Went to Somalia, Got to Somaliland

k, if you look on your map you will see framing the horn of Africa a country called Somalia with a capital city called Mogadishu that you may have heard mentioned on the news. But maps can be a bit misleading sometimes (my huge Time Magazine atlas of the world doesn’t have Palestine listed in the index… that really pisses me off, perhaps I should write a strongly worded letter)


Somaliland is the top right bit of Somalia. They declared independence 15 years ago and have been their own country ever since. They have their own government, own currency, own flag, own key rings, t-shirts, hats and ‘I love Somaliland’ bumper stickers. The only thing they don’t have is international recognition. No one outside of Somaliland sees it as a separate country. It must be incredibly frustrating for them. I recognize Somaliland.


We reached the capital Hargesia late, the first hotel we were shown commented on men with long hair. It was explained to them that I was in fact a female with trousers and exposed hair. We were rejected but got a better place in the centre of town with the luxury of single rooms and a hot shower. Ah.


Hargesia was cool, chilled, friendly and full of inquisitive people who often asked if we were journalists. This could have had something to do with Tristam’s huge SLR camera, but we were asked frequently even when the cameras where packed away.


The most striking impression that I will always remember about Somaliland is a moment from the first morning we were there. The others were sleeping but I had got up early in search of a cup of tea. I sat down at a stall and ordered my cup. They serve tea in large sized cups with camels’ milk and sugar. Delicious. As subtly as possible I counted out from my few 500 shilling notes what I thought was the price of a cup of tea. As I kept a wary eye out for potential thieves, pickpockets, con-artists, and beggars, a man walked past with a wheel barrow filled with cash all bundled into stacks and piled high. No bodyguards, no dogs, no guns, just a guy taking his cash to the market in a wheelbarrow.


I ended up going to the money changers who sit behind a small wall of money. Beggars come and go but no body touches what is not theirs. The highest note is 500 shillings and is it worth about 0.07usd. It denotes that there may have been an inflation problem by the government overprinting money. I’ve noticed his is common in these parts.


We hung out in Hargesia for a few days; we spent some time with ‘Mike’ who is the son of a diplomat recently stripped of his diplomatic passport and privileges. He showed us around, which was cool but then he started asking Darius and Tristam for money. It was an odd situation for me, cause normally I’m alone so deal with things in my own way (aggressively, dogmatically with zero-tolerance and always prepared to play the help-I’m-a-victim card). Mike wouldn’t deal with me (I’m just a girl… ready to play the help-I’m-a-victim card).), so the guys handled it, I got to sit back (which I’m not used to but could learn from) and the guys got to have a complete African travel experience of dealing with someone who sees you as an opportunity for easy money.


Sarah, Darius and myself had been itching to see the sea. Liam who had been to the coast a few months before hadn’t given the coast a rave review “dead dogs” but it was our only chance to see ocean for another few months so we piled into a minibus… waited a couple of hours while the filled the minibus with enough people, then we headed sea-wards.


We had been told several times that we would need to travel with guards, and that we would have problems at the police check points. There was a check point and the boarder line of each town and each state. When we saw a checkpoint we simply pretended to be asleep. We traveled though dusk and nighttime, Sarah and I had headscarves, Darius a hoodie and Tristam his kafiye (the I’m-an-Arab, pizza-hut-tablecloth scarf) so we were not noticed.


The port town we reached was Berbera. We were obliged to clock in with the police who said we needed security guards, and then changed their minds after hearing that we were only planning to stay a couple of days, yay. We all spent one fabulous day at the beach playing in the sand and swimming in the waves. Not a dead dog in sight, there was a few live camels though and a school of catfish in the waves. We all got sun burnt.


Sarah left early to return to Hargesia and caught a flight back to Addis, Darius spent a day recovering from sunstroke and Tristam and I slowly meandered around the port and the town. The port boasts clear turquoise water and brilliant tropical fish; it is also filled with rusty boats that for some reason look spectacular rather than dirty. If Somaliland does get international recognition the ports would fill with living ships and the beaches with the waste of tourists.


It was an excellent trip… a bit too short though. I miss-predicted the time it would take us to get back. Because we were traveling to a deadline (Tristam’s flight) I thought it better to have a day up our sleeves in case an axle broke or one of us got food poisoning, we ended up getting back two days before necessary, it gave us time to go on a hash walk and check out a museum in Addis.


Tristam is safe and well back in London where they have footpaths and toilet paper that you flush. Meanwhile Sarah, Darius and myself have returned to planning, teaching and grading. Mandy was not here when we arrived back, she had a death in the family and has returned to South Africa, she left behind a sweet black and white cat who has also since left us.

I get a friend to play with

Right, where did I leave you last, I was in Somaliland talking about Ethiopia. Now I’m in Ethiopia and will have to back track once again to talk about Somaliland. But first we have to get there.


Tristam arrived at silly O’clock in the morning and took an African amount of time to get though the gates. Within 24 hours he was in a chat bar chewing on the popular and mildly narcotic (like red-bull level) leaves and smoking shisha. He has thrown himself into eating Ethiopian food, drinking Ethiopian beer, chatting to Ethiopian locals, and listening to Ethiopian music. Everything he approaches with intelligence and insight. I get o see the life I’m living now from a completely different perspective and I’m really enjoying it.


Also for me I am enjoying the utter luxury of having my very own friend who has known me for over a decade. I real friend knows when you are talking shite and isn’t afraid to call you up on it. People that you meet along the way can’t always tell and would never point it out. I’m indulging in reminiscing over a shared history and also getting to see how I have changed.


