Since the last diary entry, we have had more challenging as well as rewarding experiences. We have cycled through the different tribes of south west Ethiopia, had an extremely scary border crossing, been defeated by sand and harsh conditions in northern Kenya, forced to ride in a truck because of bandits and Christine has got sick and contracted Giardia. As well as that we are absolutely exhausted and worn out, and in desperate need of some R and R. The last few weeks have definitely been a journey that has pushed us and tested us more than anything before. Every day continues to be jam packed with adventures. When you read on, it seems like months worth of adventures. But it is only a snapshot of what we have experienced, and I have left many stories out.
Leaving the smooth tarmac - Ethiopia
After I posted our last entry, we left the smooth bitumen. For the next 430km we experienced bone jarring and butt punishing bumpy roads, as well as gruelling and frustrating sand. On the Ethiopian side, the kids became less and less of a problem. Having said that, the demands changed from money and pens, to water. So now kids were chasing us demanding water, and our drink bottles on our trailers were easy targets. Twice I had to chase kids that had jogged with us for a while before darting off with one of our bottles. After a few days though, the nightmare of pesky Ethiopian kids was over. The people didn’t become more friendly or welcoming, in fact they were possibly less hospitable, but no more rock throwing or chasing or demanding handouts was a welcome relief.
Ross got his feet caught and took a tumble. Instead of rushing to assist, Christine was very quick to grab the camera!This came at a cost though. As we ventured into more remote regions, the travelling became much more challenging. Food, water and accommodation were becoming very unreliable, and towns few and far between. As well as this, the weather was becoming unbearably hot. We were easily consuming 6 litres of water a day each, and this was barely touching the sides. We were constantly dehydrated, and finding water was a problem. Often we could buy bottled water, but this was expensive and not always practical. The villages had no running water, and the water from the wells and pumps was hot and salty. The water was always warm from the heat, and never really re-hydrated us. Still, we somehow managed and thankyou to those random vehicles we flagged down to spare us some water. And if we couldn’t find water to drink, then showers were definitely out of the question. After a hot and dusty day in the heat on the bike, we just needed a shower. This occasionally came in the form of a bucket of water. Electricity in the region was also non-existent, bar the odd generator churning for a few hours in the evening. It was impossible to find a cold drink, and our head torches came in handy as we often left early in the morning to ride for an hour in the dark to escape the heat.
Food was also a problem; there wasn’t any. It was so difficult to find food, and we always felt bad buying it and eating it because nobody seemed to have any. In Australia we have so much food, and so much gets wasted. In this region the people hardly have any food. It made me think of how unequal our world is and how lucky we are in Australia. We have certainly developed a new appreciation for food, water and electricity. We survived much of the time on biscuits and nutella bricks (we managed to buy a jar of nutella previously, and the bricks were hard and stale bread rolls). There weren’t any fruit and vegetables, and our nutrition was very poor. This wouldn’t have been a huge problem, but when you are exerting yourself physically for 5, 6 or 7 hours a day in the heat, you need to be hydrated and well fuelled. We weren’t, and Christine particularly suffered as a result. Towards the end of Ethiopia she became weak and exhausted. We were hoping that the Kenyan side would bring some relief. We couldn’t have gotten it any more wrong.
Jumping of the bulls and Dutch hospitality
Before writing about crossing the border and our adventures so far in Kenya, we were lucky enough to travel through some amazing tribes and witness an intriguing ceremony in our last few days in Ethiopia. The Omo Valley is famous for it’s various tribes occupying the region. The different tribes are known for their striking dark skin and features, colourful jewellery, interesting hairstyles and fascinating ceremonies and rituals. We were fortunate to cycle through a few of the different tribes and this has been a highlight of the trip so far.
A young Abore woman.
