Addis Ababa: Capital of Ethiopia

Addis Ababa is a sprawling African metropolis much more affluent then what you generally find on this continent. It’s still dangerous enough – armed guards are stationed by ATMs and people live behind huge fences. I stayed at a backpackers in Bole, a very international and therefore moderately safe neighbourhood. I also managed to befriend a taxi driver, owner of a seriously pimped out Lada, through his fierce feminist of a sister on my ride in from the airport. He agreed to be my driver for a few days and thanks to her many threats, took good care of me.

Being in a big city I decided to engage in some shopping and checked out a few of the massive street markets, though avoided the famous Mercato because it sounded terrifying. Ethiopia is famous for its woven cotton so I splurged on fabrics for our house, as well as some black baby Jesus paintings (after all, where else in the world do you see that?). It is also known for its music industry and so cds featuring exotic, almost Arabic music make for a good buy. Despite the urban setting I was still passed by flocks of sheep in the cbd, which mystified me – where on earth do they sleep at night? How do you herd your sheep in one of Africa's biggest cities? Everywhere we stopped in traffic – and boy are there some crazy traffic jams – we were besieged by beggars squashing their babies against the car windows.

Plastered everywhere, and I mean everywhere, are giant posters of the recently deceased President with tearful epithets. Apparently he was a hero to Ethiopians. Anyway, it is quite a political city, full of government buildings, the AU headquarters, a massive US embassy, and a beautiful university. It is also home to a couple of famous churches, including the massive Holy Trinity Cathedral where the priest tried to rip me off by demanding money to take photos (this was not for any charity, this was for his pocket). I said no and took photos anyway as next to leering, trying to scam money from tourists appears to be the second biggest male pastime, holy figures included. The other church is the cathedral built by Emperor Haile Selassie, icon to Rastafarians the world over.

Selassie’s church is surrounded (maybe besieged is more appropriate) by deformed, aggressive beggars, similar to what one finds in the old city of Jerusalem. One must constantly and vigilantly watch over belongings here. I decided I wanted to see the inside of the church, but alas my driver was not allowed to come with and it was required that I go inside with a special guide – another deacon. Oh boy I though, here we go again. Despite being a massive church, it was deserted inside except for a lone priest. Although I had to pay for my ticket and the guide, the priest also held out his hand demanding money. I gave him a little to get him off my case, and in return he gave me a leer. My guide proceeded to take me through the church, showing me Selassie’s various belongings and paintings depicting his ‘heroic’ deeds, especially again the Italians. We eventually reached the back where his marble sarcophagus lies. I had just started taking photos when all of a sudden my holy deacon-guide shoved me up against the sarcophagus and pinned my arms down by my sides, trying to force himself on me. I started yelling, not that the old priest cared, and shoving him as hard as I could. Luckily, I was able to fight him off but was terrified and so, so shaken by the incident. I ran for the exit and he chased after me saying “Oh, I can tell now you are a good woman” (let me guess – all white women are assumed bad!?). I grabbed my shoes and hurried back outside to find my driver. When he arrived I told him what happened and he immediately went to the administration and told them. A group of men went out hunting for the pervert, I mean deacon – he had obviously disappeared as well as he could but they found him and dragged him back. A giant circle formed around us and much accusatory yelling in Ahmeric ensued. He denied everything, calling me a liar while the crowd insisted he apologize. He kept refusing, saying “I’m sorry for the thing you think I did but I didn’t really do’- it was absolutely killing him to have to eat it from a white woman. I called him a liar (and many bad other things) and loudly pointed out that I certainly wouldn’t make up a lie like that about the likes of his scrawny ass. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he said sorry.  I found the whole experience doubly terrifying because there was talk of calling the police and I did not want to get involved in a police incident in a country like this. Plus I was detained while they hunted for him and then had to watch while accusations flew in a language I can`t even begin to understand. Basically I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

I was so glad it was the second last day of my trip. I was also doubly glad that I made friends with a friendly American from San Francisco at the backpackers and so had someone to spend evenings chatting with, and who already know the good local restaurants – as well as to provide male company to walk the streets with at night so I could feel safe. He also introduced me to the local beer, Saint George`s. You know you’re in a religious country when ever the beer is named after a saint. I was also lucky enough to make it to the last day of my trip before having my stomach beset by the famous Ethiopian tummy troubles, ironically caught from food at the local Korean restaurant.

One more piece of luck - I flew back to Cape Town on the new Boeing Dreamliner, which was a treat. I am excited for the future of planes if they will all be modelled on this. I did later hear that Dreamliners developed a tendency to burst into fire mid-air, so am glad my flight was uneventful. When I arrived home, flea bitten and filthy, I was immediately thrown into the shower by my relieved yet vaguely disgusted boyfriend (was it the baby dreads, the flea bites or the lack of bathing I wonder?). The paranoid bugger also immediately loaded my entire suitcase contents directly into the washing machine. I am happy to announce that no fleas made it back to Cape Town, and our house remains a flea free zone.