When I last saw Tristam I was pretty darn pagan. Now I have grown a lack of belief in the necessity of religion and see more and more how religious beliefs hinder rather than serve humankind. I think that the more I travel (or get older) the more I stretch my labels: e.g. from ‘New Zealander’ to ‘westerner’ from ‘atheist-pagan existentialist eclectic Jungian witch’ to ‘non-religious’. Perhaps I’m just simplifying myself.


I took Tristam to my school where the kids all had the opportunity to ask him questions about New Zealand gun laws and other random stuff. They even took the opportunity to ask me why I always wear black (because I like it).


After obtaining our visas from the difficult-to-find but rather lovely Somaliland representation in Addis, the four of us (Sarah, Darius, Tristam and myself) set off before sunrise to the bus station. It took us about an hour and many lungfuls of diesel fumes to get onto the right bus. By 8am we were on our way east.


We spent two nights in a fun filled town called Harrah. We hired a guide for the day, smoked shisha, visited local houses, went jewelry shopping, drunk local tea and coffee, chewed chat, wandered though markets, visited a museum, visited a coffee factory, visited a catholic church, fed wild hyenas, played with a dodgy contraband lion club, empathized with a chained monkey, took loads of photos and generally enjoyed a cool town. It’s really amazing how much you can actually fit into one day when you want to.


After Harrah we headed to Jigjiga where the police checks started. At the second police check while we were waiting off the bus for the cops to go though and half-heartedly squeeze luggage, a not-quite-right-in-the-head old dude tried to take a piece of the pomegranate I was eating. But no crusty starving, skinning old man from a developing country is going to take my food so I held on in a weird non-aggressive tug-of-war until some solders approached and scared him away.


Our 3rd police check was the longest, all the foreigners, which included our party of four, a Somali origin Swede and his Somali uncle and cousin were taken from the bus with all our luggage. Then the bus drove off. We were questioned and held for a couple of hours before being released. Just reading over that it sounds really dramatic. But we weren’t separated or tided to chairs or anything. It was just inconvenient and boring. I was feeling sick and not in a particularly patient mood.


The overly helpful Swede arranged for us all an overpriced taxi to the boarder. He annoyed me a lot because he would say everything several times over and constantly update us with inaccurate information…. which is my job.


We crossed the Ethiopian-Somaliland border at sunset. No problems, On the Somaliland side the official sat on the floor chewing chat behind his desk. Actually the Somaliland ambassador also provided an excellent foreshadowing to the warm, gentle, friendly nature of our Somaliland experience.

Catching Up

I'm finally able to post my own blog posts for a bit. No, the Ethiopian govenment have not seen the error of their repressive ways and un-blocked blog sites. I have just popped over to Somalia for a holiday. But that comes later. for now I have to cacth you up on the more mundane features of life in Addis.

I have joined up with "hash house harriers" an international club described as "a drinking club with a running problem". Yep. They drink beer and go running, I, of course, do neither. I walk around with the older componant of the group and politely acknowlege the dad-humour that consists of overstating the obivious and laughing loudly "New Zealand huh! Plenty of sheep there! HaHaHahahaha". It's good to have an opportunity to get out of the city once a week and some of the people are not old o sleazy and some even don't leave a trial of plastic water bottles behind them.

After the astounding acchievement of managing to get my hair into a ponytail I thought I would cut a nice long fringe in the style of Patricia Aquette in 'Medium' (we have satelite tv remember). I have a round fae, thick hair and a cowlick. I look more like the chubby one from the bee-gees.

In Ethiopia you always leave a deposit. Like when you buy a bottle of coke, you pay extra if you want to take the bottle or you provided an empty bottle. A bottle of Gin costs about 2usd but they keep 1.50usd till the bottle is returned. and even when you buy a sheep, an extra 10usd is paid which you get back when you return with the skin.

Water shortages are an issue in my suburb. When I travel I learn a lot about myself, Geuss that's one of the reasons I do it. I have answered many never-asked questions. Like: how many days can I use the same toitlet without flushing before I gag? 3. Akanksha answered the never-asked question: What is worse than finding a cockroach in your dinner? The answer of course is: finding half a cockroach.

The first semester has come to an end in a chaotic blurr of exams, final tests, grading and awards. Akanksha left for India to visit family and have a decent shower.

Ebony is leaving Addis for good. She has been sick and the Typhoid was a miss digonosis, apparently quite common for forginers who have remeninsts of the Typoid vaccinne flowing though their blood. She could do with better medical trestment than she can get in Ethiopia (just in case something is seriously wrong) and cheaper medical treatment than she can get in the US. So she has planned a jurney home viia thaland and the excellent bumrangrad hospital where I had one of my wisdome teeth expertly removed.

Another Forigen teacher has arrived. Many is a 40 something kindergarten teacher from South Africa. So I'm no longer the oldest in the flat. She is a little bit daunted at the moment but i'm sure she'll settle in. It's going to take me a bit to get used to her attitude (utterly negative) and opinions (she was off the plane less than an hour when describing the South african HIV problem: But it's just the blacks." I had a few butt-clenchingly toe-curlingly awful moments listening to her decribe to out (Ethiopian) headmaster about how bad the blacks are.

And the absolute best news last. My dear freind Tristam that I have known sicne we were at sesign school togther has come to visit. It's so awesome it warrents its very own blog post.