Epic Awassa, Part Deux

Let the epic Awassa saga continue…

After we checked out of the hotel, the four of us jumped into a motorcycle/tricycle taxi and went to the bus station.  We caused a shoved match by getting on the wrong bus (it wasn't that driver's turn to take faranjis) but eventually reached Legehar 45 km away (not the 6 km Tesh had told us).  There we met Tesh's sister, neice, and two brothers.  We macchiatoed and then got on a minibus we contracted to drive us to their father's farm.  This is a crucial point of the story – we negotiated to pay them 300 birrh to drive us to the farm (35 minutes on a dirt road), wait for us to visit, and then drive us back to Awassa, NOT Legehar where they picked us up.

We drove to the farm, picking up a few passengers on the way but nothing ridiculous.  The countryside was gorgeous but I was surprised by the population density.  Even though we were far in the countryside, we were never out of site of at least one house.  Tesh's house was a nice two room building with a table and chairs in the main room.  The plot also had a traditional circular mud hut with grass roof (the kitchen) and another small building.  We were given a walking tour of the family farm, which descended down the hill behind the house.  They grow bananas, potatoes, coffee, maize, and beans.  The coffee is their biggest cash crop – one kilo is worth 50 birrh and each harvest yields ~80 kg.

We returned to the house for a tasty lunch; one of Tesh's half-brothers recently graduated from university with a degree in social work and the family had slaughtered an ox in his honor (side note: Tesh's father is a bit of a philanderer with ~10 children by 3-4 different women).  Lunch consisted of bread and injera, a huge plate of ground banana tree root (similar to cous cous) with ox and ox butter/cheese and a plate of boiled beans.  While not the greatest thing I've ever tasted, it was certainly interesting.  The highlight (lowlight?) of the meal was when Stu and I graciously accepted an offer for a cup of fresh milk; Ray, wise beyond his years, kindly declined.  Tesh's mother then brought out two cups filled to the brim with a white-ish/clear liquid with hearty white chunks floating throughout.  I knew that if I looked at it for too long or smelled it, I would back out; and so I threw back a long swig.  The desire to vomit as each chunk passed over my tongue was more than I can describe but my superhero stomach held fast.  To call the milk sour would be like calling Duke Basketball 'OK' – a gross understatement.  I'm pretty sure it was fresh from the teat (a week before) and spent the last week curdling in dark, musty room somewhere (for the record, Stu's sip was ¼ the size of mine…I'm not even sure if he swallowed).  Needless to say, I graciously offered the rest of the cup to my fellow diners who heartily accepted. 

We were quickly ushered back to the bus after the meal because the drivers were anxious to go and everyone was worried about us getting stuck on the dirt road if the dark skies decided to open up, and off we rumbled back towards Awassa.  Halfway to the town where we had been picked up, the driver decided to start packing the bus.  What had been a comfortable ride for 8, turned into an uncomfortable ride for 20 (seats enough for 13); keep in mind we had paid 300 birrh for the van and were now royally pissed off. We made the best of it by laughing at the absurdity of the situation, taking pictures every time a new person got on the bus, and cracking jokes because there was nothing else to do.  We were doing fine until the driver pulled over and demanded another 50 birrh to take us to Awassa (the normal fare…if we hadn't already negotiated a deal).  This spun us into a whole new dimension of pissed off.  We (read: Tesh) argued for 30 minutes, the situation ending with us getting off the bus, paying 300 birrh, and being left in a village with eight storefronts.  Sweet. 

Tesh's sister went back Legehar to find another minibus, but while she was gone for an hour, four other buses going to Awassa passed through town.  The one saving grace was that we sat at a little cafe sipping delicious hot tea (fun), while being stared @ by 15 locals (not as much fun).  Eventually Tesh's sister returned and off we rumbled to Awassa, this time with only 16 ppl on the bus.

We reached Awassa @ 6 PM only to find the bus station closed...no bueno.  We were told our only hope to get back to Addis was to go to Shashemene and to find a Land Rover headed north.  We got on a minibus going to Shasemene (who proceeded to make five loops through Awassa picking up passengers) and eventually reached the Rasta town.  Shashemene has a reputation as being a Rastafarian haven with a wild-west/crossroads town feel and a deep dislike of foreigners/faranjis.  Awesome.  Luckily we were able to get off the minibus and directly into a Land Rover heading north (of course after we paid the minibus driver and the man who hailed the Land Rover and another guy who was just standing around).  The only problem was that the car was going to Debrezeit, not Addis.  Debrezeit is a town 45 km south of Addis known for having beautiful crater lakes and is a popular weekend destination for Addis residents.  I rode in the way back, lounging comfortably on the spare tire and everyone's bags.  I slept for 2.5 hrs, awaking only for slices of fresh pineapple Tesh was slicing up front.  

We reached Debrezeit at 10 PM, paid the driver 200 birrh (50/person), and began trying to hail passing cars.  We were standing on the side of the 2-lane highway in pitch black, flagging every car/bus/dumptruck/18-wheeler that passed.  A local walking by told us that it wasn't safe and we should move 150 yds down the street so at least we were standing across from the Federal Police station; we heeded his advice.  After standing in our new spot for 10 minutes, four officers came over and began talking with Tesh, telling him it wasn't safe and they were worried for us, maybe because of the 30 homeless men lying in the bushes twenty feet behind us.  They offered to take us to a hotel but we told them we were volunteer doctors @ Black Lion and had to get back for rounds in the morning (actual story is Ray was leaving on Friday night and had many loose ends to tie up and Tesh had an early doctor's appt).  In any case, the cops were nice and it was most pleasant encounter with law enforcement one could hope to have in the third world.

At 11:30, a man offered to take us to Addis in his minibus for 300 birrh.  Tired, pissed off, and fed up, we agreed.  200 birrh to go 240 km vs. 300 birrh to go 45 km....awesome.  We got into the bus and I fell asleep.  Allegedly we stopped at 8 different gas stations looking to fill up but they were all closed/out of gas; once we got to Addis, the driver was forced to get out of the car and talk w/the cops b/c he didn't have the ticket the buses get when they leave the bus station; and it was pouring rain.  The bus dropped us in Meskel Square and we quickly found a taxi to take us to Piazza. 

At this point we were all so fed up with being ripped off that I pitied anyone who dared to fleece us. The taxi driver tried asking for 50 birrh, and we all replied with a fierce '20 birrh' and lightning bolts shooting from our eyes.  He realized what danger he was in and took us to Piazza for our price.  We got back to the hotel at 1:15 and I was asleep by 1:45 AM.  

It was one of the craziest, most ridiculous, awesome, action-packed days of my life and a lesson to never, ever travel at night in Africa......but Awassa was pretty awesome.