Beauty and the beast. This was a frustrating day and the humungous thorns in the area were defeating me. I had to stop 7 times to change/repair my trailer tyre. On this occasion some curious Tsemay girls watched on.The people weren’t particularly friendly and mainly just wanted to be left alone to live their lives. We had one sleepless night in one of the villages as the young man who was “looking after us” turned out to be a con, and just wanted us to send him money and a mobile phone. We had no choice but to sleep in the village that night, but we slept under a shelter with our bikes right next to us and we were quite scared (but that is a long story in itself). Generally, the tribes in the area weren’t interested in us, but just thought we were crazy or stupid for cycling across their land. Often we get a little bit of extra respect from locals and travellers because we are cycling, doing something physical that requires a considerable effort. But the tribes in this area didn’t posses any extra respect; in fact they just thought we were weirder than the other tourists travelling in 4WD. Even with their lack of friendliness, it was truly amazing to see these remarkable tribes living their lives in such a harsh environment. They were such beautiful looking people and totally at home in the natural environment.
The people I was most interested in was the Hamer people. I had seen pictures of them, and they’d always fascinated me with their looks, jewellery and hair. We cycled through their region and it was amazing.
Some striking Hamer women on the side of the road where we were stopped for a rest.When we arrived in the main central village, we met a group of Dutch on an organised tour who had come to also experience the different tribes. They immediately were friendly and hospitable, and it was the first time in a while we were able to speak to other travellers. It was also the first time that people were genuinely nice to us and we warmed to them straight away. Whenever we have met Dutch travellers, we have always got along well with them. This group was no exception. Being a cycling country, they were very interested in our trip and asked many questions. They were a group of about 20 or so and aged between 25 and 65. They were travelling in style compared to us (although this is not saying much as I don’t think there is such a thing as travelling in style in Ethiopia). They informed us that the next day the local Hamer tribe would be having a Bull Jumping ceremony. We asked if we could join them, and they said it was “no problem”. We were going to be Dutch for the day.
When a young Hamer boy is to become a man, he must participate in this right of passage where he is to jump across a line of 7 bulls. He must do it without falling and go back and forth twice. We were about to witness the ceremony and watch this young boy become a man. The actual bull jump was the conclusion of the ceremony, and although it was interesting to see, the initial parts of the ceremony was what left me disturbed and in shock and disbelief. In the hours leading up to the actual jump, other Hamer men whip young female relatives of the boy with sticks. Not only are they whipped once, but they come back for more and beg to be whipped. The more scars they have and the deeper their wounds, the more love they have for the boy.
About to be whipped. 
Being whipped. Some whips made a dull sound, but every so often there was a deafening “crack” which gave you a fright and made you wince.We were not sure if the girls took any natural drugs to dull the pain, or if they just worked themselves into a trance like state. But not once did a girl flinch as the stick cracked over their backs instantly drawing blood.
It was disturbing to see the brutal results of the whippings.It was a chaotic atmosphere as they sung and danced, blew horns and jumped up and down with the bells around their legs chiming. The crack of a stick across a young girls back was a distinct sound above all else, and girls were fighting each other to be whipped next. It was quite disturbing, and some of the wounds were painful to look at. Some had to have chunks of stick plucked from their wounds as they had become lodged under their skin after a whip. Most girls would have been whipped at least 10 times, and this was clearly evident as blood and scars had damaged their beautiful black skin.
Deep scars.We watched and snapped photos along with a group of other tourists, but it really did feel wrong to be there. This was something very foreign to us, and we didn’t belong. We were out of place witnessing such a unique ceremony that belongs to the Hamer people. Having said that, it was something I will never forget and I have a lasting image of these brave young women being brutally whipped and not even flinching all for a young boy to become a man.
We also felt sorry for the bulls. They were very confused and scared, and the method of arranging 7 in a line was far from gentle.As the naked 15-year-old boy completed his last jump, it was a bit of an anticlimax. He was now a man and would be married to his first wife in 3 months time, but by far the bravest participants on the day were the handful of young women who would surely have had trouble sleeping for the next few days because of deep and infected wounds on their backs.
The boy clears the last bull to enter manhood.It was an interesting as well as disturbing experience. One that has left a permanent impression on me. We finished the day by joining the Dutch for dinner. It was the best feed we have had in days, and while we displayed our best table manners, we were secretly devouring the fresh and delicious food.
Crossing the border … what a day!!
