Exit on time
Our departure from Ethiopia is like our arrival; a smooth running, efficient process experienced in the almost conscious dream state of the wee small hours of the morning. The streets are similarly quiet as we rewind back through the city and out to the airport. It is not far in distance but can seem to take a while when the traffic is buzzing and the city awake. Mainly because everything moves so slowly – at the pace of the lowest common factor of goats going with the flow or crossing the road from time to time. On this return leg of the journey it is quiet as it was on arrival with only a few randomly scattered hints of the urban chaos that is the daytime personality of this fascinating city.
Addis is home to the African Union, which could easily be the European Union for all the grand, modern flag infested buildings and business-suited people that grace its portals by day. Only the colour tones, some topics and content of discussion are different. The city is home to the relics of the oldest human remains yet discovered, the country to some of the most ancient forms of Christianity. It also currently houses a sizeable share of humanity’s living remains – the poor, the sick and the homeless. The other side of this extreme is thriving business and up to the minute affluence, which is far less remarkable and easily more acceptable to my own fairly broad experience. It is indeed a city of contrasts.
An occasional taxi navigates its way by dim light and the odd pedestrian strolls in the direction of home. Whether home is a blue tarpaulin cocoon attached to a wall at the side of the road or something more substantial its impossible to tell. The scenes observed on the dark streets offer no further explanation. From the hotel we drive straight down Churchill Avenue, which was for a time named after Mengistu Haile Mariam, the communist dictator who overthrew the last Emperor, Haile Selassie.
Meskel square is almost deserted. The flags and decorations from recent events - celebration of the new millennium and the discovery by St Helen of the true cross of Jesus - flutter around in the breeze without an audience. A very different view from the one witnessed on the day of our arrival when 100,000 plus adorned and performing people and a city-wide pall of bonfire smoke and frankincense radiated the heat of religious passion from this spot. News reports of last year’s violently subdued protests resulting in riots during the celebrations did not resurface this year except as a reference in print to a sense of relief at the lack of repetition.
The square is really just an extra wide junction with long edges and roads snaking off in two or three directions from each corner. An elongated balcony mounted along buildings on one side hosts the performers and an extra wide curving pavement on the other the audience. The design is clever if tricky to navigate in rush hour, purely functional during normal times and perfect for ceremonial occasions. I see in my mind’s eye the last Emperor Haile Selassie addressing the crowds from here, perhaps before the Italian occupation that started in 1936, then again after his return from exile in 1941.
Move on through the timeline to the mid-1970s and he morphs into Mengistu Haile Mariam, the dictator who removed, and according to some impossible to substantiate now reports, assassinated Selassie. A very different mood emerges; then changes again at the end of the exploration of communism that many African nations embarked on in what has been dubbed the post-colonial era. Not that Ethiopia was ever actually colonized, but she did have the experience of close neighbours to watch and learn from. Undoubtedly there were many benefits from the hundred or so years of colonial administration and investment. The negative effects are harder to identify and measure, though no less significant as a consequence. As it seems to do unless disturbed by some other form of intervention, the pendulum that once swung from imperialist to communist extremes has settled back somewhere more moderate in between. There have been troubled times and they are far from over yet, but the overall mood is positive and the country on the rise in many visible if time and resource hungry ways.
Processing at the airport is as painstakingly efficient as on the way in. We benefit from the expectation of a few more hundred thousand visitors than the number that actually arrived. A few hundred go through quickly where the capacity is designed for thousands. Not a lot is open yet and it’s a long walk to find a coffee once we are processed and approved for exit. No problem with the change of departure dates, the flights are not full anyway. People watching takes on a different hue now we are looking at tourists, returning volunteers and other non-specific travellers. This is the start of our re-entry to a more familiar world, and in some ways I am relieved to be going back. It’s hard to stay balanced watching unaccustomed extremes of affluence and poverty in an environment like this. I think I got the message I was invited here to read, and know what I must go home and do. Staying longer seems unnecessary and I suspect could start to get stressful though there has been not a hint of this so far.
The contrast is stark. A beggar in the car park skirts a cluster of rusty Russian taxis, a few people sleep on benches in the elegant marble adorned terminal, uniformed efficiency at check in, customs and immigration desks. These are the final brush strokes on the canvas of an African adventure. We step into a different picture with British airline order and service, and a city both ancient and modern through the exit door. Next stop is London where the DESTA journey continues. There have been enough challenges in making the pledge. Now we have to devise ways to meet it, and I know this will involve extremes of administration, bureaucracy and effort. Winding back the story to the Degan Community and Health Centre, an ambulance to save lives is what they need and we have promised to provide.
This picture sums up the contrasts found in Africa to me. East Africa was the first place I ever saw shoe shine boys working and it epitomizes the division between have and have not in my mind. It is good that something as simple as a box with a few brushes, tins of polish and cloths can give someone a livelihood. I once read a story about a young boy of about 8 whose ambition was to save the $5 it cost to buy the kit so he could become a successful businessman from such humble beginnings. It had a happy ending as far as I could follow because some caring passer by was touched by his determination and gave him the money. This brought the achievement of his dream forward by a long time as he had calculated how long it would take to save the $5. It wasn’t going to be quick.
A picture of a carving from the national museum – I am not aware of this awful practice existing in the areas we have visited, though clearly it happens elsewhere and needs to be stopped. The carving is both beautiful and horrendous – the artist’s statement is eloquently expressed.
