Before I left for the holidays, I was desperate to find some wide-open spaces. To be able to walk and think undisturbed. To have a little "me-time" that didn't involve hiding in my house. What I was so desperately craving was something next to impossible. It's hard tofind an opaque corner of a fishbowl!
Hapti and I set out early one morning. Bound for the rural area that's a good 4-5 hour hike from my house. He seemed to sense my need to not carry on conversation in a language that causes the neurons in my brain to cry out in pain. We walked in silence. Occasionally I stopped to take a picture. Miracle of all miracles, we passed very few people for the first 2 hours, and the people we did encounter didn't seem to think I was anything special. A nod of acknowledgement was sufficient.
I had told Hapti previously that I would be game to stop at his Aunt's home on the return trip, but only after soaking up some solitude overlooking a grand vista in what has become one of my favorite places. We passed his Aunt's home without the warning cry of a scout sending out the alarm of "farenji,farenji"--- yet another miracle. However, at this point I seem to have used my quota of miracles for the day (two isn't bad!). We rounded the bend and came upon a field crawling with kids who decided within a nano second that I was anything but "un-special."
I took photos, bantered back and forth with them, promised to return and then gave Hapti the universal look for "help!" He quickly explained that we were going on a hike and that they were to stay put until our return. Ha! That was about as effective as trying to stop the powerful spew of Old Faithful with a cork. Optimistically I headed out while Hapti lingered trying to enforce his decree. I looked back after 100 yards to discover twenty very persistent boys carting long walking sticks, nipping at Hapti's heels.
It's amazing that sometimes what you think you are searching for ultimately isn't what you need. I wanted peace and quiet and solitude. That's isn't what I ended up with, but I wouldn't trade this day for the world. Initially the boys seemed to sense my need to just walk and they quietly and respectfully accompanied me. At one point they began singing a song as we hiked, reminding me of childhood days traipsing the perimeter of the farm with Dad as we sang a rousing chorus of "the red red robin goes bop bop bopping along."
I anticipated that we would be returning to the vantage point that I had found on a previous trip. But, here in Ethiopia I have very little control over anything. I'm learning to just let myself float like a leaf upon the current hoping that I'll end up where I want to be or perhaps where I need to be. I was not disappointed this time. The boys insisted that they knew of the perfect place. I followed. As we crested a moderate hill I was met by the most amazing, breath-taking view. The gorge stretched out before me for miles, fields of teff and wheat rippled with the wind, and the familiar but now much more powerful waterfall nestled in a cove to my left. I would have been content to just sit and soak in the view, but the current insisted on taking me further. Like a string of pack mules we descended down into the gorge while I incessantly prayed that I would be able to eventually make my way back to the top. As promised, we hiked right up to the base of the falls. Magnificent! There is nothing better than cooling down with the mist of a waterfall. We sat, jockeyed for position, took countless photos, and then began the return ascent.
Any adventure of mine would be incomplete without a corresponding misadventure. While hiking alongside the waterfall/river, gazing backward, I managed to plunge into a large muddy sinkhole. Just call me graceful! Not wanting to hike the 4-5 hours home completely covered in mud, Hapti washed my jacket, while several boys doused me with clean water and the rest of my entourage circled around bestowing upon me countless "ayzoshes" (translation…"take care, take heart"…acure-all for any ailment or unfortunate situation).
Our ascent began again, but this time I was afforded every courtesy. Walking sticks were loaned to me, hands were outstretched anytime I had to negotiate a large rock, and the boys kindly paused to allow for my "I come from a land of no elevation" lungs to catch up. Despite their outward composure, I'm sure this strong, sinewy band of boys couldn't wait to laugh and tell stories of the clumsy, mud-caked farenji woman that just happened to cross their path one November day.
