Dearest,
It is late at night and in few hours I will be heading north towards the legendary Meroe Royal city with its pyramids in the warm desert. I want to write now this update as these days were intense and particularly gifted with good luck and great people.
Reaching Addis I could only think about fixing the bike as too many little problems were affecting it (rear tyre, starter, chain and lights). I met a good fellow with a bicycle while getting closer to the famous Piazza. Charlie. Long reddish beard good British eyes, he asked me where I was heading to and offered to take me to a place where three other bikers were fixing their motorbikes. That is how I ended up in Wim’s Holland place just next to the Chemin de fer the station which used to run trains between Ethiopia and Djibuti. I meet the two Archies and Chris whose journey started in Edinburgh and will end in cape town, they looked much stronger in spirit than me. I could tell their hearts were lighter than mine. I was still vexed by the anxiety of respecting the itinerary. They were not. Not even mentioning Charlie whose trip started in London by bicycle and covered in the last 3 and half years a good portion of the whole world. It took me a week to learn from them. Indeed after Addis I started to enjoy the journey at a different pace. Understanding that I can not dictate the time of embassies, mechanics, spare shops and everything that surrounds me, it was quite a big discovery for me, as I made of time control and maximization a must in my life and my work since the last years of my university. Becoming conscious that time can not be always tamed makes one content, accepting it might return happiness.
Flavio was a wonderful mechanic dismantling the whole of my clutch carter including the clutch to find out what the hell was wrong with my starter. He discouraged me saying I would have needed two weeks to get the spare, but against the odds I got that little spare in the Yamaha shop next to Piazza, opened 2 months earlier by Armenian migrants. Ron, a friend of Wim also helped a lot in fixing some oil leakages. By the way, surprisingly Wim was a colleague of Staffan de Mistura during is duty in Khartoum at wfp, he confirmed me the anecdote of Mother Theresa of Kolkata. I was excited about that.
The staying in Addis was boosted by the invitation to lunch after the mass (in Italian) by Stefano and his wife Elena, their introduction to Ethiopian historic wonders was pivotal in enjoying my stay in Ethiopia. I won’t start lonely planeting the tourist spot I visited, however I was honestly moved by the historical site pertaining the Italian occupation as well as Halie Selassie way of returning to power in 1941 thanks to italy’s alignment with Germany during WWII which triggered the support of the UK. The latter never really listened to the heroic speeches of Halie Selassie denouncing Italy’s use of chemical weapons during the conquest of his land. Further proof of how realist international politics is likely to be the most consistent interpretation of history. However here is part of his speech when in May after six years of Italian occupation he returned to Addis:
Today is the day on which we defeated our enemy. Therefore, when we say let us rejoice with our hearts, let not our rejoicing be in any other way but in the spirit of Christ. Do not return evil for evil. Do not indulge in the atrocities which the enemy has been practicing in his usual way, even to the last.
Take care not to spoil the good name of Ethiopia by acts which are worthy of the enemy. We shall see that our enemies are disarmed and sent out the same way they came. As Saint George who killed the dragon is the Patron Saint of our army as well as of our allies, let us unite with our allies in everlasting friendship and amity in order to be able to stand against the godless and cruel dragon which has newly risen and which is oppressing mankind
Halie Selassie could be considered a sort of predecessor of Gheddafi, a visionary pan African who enjoyed the Jamaican thoughts of his person as the new messiah as he was of Davidic lineage and apparently performed certain miracles when in Kingstone, supposedly he stopped a drought. The song Iron Lion Zion by uncle Bob is dedicated to him.
After a week in the capital I understood the above mentioned concept of time related to my trip but still I was very happy to hit the road again. Reaching Lalibela everything went smooth, beside a majestic and awe-inspiring hailstorm. Ice falling on me was as big as smarties and despite initial attempts of bearing the pain on legs and fingers I was forced to find shelter in a granary next to the road. I was freezing, my hands were blue as I was at 3400 m asl and as wet as I could be. When it stopped I got warm with some sweet herb tea and reached happily Lalibela excited and curious like a baby and the cool dirt road which granted me 64 kms of pure riding fun.
Eleven churches were carved into the live red sandy rock found at 2500 m asl by order of King Lalibela in 24 years with the sweat of 7,000 men. One of these churches was carved in one night by an angel for the King’s wife, apparently. Churches beauty and impressiveness can not be expressed by picture as they are statues as big as building and as detailed as statues. King Lalibela, who was of semitic dynasty was in exile in Jerusalem and wanted to replicate the holy land in Ethiopia. For this reason there is a Golgota, a Cranio a river Jordan and Olives garden and so forth in the second imperial capital of the country. A sense of mysticism rein in the village and hundreds of priest family with their traditional dresses walks around and pray with an awkward chant. After Halie Selassie failed to chase the Italians he came on a lonely pilgrimage to these holy churches. Five years later he got the brits support.
Remarkable places were the fertility pool where infertile women are dipped three times in the hope of improving their unlucky situation. (No such treatment is foreseen for men) and the secret column, wrapped in various holy layers of clothes. Written in Amaric, Giz, Hebrew and Greek, it contains holy secrets of the world’s future which the emperor in the 16 century decided to maintain secret to the humanity. No one but the patriarch of the Orthodox Church is allowed to read those scriptures. This prohibition triggered in me such a strong curiosity which made me almost unable of controlling myself in the wish to touch that column. My intentions were already clear in the mind of the white dressed priest, holding its prayer book who stressed not to touch.
