Ode, our loyal GPS, is less familiar with Ethiopia and forces us to use the old-fashioned way (asking locals) of finding the small town of El Sod, that supposedly sits on the rim of a fantastic crater. We have little trouble in finding our way. While the locals – of the Borana tribe – do not speak much English, they were able to point us in the right direction when we asked for “El Sod” which means “House of Salt”. As we arrived, the village appeared to have nothing remarkable, aside from small huts with roofs made mud with growing grass (seems like the notion of a ‘green roof’ was in style here way before the green movement in the western world).

With the light rain and an overcast day, we were just about ready to call it quits. But since we made it so far, we agree to at least park and take a couple photos of the supposed crater. With any winding roads or a tremendously scenic approach, we didn’t expect much. Yet, the view merited at least a decent  “wow”. Despite the rain, decided that we might as well make hike down for a closer look.

El Sod (known as House of Salt) in southern Ethiopia is one of four crater lakes in the region. It’s lake, 800 meters across and 100 meters deep, contains precious salt.

Supporting the local guide association we pay for Doba Barako to show us the way down to the lake. Slowly – frequently being passed by donkeys – we descend the rocky and steep path. “Now the lake is full”, explains Doba “only the experienced men can go into the lake to harvest the salt”. For centuries, the lake has been an infinite source of salt, both for humans and domesticated animals. “Now, in the rainy season there is a lot of mud with the salt and it rich in minerals and only good for animals”, says Doba as we approach the pitch-black lake.

A local lixu carries a large chunk of black salt ashore.

Clearly tourism is not the only business the crater-lake fosters. We were mere spectators of the lake’s true venture, black salt. We witnessed a bustling natural factory at work.  The brave men who venture in to the darkness below the lake’s surface are known as lixu (pronounced li-to), or salt divers. They scale down a wooden pole (dongora) to excavate the mineral-rich black salt sometimes as far as 10 meters below the surface.

The skilled underwater excavators sell their product by the bucket-full. Two buckets fill up a bag of about 120lbs that is loaded on a poor donkey that lugs the heavy black mud up to the crater’s rim. Each bag is worth about 50 birr (less than $4USD). However the same bag of muddy salt, frequently fed to camels and other domesticated animals, can be sold for up to 120Birr once it gets to Moyale. While it may not seem like much, relative to earnings in Ethiopia is proper compensation for the hard work.

Divers stick plugs in their noses and ears because the salty water are be extremely toxic.

The 120lbs bags of black salt are hulled up the mountain by donkeys. The 340 meter climb is no easy chore.

Haroldo and I don’t intend on doing a similar portrayal of these tribes. They spent months in the region, investing time in villages that have had little contact with the outside world. But the Monday market in Turmi – one of our stops – should serve as a small teaser for those who want to get to know the Hamer tribe, one of the many in the Omo Valley.

The market does not begin early, when it is still cool, as most would imagine. It is already around 10 in the morning by the time people from the surrounding villages can make the long walk to Turmi’s main square. The market only really heats up, around noon, when the sun is at its strongest. The Hamer are pastoralists and gathers. As such, their main products for sale at the market are milk, butter, honey, and firewood. Those who plant tobacco bring the dried leaves. With the money obtained, they buy grains  – mainly sorghum- coffee, and salt.

The market happens in the main square of the small Turmi village. Any shade is welcome.

During some four hours Haroldo and I look for some faces that could best represent the Hamer. One tradition that is still common in the tribe is using a red past in their hair and neck. This paste is made from raw butter (remember they are pastoralists) and ground red rock. A pop-quiz for those who have been following the blog: In which other country – and tribe – have we seen the very same practice?

Below are some of the photos we took during the market. You’ll get a good feel for how they are and you might agree with our guide – a young Hamer man learning to speak English – that confessed, “when I finish my studies I will marry a Hamer girl, they are very beautiful”. The last photo is of a man who has his body painted ceremonially. He is a relative of the young man that would be jumping the bulls – a notorious rite of passage of the Hamer – later that afternoon. But we will save those photos and the story for another day….

On the road we pass a caravan of dozens of tractor-trailers with the Italian contractor’s name, Salini. Each truck pulls two shipping containers headed for the Omo Valley where the dam is to be built.

We arrive in Konso, a crossroads between various Omo Valley villages. The town is situated around a single roundabout. We find a great place to camp for the night, Strawberry Fields Ecolodge, a TIES (The International Ecotourism Society) member that offers perm-culture courses, alternative cultural tourism options, and a seriously delicious organic dinner. It was during our moringa with garlic dinner that we met our new friend, Admasu, a guide from Addis Ababa that is very familiar with the Omo Valley region. He gives us some much needed travel tips as we plan our itinerary for the next few days in the valley. “Be careful when you cross the Kasker River, before arriving in Turmi. The river grows quickly and is very dangerous. Last year several cars were taken by the river” the experience guide warns us.