We woke up sweating in our tiny prison cell (room is too nice a word) after a horrible night. The loud music didn’t stop until 1am, and the sticky humidity made sleeping nearly impossible. It was 34 degrees when we woke at 5:30am as we left under the light of our trusty head torches. The last 4 days had been without electricity (except for generators churning for a few hours in the evening) and running water so we were uncomfortably used to being without such services, and something as simple as a head torch was so valuable. The road out was flat and a little bit sandy and rocky, but OK for cycling. We rode all morning barely stopping, as shade was difficult to find and the sun was stifling. For the first time in Ethiopia, we didn’t pass through a single village throughout our 72km to the border town. In fact, we didn’t see a single person, proving that the dry and sandy conditions in this area are even too harsh for the hardy people of this region. We didn’t mind though, because it gave us our most relaxing morning on the bike so far. When we rolled into the border town, Omorate, just after midday, it was like a ghost town. The construction of the unfinished immigration building looked like it had come to a halt, and we had to find the shack of where the immigration officer lived so we could get our exit stamp in our passports. He was taking the hot part of the day off, and was sleeping at home. He was pretty helpful though, and stamped our passport with minimal fuss. So far so good. Surely a border crossing couldn’t be this easy? We were then lead down the main dusty street of the unsightly town that resembled so many other border towns we have passed through. We didn’t get hassled though; it was too hot here. We arrived at the shack where the “business man” lived. He was also sleeping, but he was the only person in town who could change our money. After an audience watched, and “business man” displayed appalling maths and calculator skills for the only person who changes money, we got our Kenyan Shillings and were out of there. It was a little unnerving having most of the town now know that I had enough Kenyan Shillings for a couple of weeks travelling, but which was probably a small fortune to the locals living here. This made the next part of our departure a little tricky. We had to negotiate a price to get taken across the river. In true Ethiopian style, the ‘boat boy’ started at about 20 times more than what a local would pay, quite ambitious. After some tense and unpleasant bargaining, we ended up paying half of that (about $12) which was still ridiculous, but there was literally no other way across the river except to swim.
Paddling across the Omo River in dugout canoes.As we were paddled across in dugout canoes, it was now 3pm and very hot. We were tired, but glad to be on our way out of Ethiopia. More so, we were glad to be saying goodbye to Ethiopian people. Although we improved relations in the last week or so, we never really hit it off with the Ethiopian people. We didn’t trust any of them, and unfortunately we found their culture to have a “give give” attitude. They seemed to always want handouts, especially from farangis. It was neither comfortable nor welcoming for us as visitors, and we couldn’t wait to leave.
We were now on our way, but this is where the adventure and our troubles begin. There is about a 40km stretch that belongs to neither Ethiopia nor Kenya, known as “no mans land”. This area, and this border crossing is unstable and we were told dangerous. Tribes around this area have a history of stealing cattle from each other causing fighting and violence. When we reached Omorate though, the locals said that it was fine at present and crossing wasn’t a problem. Still, we were keen to scoot across no mans land and get to Kenya. The trouble is, no mans land is a baron, flat and roadless landscape. Cattle and vehicle tracks were scattered, and we were told to follow the “main” vehicle track which had fresh tyre tracks. This seemed a little sketchy, but we thought we’d give it a go.