The time seems stop in Lalibela and Christian faith is crystallized like a mysterious sphere surrounding the whole life within its reach. Unfortunately the younger inhabitants appeared to be much more attracted by the western material wealth, always bothering and trying to spill money from you in all possible way. However I did have fun with some kids during some street matches of ping pong in which I was beaten twice by a 13 years old, who eventually asked be the bill.
On my way back to the main road I was caught in a tranhumance of humans a livestock of all kinds probably going to the market day. When it ended I was left with 15 kms of dirty road and wanted to enjoy. After speeding for a couple of kms, the chain could not bear the stones on the road and got broken. After initial discouragement, the smile of the little pastors around and their genuinity encouraged me to fix it. This also made me to forget the kids who threw stones at me tha day before (things for which I was prepared by all other bikers met on the road). 150 km later I was out of fuel as no petrol station actually had petrol. Good enough I had 2 liters in my emergency jerrican and got other two liters from a boy in the following village. These took me up to the next big town, thanks God there was fuel there.
It is so sweet and pleasant the feeling of being hopeful. Even if all odds are against, the only act of having faith and trusting that things are going to work out is mightily fulfilling. That is part of the power behind faith I guess. I also thought that this can deeply affects human relationship. Indeed with all the prejudice I had towards Ethiopian whom undeniably have statistically more thief than other people, I hardly could enjoy their company and thus be kind in return or able to disclose some of my gift to them. Indeed the situation turned upside down in Sudan, where people are humble, and hospitable to unimaginable extent.
Gondar was nice and very Italian in style, visiting the Fasil Castle nourished even more my historical fantasies of the old Italian Empire. But my opinion of Ethiopians went further down as I met two apparently friendly guys, with whom I had nice sharing until I realized they only wanted to change my money at the worst possible rate into Sudanese pounds inventing the most false stories ever heard. On the contrary all the Ethiopian and particularly Eritreans met outside their country are very kind and honest.
Descending from the plateau to the low lands of Sudan was an emotional experience, breath taking scenery was accompanied by riding pleasure on a fun road taking me 1,500m lower than I was.
My memories of Arab hospitality and culture made me willing to enter the Sudan as soon as possible. After clearing the exit procedures, the first answer of the soldier patrolling the Sudanese border was: De Mushkila, Ita motara ma emshi fi Sudan. Questo e’ un problema, la tua moto non puo’ entrare in Sudan. Nel mentre mi indicava di tornare in Etiopia. I miei occhi non devono aver avuto una bella espressione, ma ho subito ricorso a quantita’ industriali di speranza. Ho fatto chiamare gli ufficiali di grado piu’ elevato dicendo che avevo gia’ comunicato tramite l’ambasciata di Juba della mia venuta e che il carnet de passage lo possono avere only the European bikes. Officers were kind and understanding, encouraged by my little arab similar to the one of a 2 years old child.
There started the gorgeous stay in Sudan. Policemen offered me tea and dinner and a place to sleep. I eventually felt too much of an obligation for them and thus found a shack for truck driver next to the noisiest mosque ever.
At 7 I was already riding after a night full of bloody mosquitoes and rather debatable sleeping conditions, but a good breakfast with fritter and milk tea in the middle of the road. I thought I would have needed two days to cover the 600 km to Khartoum. When I realized how full of nothing Sudan roads are I got enthusiast to reach the capital in one day. Policemen where making jokes about me being a prisoner from the south but always in a respectful and joyful manner, I enjoyed tea with them on the way and was pleased by their curiosity towards the conditions of Juba and the south in general. Predictably the chain broke again at 180 km from Khartoum and baker Ali was so sweet in bringing me four loafs of bread while I was fixing it in the small shade behind his oven. Again the concept of hope crossed my mind. It must also be the driver of such hospitality, often driven by the golden rule of the tit for tat. It is incredible how willing you are to return way more than you have received when somebody else is generous in the first place. How different a lot of human relations would be if only among the daily routine full of hatred justified by thousand of historic precedents we could remember this basic rule. Let me not get into the application that I did of it to the Israel-Arab conflict as I am reading a fantastic book on the subject covering the last healf century of its history. It was nice digging in my game theory subject from university.
Arriving in Khartoum I realized how huge is this capital, ultra developed in horizontal way with some gorgeous examples of skyscrapers, the most impressive for me being Bushar Fadel or the sail built by Gheddafi in occasion of an African Union conference. It was a relief to finally find the centre of Usratuna where Lucia was waiting for me thanks to Maria and the sisters coordination from Juba. I felt immediately home thanks to her lovely, fun and sincere hospitality. A fantastic community of Italians and Sudanese welcomed me as well as my family could do. Marco and Mattia with their wonderful dinner, so special for the drinks availability of the country and the precious advices on how to move in the capital and the country. Ashraf whom I met already in Juba disclosed me all its care through various dinners and meetings, one more interesting than the other as I could fill all my curiosity with his endless knowledge on the country’s history. Again Carlos whose smile took me through the Mahdi house wondering about the assassination of General Gordon (the man of the ever victorious army) just two days before the arrival of his majesty’s , as well as the Sufi’s ceremony in the graveyard of Oumdurman just tonight, the holiest day of the week for Muslim. How welcomed I felt in their ceremony being invited in their dancing circle and not being seen too much as a foreigner. One of them prayed for me to come back to the Sudan. I actually hope so too. Never I felt so at home and so safe. There is much to say about Sudan and the friends I met here. But the hour is late and the road gets closer.
Check this video out (thanks Marijke) Our Sudan…
I will try to go safe through Egypt, minimizing y stay there and avoiding Cairo. I will write soon.
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Sleep well my folks
Gabri