I believe that Ras Tafari who became Emperor Haile Selassie in 1930 was not a tall man though his throne is extremely large and ornately carved. It truly looks like a relic of a grand and bygone age, as do the other artefacts and paintings in the imperial history section of the national museum.
Addis is home to the African Union, which could easily be the European Union for all the grand, modern flag infested buildings and business-suited people that grace its portals by day. Only the colour tones, some topics and content of discussion are different. The city is home to the relics of the oldest human remains yet discovered, the country to some of the most ancient forms of Christianity. It also currently houses a sizeable share of humanity’s living remains – the poor, the sick and the homeless. The other side of this extreme is thriving business and up to the minute affluence, which is far less remarkable and easily more acceptable to my own fairly broad experience. It is indeed a city of contrasts.
An occasional taxi navigates its way by dim light and the odd pedestrian strolls in the direction of home. Whether home is a blue tarpaulin cocoon attached to a wall at the side of the road or something more substantial its impossible to tell. The scenes observed on the dark streets offer no further explanation. From the hotel we drive straight down Churchill Avenue, which was for a time named after Mengistu Haile Mariam, the communist dictator who overthrew the last Emperor, Haile Selassie.
Meskel square is almost deserted. The flags and decorations from recent events - celebration of the new millennium and the discovery by St Helen of the true cross of Jesus - flutter around in the breeze without an audience. A very different view from the one witnessed on the day of our arrival when 100,000 plus adorned and performing people and a city-wide pall of bonfire smoke and frankincense radiated the heat of religious passion from this spot. News reports of last year’s violently subdued protests resulting in riots during the celebrations did not resurface this year except as a reference in print to a sense of relief at the lack of repetition.
The square is really just an extra wide junction with long edges and roads snaking off in two or three directions from each corner. An elongated balcony mounted along buildings on one side hosts the performers and an extra wide curving pavement on the other the audience. The design is clever if tricky to navigate in rush hour, purely functional during normal times and perfect for ceremonial occasions. I see in my mind’s eye the last Emperor Haile Selassie addressing the crowds from here, perhaps before the Italian occupation that started in 1936, then again after his return from exile in 1941.
Move on through the timeline to the mid-1970s and he morphs into Mengistu Haile Mariam, the dictator who removed, and according to some impossible to substantiate now reports, assassinated Selassie. A very different mood emerges; then changes again at the end of the exploration of communism that many African nations embarked on in what has been dubbed the post-colonial era. Not that Ethiopia was ever actually colonized, but she did have the experience of close neighbours to watch and learn from. Undoubtedly there were many benefits from the hundred or so years of colonial administration and investment. The negative effects are harder to identify and measure, though no less significant as a consequence. As it seems to do unless disturbed by some other form of intervention, the pendulum that once swung from imperialist to communist extremes has settled back somewhere more moderate in between. There have been troubled times and they are far from over yet, but the overall mood is positive and the country on the rise in many visible if time and resource hungry ways.
Processing at the airport is as painstakingly efficient as on the way in. We benefit from the expectation of a few more hundred thousand visitors than the number that actually arrived. A few hundred go through quickly where the capacity is designed for thousands. Not a lot is open yet and it’s a long walk to find a coffee once we are processed and approved for exit. No problem with the change of departure dates, the flights are not full anyway. People watching takes on a different hue now we are looking at tourists, returning volunteers and other non-specific travellers. This is the start of our re-entry to a more familiar world, and in some ways I am relieved to be going back. It’s hard to stay balanced watching unaccustomed extremes of affluence and poverty in an environment like this. I think I got the message I was invited here to read, and know what I must go home and do. Staying longer seems unnecessary and I suspect could start to get stressful though there has been not a hint of this so far.
The contrast is stark. A beggar in the car park skirts a cluster of rusty Russian taxis, a few people sleep on benches in the elegant marble adorned terminal, uniformed efficiency at check in, customs and immigration desks. These are the final brush strokes on the canvas of an African adventure. We step into a different picture with British airline order and service, and a city both ancient and modern through the exit door. Next stop is London where the DESTA journey continues. There have been enough challenges in making the pledge. Now we have to devise ways to meet it, and I know this will involve extremes of administration, bureaucracy and effort. Winding back the story to the Degan Community and Health Centre, an ambulance to save lives is what they need and we have promised to provide.
This picture sums up the contrasts found in Africa to me. East Africa was the first place I ever saw shoe shine boys working and it epitomizes the division between have and have not in my mind. It is good that something as simple as a box with a few brushes, tins of polish and cloths can give someone a livelihood. I once read a story about a young boy of about 8 whose ambition was to save the $5 it cost to buy the kit so he could become a successful businessman from such humble beginnings. It had a happy ending as far as I could follow because some caring passer by was touched by his determination and gave him the money. This brought the achievement of his dream forward by a long time as he had calculated how long it would take to save the $5. It wasn’t going to be quick.
A picture of a carving from the national museum – I am not aware of this awful practice existing in the areas we have visited, though clearly it happens elsewhere and needs to be stopped. The carving is both beautiful and horrendous – the artist’s statement is eloquently expressed.
I believe that Ras Tafari who became Emperor Haile Selassie in 1930 was not a tall man though his throne is extremely large and ornately carved. It truly looks like a relic of a grand and bygone age, as do the other artefacts and paintings in the imperial history section of the national museum.
posted by Cathy Gunn at
January 07, 2008
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home