The beginning of “no mans land”. No roads or features made crossing difficult.It started well as we sped across the landscape through Galeb tribes living peacefully, and almost anciently, along the mighty Omo River. They were friendly people, and as the women sat and cooked or weaved baskets, the men moved cattle and the kids splashed in the river. What a beautiful way to live. It must have been this tranquil lifestyle that distracted us, as we hadn’t passed the Ethiopian Police Post yet, and we should have quite a few km ago. We were now lost, and starting to get worried as the day was drawing to a close. We found some local tribesman herding cattle to give us directions. Explaining that we wanted to go to Kenya was a task in itself, and his directions were dodgy at best. Things were now starting to look bad, and I got that awful feeling of fear and nerves in my stomach. I didn’t allow this to come to the surface though as the situation didn’t need it. So I put on a brave but fake “she’ll be right” attitude to try and boost the sprits of Christine. In contrast, Christine was clearly honest with her feelings as she said she felt sick with fear and was about to pass out. As well as this she was clearly exhausted physically, and was starting to become emotional. We now had a “situation”! This was not a good place to be lost, because as well as unpredictable bandits, wild animals such as hyenas also roamed in the evening. Any track we thought was the right one, quickly ran out and petered into sandy nothingness. Our brains weren’t functioning well after a long and hot day, a sleepless night before and a lack of food and water. We’ve been worried before, but this time we were truly scared. Our thoughts were irrational and our options minimal. We were losing hope, and our spirits were at a low. We then stumbled upon a group of about 6 teenage boys herding their cattle. They found our distressed looks and obvious fear at being lost amusing, and didn’t express an ounce of concern or good nature. When we communicated that we wanted the track to the Kenyan Police Post, they said they’ll take us there but only for money. They were displaying a mixture of laughing and aggressive behaviour, and seemed to be a little unpredictable. Like most Ethiopians, they saw us as a chance to make some money, and helping us out as a favour and out of good will didn’t appeal to them. By this stage we were fed up with Ethiopians and them asking for money, and we had decided earlier in the trip that we would not give anything to the Ethiopian people. I wasn’t going to start now, so I played dumb as they led us across the sandy plains to the track. Christine was now very scared, and when one of the boys exposed himself to her (I found this out later in the evening), she started crying. The sun had now just disappeared as we reached a vehicle track and they pointed in the distance to where the Kenyan Police Post was. They then started to aggressively demand money and the situation was getting very uncomfortable and scary. We were in the middle of no mans land without a single person or building in sight. We were helpless. Luckily and thankfully, there was one boy out of the 6 who so far had been rather nice and friendly. He had the most jewellery and earrings out of any of them. This was possibly a sign of higher social standing within their tribe because when he said to leave us alone they all disapprovingly listened. One young man however, wasn’t going to let us go that easily, so he chased us for a while and threatened to grab our things. He finally stopped, and I heard him laugh as I got stuck in the sand and fell off in my panic to get away. It was now dark, and we had no idea how far it was to get out of no mans land and to the Kenyan Police Post; to safety. If you’ve ever wondered around in the bush at night you know how it can be a little eerie at times. Well let me tell you, no mans land between Ethiopia and Kenya is bloody scary in the dark, and to say we were a little on edge is an understatement. No power meant we wouldn’t be able to see any lights ahead, so we had to put our head torches on. This meant that anybody around knew we were there, but we had no choice. After what seemed like hours of riding and pushing through the sand, we saw a flash of light in the distance. Our spirits lifted, and as we drew near it was the flashing light of a torch we could see. We approached and started calling out “hello, hello”. When we shone our torch on an old weathered sign that read “Kenya Police Post”, relief and comfort washed over us. “Welcome to Kenya, you are safe now” was the greeting from the deep voiced Kenyan soldier standing at the gate with his massive gun strung over his shoulder. We entered the ramshackle compound where another soldier also welcomed us. It was about 8:30pm now, and after beginning our adventure at 5:30am we were well and truly exhausted. There was nothing like the feeling of being safe in that compound. The two soldiers were very friendly and welcoming. What a pleasant change from the Ethiopians. They didn’t ask for money and just left us to cook our dinner and set up our tent. They even supplied us with water to wash and cook with. As we sat and cooked some pasta with tomato paste and got eaten by mozzies, we reflected on one of our most adventurous, and definitely our scariest days bike touring ever. What a day!
Our campsite at the Kenyan Police Post. We have never been so relieved as we were when we arrived.Defeated by the sand
After entering Kenya, we hoped for some relief. Well, it didn’t come. In fact, conditions got tougher and we started to suffer. There was one major positive though - the Kenyans. Immediately, we felt welcome and help was always on offer. And we very rarely were asked for anything. It was such a pleasant change. The strong religious culture was also quite a comforting atmosphere as each town always had a mission with priests and other “church people” who would seek us out and help out in any way possible. Although this sometimes lead to some preaching and annoyance, most of the time they were just plain helpful and as one young man told us “friendship was his mission in life”. We even stayed at spare houses that belonged to the church a few times and the harmony of singing coming from the churches in the morning was music to our ears.
