enthusiasm. ‘You will find all these places on the maps in your fieldwork packs. We’ll be away for three weeks.’
Louise hoped that Zeno Wolde would support her, introduce her to significant people and help find references for her writing, so she could return to London and Adelaide as an ambassador for some of the poorest but most resilient people in Africa.
She recalled that Ambassador, in its original English definition, was: a messenger sent on a mission to represent a country or people. Was this what Zeno Wolde expected of his students? Would Louise Davitt, Carmen Smith or even Bassam Hashoud become messengers in their writing and advocacy?
Driving South
IT WOULD TAKE six or seven hours to reach their campsite just south of Sodore. Five people in the first 4WD were Abebe the driver and camp cook, Louise, Carmen, Horst from Hamburg, and Zeno. Degu, a part-time driver, drove the second 4WD containing four more students. The loaded vehicles moved at varying speeds as they wound through early morning Addis traffic. Abebe sounded the horn continually to avoid donkeys, horses, goats, pedestrians and other vehicles.
Then they reached the open road and dusty plains which sloped away to gaunt etched hills above Debre Zeyit. Even farmers less than a hundred miles from Addis struggled to harvest meagre, shrivelled crops. Louise stared at the barren and often stony landscape, noticing every bend in the road, every small child herding goats, every field and distant village. Although she’d read about rural Ethiopia, she now realised the scale of the country could be overwhelming. The riddle of Ethiopia’s splendour, harshness, deprivation and opportunity was before her.
‘And here we are, less than two hours drive from Addis, and we see all this,’ she said to Carmen.
‘It’s bad enough when you read about famine in the papers, but when you come face to face with drought and such obvious poverty,’ Carmen said, ‘that really brings it home to you. It’s like being reminded of Dimbleby’s BBC documentary at Korem in Tigray all over again. Remember that?’
‘Yes, most people who saw the film thought starvation just happened in a faraway country.’ Louise was realistic.
As they drove they watched the early morning sun glow on hillsides and nearby mountains, on the narrow dusty roads in need of repair, on fields with acacia bushes, stunted trees and savannah grass. They saw smoke from distant villages rising in columns. Zeno told them stories in clear accented English, punctuated with Oromo and Amharic names of places and people. Louise, Carmen and Horst listened, captivated by his zest as, with a flourish of his hands, he related the life and history of the landscape and its people.
Louise whispered to Carmen, ‘If you wanted to choose an Ethiopian tour guide, no one could be better than Zeno Wolde. Aren’t we lucky?’
They gazed at fields with heaped stones, thorn bushes, drooping crops and distant farm workers harvesting maize and sorghum. Louise stared, trying to absorb the glare, the delight and also the harshness of a farmer’s day. She wondered whether they would continue farming as their forebears had done, and just accept drought, either surviving their short harsh life or dying where they worked.
Or perhaps change would come to this place, where the sun rises slowly and the morning mists and brief drizzle dampen village gardens.
A Roadside Stop
AFTER NEARLY THREE hour’s driving, Zeno called a halt. ‘Okay, Abebe, pull over and stop at that gravel space just ahead.’
Minutes later, the second 4WD pulled up. They were glad to stretch their legs and have a break. Everyone gathered around Zeno. He suggested the students find seats on the rocks next to the vehicles. If they needed to relieve themselves then the bush behind them was appropriate.
They sat on rocks, their feet apart on the gravel for balance. Water bottles were passed round. Zeno placed himself in the middle of the group. He wore a necklace with a beautifully carved dark wooden cross which seemed out of place for a man who presented such an animist and radical view of his country. In this roadside setting, as in the lecture theatre, he was a natural one-man show. He quickly altered topics in a conversation as his stream of thought was diverted by the landscape, or by a student’s grimace or smile. Given the cross he was wearing, they were not surprised when he told them that it was impossible to avoid religion here. ‘Ethiopia,’ he said, ‘was originally an ancient kingdom with Christianity in its Coptic form as the official religion.’
In this isolated roadside stop, looking towards the light and shadow of the wooded valley below, they listened intently. Zeno didn’t expect they would be quiet for long. The blonde Australian woman would be sure to ask questions.
‘Ethiopian people, even remote, poor people, are very religious, but they also know how to enjoy themselves,’ he said. ‘Enjoyment can also be a religion, you’ll see.’
Carmen chewed her lip, and in her Lancashire accent, spoke up. ‘Tell us how religion can be enjoyed?’
He paused before replying. ‘I want to tell you that although I am not religious, I respect those who are, especially as their beliefs have often helped them to survive difficult lives. And their beliefs, particularly Ethiopia’s Coptic Christian beliefs, have existed here since earliest times, and at least since the tenth century.’
Carmen nodded but Louise knew she was an atheist and was still holding to her scepticism.
‘Although there are Muslim villages here, as in Afar, generally the villages of this region and, of course in the north in Amhara and Tigray, are places of passionate Christianity with many religious festivals and happy occasions. People believe that when there is suffering, as in the famines, eventually their God will relieve them and plentiful times will return. This attitude is at the core of their optimism.’
‘Were they still optimistic during the recent famine?’ asked Horst.
Zeno shrugged, eyes narrowing. ‘During the famine, of course not, but you’ll find proof on this trip that when the famine ended, the Ethiopian people quickly recovered their spirit. Pessimism is the real enemy; it can rot and destroy the fabric of village life.’
Louise felt her face flush with admiration for Zeno’s passion. She watched the way he gestured as if his whole body spoke about the famine and its aftermath.
Zeno talked about his long embrace of Ethiopia’s people, extolling one tribe, one family group, one small farm after another, alluding to different cultures, dress, language and history. The students listened intently.
‘You’ll no doubt face scenes that could be unpleasant. Poverty, by Western standards, is everywhere in Ethiopia, particularly out here. You will have to cope with seeing many unpleasant scenes. Ethiopia’s rural poor are very poor. Many people think they’re just backward, but these are outstanding people who make significant contributions to their community. Try and think like that. There is much to see and admire – village people will welcome you.’
‘Dr Wolde,’ Louise said, ‘it has taken you years to identify closely with the native people of Ethiopia, so what do you expect of us on this short visit?’
He looked at her warily. ‘My best advice is, spend time with these people, accept them as equals and note their traditions. Tradition is important for them. They have much to teach us. And their lives won’t change quickly, especially in isolated villages.’
Zeno explained how tribal elders, steeped in tradition, did not contemplate changes
