site. They slept well that night.
‘Consider a Man’s Background’
THE NEXT MORNING Zeno announced they would visit the Thursday market at Asela. Everyone thought they were in for another long day’s trekking and meeting Oromo people, but Zeno said that he had no intention of exhausting them.
‘Maybe that’s his way, one full day and when at the end we’re exhausted he provides something easier just to keep us interested,’ Louise said to Carmen as they sipped coffee over a later-than-usual breakfast.
‘He sure doesn’t want us to lead a retired life.’
‘I think he imagines that something spectacular will happen and we’ll fall in love with Ethiopia forever.’
Louise noticed Zeno looking directly at her. She wanted to ask him what it might be like for a Western woman to live in Ethiopia.
‘What part of Ethiopia do you think he wants us to fall in love with?’ asked Carmen, interrupting Louise’s thoughts.
‘The people, wherever they are.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘Yes, of course. Didn’t you notice his respect and admiration for the Oromo women in that village?’
‘Yes I did, but I suspect his charm factor is like that with any woman he meets.’ Carmen raised her eyebrows.
‘I think he just wants to generate interest in Ethiopia’s people so there is momentum to support his ideas. He believes famine can be eliminated and that better education and improved health facilities are the answer. I don’t think he’ll rest until his goals are accomplished.’ Louise blushed as she spoke. Carmen noticed her pensive look.
‘I suggest we find out more about him, who exactly he is, who he lives with, whether he has children and whether he wants to go on living in Ethiopia, or take up opportunities overseas, like many highly qualified Ethiopians do,’ said Carmen.
‘That’s good advice.’
‘Yes. When all else fails consider a man’s background.’
Louise changed the subject. ‘I’ll ask him about his plans for change in Ethiopia.’
‘Louise, you’ve got the talent and will to alter lives for the better – you’re what he’s looking for.’
‘Do you think so?’ Louise smiled.
‘Of course, of course.’ Carmen rubbed her hands together in the chill morning air and Louise imagined being alone with Zeno with him kissing her, running his fingers down between her breasts …
‘Louise, are you okay?’
‘Yes, of course. I was thinking about what Zeno will want us to see at the Asela market and when we reach the Omo valley!’
Mid-morning Abebe drove to the Asela market on a tarmac road which ran along a high plateau overlooking a steep valley. Around the horizon were distant mountains that with the rising sun glowed like honey. A warm, dry wind blew down from nearby etched hills. Abebe, followed by Degu driving the second vehicle, left the road and approached the market along a cracked, sandy-coloured track. They parked under an acacia and, with the sun raking across the track, Louise, Carmen, Horst, Bassam, Zeno and the others left the 4WDs and joined farmers, merchants and villagers in the open-air market.
They wove their way among highly spirited groups with men laughing in open tella bet (beer houses). There were rows of trestle stalls displaying jars of acacia honey, sugar and tea, and then fruit stalls with women selling rather battered sweet bananas, pineapples, mango, papaya, avocado and grapes. Beyond that, vegetable stalls were piled with tomatoes, green beans, snow peas, broccoli, asparagus, cabbages and green chilli. On the ground were sacks of potatoes and onions. Further on, women sat on coloured mats alongside sacks of millet, sorghum, maize, rapeseed and coffee beans. People were bartering. Two men purchased a sack of millet and loaded it onto a mule.
‘Did the famine reach this region? Carmen asked Zeno. ‘There seems plenty of food here.’
‘There were pockets here around Asela where the famine was not as bad,’ replied Zeno.
He shrugged. ‘Now, with a little rain, farmers are again producing food for the markets.’
Beyond the vegetable stalls there were women sitting on the ground selling large earthenware pots, saucepans and kettles. Beside them other women wove baskets. Louise and Carmen watched and admired the women’s skill.
‘We must buy something, just a keepsake. The jewellery table over there looks a good bet,’ said Carmen.
Louise smiled. ‘Good idea, perhaps some cowrie shell necklaces for friends back home.’
They walked to a group of trestles laden with local made jewellery. Smiling women encouraged them to try on necklaces made of beads, metal bracelets, cowrie-shell rings, earrings, ornamental neckbands and shell chokers.
‘Trying on these necklaces and chokers is the easy part,’ said Louise. I’m not sure what to choose.’
‘These women seem patient so we can take our time. I sense they know we’ll buy something.’
When Louise tried on different threaded shell necklaces the stall owner rose from her chair and gently fixed the clasps.
‘Ameuseugnallo (thank you),’ said Louise. The woman smiled and nodded.
‘That’s it, these three necklaces.’ Louise gestured to the jewel-bedecked Oromo woman and, guided by her, counted out the appropriate birr (Ethiopian currency).
‘Okay, Carmen, what have you chosen?’
‘Metal bracelets with a matching pendant. That’ll do me.’
‘Louise looked around to see where Zeno had gone. At the outer limit of the market, cattle, goats, a few sheep and the highly prized donkeys were tethered, standing in dunged straw. The cattle’s pungent excrement was cooked by the morning sun. Zeno had walked over to talk to a man he knew. They seemed to be old friends. They discussed the man’s bartering for two goats. Eventually when the deal was made there was hand slapping and congratulations all round.
Louise and Carmen joined Zeno and observed the endless debates about the quality of livestock and whether prices paid were fair. Zeno explained how there was endless scrutiny about the bartering which he explained was part of the joy of coming to this market. He was enthusiastic as he described the market’s origin and central role. ‘If you lived here this is where you’d come to buy all you need. In Ethiopia, buying and selling almost everything is practised in markets like this. Coming to this market is a necessity for these people and it’s an important day out.’ Zeno’s burning love for the market and its people was apparent. ‘Markets like this lost much of their zest and many declined during the famine, but they didn’t disappear,’ he added.
They wandered from stall to stall and came across two young men selling multicoloured plastic sandals. Next to them were older men sitting alongside piles of spades, hoes and