Hapti and I set out early one morning. Bound for the rural area that's a good 4-5 hour hike from my house. He seemed to sense my need to not carry on conversation in a language that causes the neurons in my brain to cry out in pain. We walked in silence. Occasionally I stopped to take a picture. Miracle of all miracles, we passed very few people for the first 2 hours, and the people we did encounter didn't seem to think I was anything special. A nod of acknowledgement was sufficient.
I had told Hapti previously that I would be game to stop at his Aunt's home on the return trip, but only after soaking up some solitude overlooking a grand vista in what has become one of my favorite places. We passed his Aunt's home without the warning cry of a scout sending out the alarm of "farenji,farenji"--- yet another miracle. However, at this point I seem to have used my quota of miracles for the day (two isn't bad!). We rounded the bend and came upon a field crawling with kids who decided within a nano second that I was anything but "un-special."
I took photos, bantered back and forth with them, promised to return and then gave Hapti the universal look for "help!" He quickly explained that we were going on a hike and that they were to stay put until our return. Ha! That was about as effective as trying to stop the powerful spew of Old Faithful with a cork. Optimistically I headed out while Hapti lingered trying to enforce his decree. I looked back after 100 yards to discover twenty very persistent boys carting long walking sticks, nipping at Hapti's heels.
It's amazing that sometimes what you think you are searching for ultimately isn't what you need. I wanted peace and quiet and solitude. That's isn't what I ended up with, but I wouldn't trade this day for the world. Initially the boys seemed to sense my need to just walk and they quietly and respectfully accompanied me. At one point they began singing a song as we hiked, reminding me of childhood days traipsing the perimeter of the farm with Dad as we sang a rousing chorus of "the red red robin goes bop bop bopping along."
I anticipated that we would be returning to the vantage point that I had found on a previous trip. But, here in Ethiopia I have very little control over anything. I'm learning to just let myself float like a leaf upon the current hoping that I'll end up where I want to be or perhaps where I need to be. I was not disappointed this time. The boys insisted that they knew of the perfect place. I followed. As we crested a moderate hill I was met by the most amazing, breath-taking view. The gorge stretched out before me for miles, fields of teff and wheat rippled with the wind, and the familiar but now much more powerful waterfall nestled in a cove to my left. I would have been content to just sit and soak in the view, but the current insisted on taking me further. Like a string of pack mules we descended down into the gorge while I incessantly prayed that I would be able to eventually make my way back to the top. As promised, we hiked right up to the base of the falls. Magnificent! There is nothing better than cooling down with the mist of a waterfall. We sat, jockeyed for position, took countless photos, and then began the return ascent.
Any adventure of mine would be incomplete without a corresponding misadventure. While hiking alongside the waterfall/river, gazing backward, I managed to plunge into a large muddy sinkhole. Just call me graceful! Not wanting to hike the 4-5 hours home completely covered in mud, Hapti washed my jacket, while several boys doused me with clean water and the rest of my entourage circled around bestowing upon me countless "ayzoshes" (translation…"take care, take heart"…acure-all for any ailment or unfortunate situation).
Our ascent began again, but this time I was afforded every courtesy. Walking sticks were loaned to me, hands were outstretched anytime I had to negotiate a large rock, and the boys kindly paused to allow for my "I come from a land of no elevation" lungs to catch up. Despite their outward composure, I'm sure this strong, sinewy band of boys couldn't wait to laugh and tell stories of the clumsy, mud-caked farenji woman that just happened to cross their path one November day.
Part of my entourage
Standing amidst a field of teff (their staple grain).
When I'm hemmed in by the people, the exhaust that belches from lumbering buses, and half-finished structures in town I lose sight of how beautiful and vast this country is. But when I stand here and gaze upon this vista, I'm acutely reminded that this country is one of the unsung treasures of this world we all call home.
The scene of my misadventure.
The boys jockeyed for position around me while I worried that one would tumble off the edge. Not to fear, though, they are as nimble as mountain goats.
My only and fleeting moment of solitude.
Hapti, my loyal friend, who is generally game for any journey I decide to embark upon.
