucy existed. There is evidence that she was both bipedal and quadrupedal when in the trees. I don’t know much about archeology, but it’s interesting that Lucy is still the main evolutionary celebrity when Ardi and Selam are also clearly important links in our history.

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The following day, when repeated phone calls to the lost luggage department of the airport proved to be fruitless, we went back to the airport to see if Kate would have more luck in person. Much easier than anticipated, we snaked through the airport into the baggage claim unnoticed. Kate’s bag was lying on the floor next to a pile of other person-less luggage. She picked up her bag, looked around to see if anyone would object or comment, and when no one did, we walked back out of the airport and into the chaos.