Not so nice were the roads, heat, and continued lack of food, water and electricity. We were drained from Ethiopia and needed to recuperate, but we were still a long way from any form of modern living. There was still no electricity, running water, showers or cold drinks. We were yet to see a washing machine since leaving Addis Ababa, and our clothes were certainly suffering despite Christine’s best hand washing efforts (I am in charge of maintaining the bikes and Christine is responsible for hand washing). We tried our very best, and left early in the morning to avoid the heat, but the sand was too much. We were pushing more than we were riding. And pushing your bike through deep hot sand is tiring stuff, especially when your bodies are in desperate need of food and water.
Ross pushing through the sand. Progress was very slow (average about 4km/hr walking and 7km/hr when we could ride). Covering 25km was a huge effort, especially when it was so hot.We tried 2 days in row and hardly covered any ground, but then with the knowledge that the sand continued for about another 100km, and with Christine especially deteriorating quickly, we had no choice but to catch a truck to the next major town and sealed road. We wanted to cycle the entire trip so we were both disappointed with the outcome. But, I don’t think we had any choice. Christine was looking very weak and exhausted and was regularly ‘emotional’, and it would have been 3 more 5-6 hour days of slogging through the sand in 40 degrees with minimal food and water and no accommodation.
We caught this tractor for a little bit, before eventually riding in the back of a truck for about 100km.I think we made the right choice, and it turned out that despite our careful efforts treating water, Christine had contracted Giardia somewhere along the way. This was one of the contributing factors to her being so tired and having no energy, and losing weight and strength. After some rest and half decent food in Lodwar, and some drugs for Christine, we were off again, but not before we were halted again.
Bandits force another truck ride
For quite some time we had had been looking forward to getting to Lodwar. We had seen on the map that the road south was the A1 highway. After many days on challenging roads, we had been dreaming of super smooth tarmac. More so, we needed it, and so did our bikes. We are starting to learn that in Africa, one should never get their hopes up and one should never have high expectations. The A1 was another reminder of this reality. Apparently it was super smooth in the 80’s, but it has now been washed away and either has more potholes than Swiss cheese, or has disappeared completely. This really sunk our spirits, and as we set out from Lodwar we were moving slowly and bumping along in the hot sun.
The A1 Highway … not what we were hoping for.Apparently Northern Kenya receives little assistance from the government as it is at the very bottom of the priority list. Most towns have no electricity and running water, and the roads are terrible. We shouldn’t complain though, because we have left this part of Kenya now, but the people who live there have to put up with the challenges and frustrations every day.
In Lodwar, we visited the District Police Commander to get some information about a stretch we had heard was dangerous. We left his office with the strict advice “do not ride between Lokichar and Marich”. This was about a 90km stretch that was regularly being targeted by bandits hijacking and robbing vehicles due to tribal battles and political issues. Only 5 days before we were there, the driver of a milk truck was robbed and shot in the leg. Apparently we would have been prime targets because we were white and were presumed to have lots of cash. We reached Lokichar and had an interesting evening as we pitched our tent in the yard of a local family.
After deciding that the local Hotel was not fit for animals, and another place wanted to charge us a ridiculous price to camp, we met a local family who let us camp in their compound (backyard). They were very welcoming and generous.The next day we hailed a truck and loaded our bikes into the back. We crammed into the front with some stinky but friendly Kenyan men, and for the next 5 hours we bounced along wondering if the bandits would strike. We were also wondering if our bikes would survive the rickety ride in the back, as the huge pot holes were eating up the truck resulting in our bikes being thrown all over the place. It was quite a horrible trip, and 5 hours for 90km tells you how bad the road was. We made it though, and the bikes emerged looking dusty and in need of some TLC, but were otherwise OK.
We spent two nights camped on the river where we were entertained by the resident monkeys who were energetically flying around and playing with each other. As we enjoyed some rest, news filtered to us that the bandits had struck again, and that all trucks were now travelling in convoy. Luck was on our side as it was only the day before that we nervously travelled through bandit territory. We left the next day and headed into the mountains. We climbed and climbed and climbed, and we crossed into a new region of Kenya. This marked our end to the sand, thorns, hot sun, bad roads, no water, no electricity, no food and flat dryness of northern Kenya that we had come to know.
Wow … what a start to our trip! We are now finally resting in a “normal” town. We have good food, plenty of shops and most services like internet and telephone. We have even found a washing machine, Cadbury chocolate and a big supermarket. It looks like easier days ahead. Christine is now back to full health and is looking normal again. With a good rest under our belts and rejuvenated spirits, we will now head west and will be in Uganda in a few days. We will be sad to leave Kenya as the people and culture have really grown on us. The kids have been an absolute treat as they say hello and come up and shake our hands. They look so neat in their school uniforms and have been very polite and friendly. The people have been nothing but helpful and welcoming, and we have experienced the charm of the Kenyan people. What a pleasant change from Ethiopia! We are very much looking forward to Uganda, which is when our next update will reach you.
Addis Ababa was an interesting capital city. It is the third highest capital city in the world and lies at nearly 2400m - higher than any Australian mountain. It has a diverse mix of rich and poor, and two distinct religious populations in Muslims and Christians. Much of the city is under construction, so dust and unfinished roads and buildings seemed to dominate. Our sense of smell was also very active during our stay. The smell of fresh food and coffee could be inhaled as we walked past cafes, but more often we smelt the fresh odour of urine. Men in Addis urinate wherever they like, and in full view of passers by. They obviously have no choice, but it made for some interesting sights and smells. The hustle and bustle of everyone going somewhere throughout the sprawling city made for some interesting city adventures. The construction sites were amazing to see. Men digging huge trenches in the hard rocky ground with nothing more than a pick, and a row of men chipping away at concrete with a hammer and chisel were 2 of my observations. The scaffolding for multi storey buildings was also a sight. Put it this way, I would be very nervous working 10 stories up on their ‘slapped together’ scaffolding.
The friendly version of chasing kids.
Stopping in some places was not possible without getting mobbed. This crew were very friendly. There is a bike and trailer under there somewhere.
We liked kids who just looked and waved.One thing is for certain, there is never a dull moment while riding your bicycle through Ethiopia. So far it has brought us many fond memories of interesting villages and culture, and charming people who have survived atrocities in their country to still smile and tip their hat as we ride past. It has also been a tiring stretch, both physically and emotionally. Physically, it will take a while to get our fitness level up, so pulling our heavy loads has been tiresome. Emotionally, the Ethiopians have been extremely taxing. Each village we have cycled through has given us a different reaction, but one commonality is the intense attention we receive. This has come in the form of staring, and it has also come in the form of mobs of locals running along next to us as we cycle through their village. In the early part of this stretch, most of the attention was bearable, and it was easy to find plenty of nice and genuine Ethiopians to drown out the little shits who liked to torment us. It was still constant though, and I swear each village had an informer who sat about 500m to the north, who then relayed a message to the village chief that we are approaching, and the village chief then put an announcement over the loud speaker which went something like: “Attention everyone, and I mean everyone, STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING IMMEDIATELY. We have two Faranjis (white people) coming on bicycles and when they arrive, I want you all to stare at them, chase them if you are up to it, ask them for money and if they stop, surround them and hassle them”. This is how it felt anyway, but rarely was anyone unpleasant towards us. They always had a smile on their faces and were just curious. Going downhill was fine as we could speed away. Uphill through a town was different story. We were sitting ducks for the little kids and they knew it. They would make the most of it and run/walk beside us all the way. They found it to be a great game and lots of fun. Although it was frustrating and difficult to relax, it was harmless and rarely hostile.
Escaping at roadside cafés for a drink has invited much attention in towns too. It is in the owner’s best interest though, to keep us there for more business, so they have dealt with audiences making us uncomfortable swiftly and violently. As we sat in some cafés, the owner would employ a stick boy. Stick boys job was to keep the masses at bay, and if anyone came too close as to disturb us, then stick boy had free range to wield his weapon (usually a solid branch or a whip like stick). Young Ethiopian boys are very cheeky, and very brave, so they would often test out stick boy to see how close they could get to the farangis. On more than one occasion, we saw little kids running away holding their backside or arm after a whopping blow from stick boy which sure would have stung and left a red mark. When they hit each other or throw rocks at each other here, they don’t muck around and go all out. We didn’t like seeing kids get whacked by stick boy, and it was very violent, but to be honest, we didn’t feel that much sympathy. We had been tormented by plenty of little kids along the way. We really have felt all alone at times with nowhere to hide. Luckily we have always had our bikes to speed off and hope for the best with the next town.