The next morning, after officially entering the valley – and paying 50 birr ($4) to the cultural counsel of the region – we arrive at the notorious Kasker River. We carefully inspect. The riverbed is completely dry, blue skies above, and the firm sand should present no problems. We cross the river – no big deal – and downplay Admasu’s extravagant warnings. Certainly he just wanted to impress the faranjis (foreigners) and exaggerate the adventure.

In Turmi, we have lunch. Once again, our local favorite, injira with shiro: injira is a sort of spongy crape made of fermented tef, a grain native to Ethiopia; shiro is a paste made of beans with a tomato paste and spices. At the same restaurant, we meet Admasu again (he was guiding a French guy going through a serious mid-life crisis). We tell him we had no difficulties with the river. He agrees and smiles, as if to say ‘these faranjis think I am making up stories.

After lunch we drive back 3km towards the campsite, which sit on the banks of the Kasker River. That afternoon, as we are casually chatting with locals about the current situation in the valley, we hear frenzied yells from children towards the river. The shouting is accompanied by a loud rumble, like an endless thunder. Instinctively Haroldo and I get up, grab our cameras, and dash to the river. The dry riverbed was being invaded by a muddy wall of water, a flash flood. It was the first wave. Wow!

Two young men were crossing the river when it began to grow. The first wave was small, but in seconds the river took gargantuan proportions.

The explosion of mud get stronger and stronger. The river continues to rise. We can tell that the flood comes in long waves. There are moments when, suddenly, the volume of water doubles. The natural disaster, during the rainy season, can take over the river a couple times a week. It attracts the attention of everyone who is nearby. Even the sun comes out to watch.

On the other side of the river, trucks and 4×4s arrive. They will have to wait on the other side overnight. There is no way of crossing the river at this stage; those that have tried have lost their vehicles.

It is not only tourists that are caught by surprise with the sudden flash flood of the Kasker River. The following day, Monday, is the weekly market in Turmi, which attracts members of the Hamer tribe that live in villages as far as 20-30km away. They walk, sometimes up to two days, to sell their goods and buy other necessities at the market.

A young Hamer walks all day to arrive in Turmi. Luckly she was able to cross the river before the sudden flood. Sitting on a rock, she waits for others from her village who stayed on the other side.

Once again we bump into Admasu. He was at the village when he herd of the flood and hurried to witness the familiar event with his own eyes. When he sees us, and our shocked faces, he smiles (once of those ‘I told you so’ smiles). “You thought I was exaggerating or making up legends, right? But the Kasker River is really like this, suddenly is appears with all of its furry. Even if here in Turmi it did not even rain, the rain comes from the mountains, many kilometers away. It takes a few hours before it comes raging down here” confirms Admasu.

So, how about the Omo Valley tribes? I’ll continue the story in the next post, next week.

We took two days to complete the 600km from Lalibela to Aksum. After we had left and found ourselves on a stretch of tough mountainous roads, full of tight turns and narrow cliffs, we asked ourselves if it would not have been easier to simply fly to Aksum. Considering the cost of fuel for two days of driving, it would not have been a large price difference, but the beauty of traveling by car is that you witness and absorb the remarkable places between the major tourism sites.

A pair of bulls works the fertile land in the highlands. We were impressed with the size of their horns!

As we arrive in Aksum we go straight to the main attraction, the northern stelae field. There we find dozens of monoliths erected by past kings of Aksumite. The most impressive – and most photogenic – is known as the Rome stele as it was spent several decades in Rome. Supposedly, Mussolini personally ordered the significant work of art to be shipped to the motherland. The 80 foot tall obelisk adorned Rome’s Piazza di Porta Capena until 2002 when Ethiopians asked for it back. After a few years of working the logistics of getting the massive granite stone back to Africa, it was finally re-erected again in Aksum in 2008.  (photo left)

While it is still somewhat debatable, the principal function of these stalae was to mark the underground tombs of past kings and nobles. The taller the stele, the more important the person was. The royal family received refined stelae, decorated with false doors and windows. Despite being from the 4^th century A.C. the large obelisks resemble modern art.

Few of the stelae remain standing. Of the 120 granite monoliths in the northern field, we can see merely a dozen in their original position. The stele of king Ezana, also roughly 80 feet tall, is the only one of its size that still stands in its original spot today, however it requires support of (ugly) steal cables and rods to keep it from tumbling.

The great stelae, as the name indicates was the largest, nearly 110 feet. The obelisk is considered to the largest single piece of rock that human beings have attempted to erect anywhere in the world. Today, the Great Stele is shattered into several pieces, having toppled ages ago. Its position allows us to have a closer look at the detailed carvings.

According to researchers, the Great Stele fell when Askumite engineers tried to raise the giant monolith in the early 4^th century AD.

We arrive in Bahir Dar in the afternoon, giving us enough time to arrange for a small boat and skipper for the following day to visit the monasteries. As with many things in Ethiopia it was a rather laborious negotiation, dealing in the size of motors (15, 25, 40 HP) and in the amount of monasteries and hours, we finally agree on a price.

At this time of year, the wind and clouds pick up at around 2pm, making if difficult to shoot in the afternoon.  So we get a head start on the day and by 7:30am we are off in the small boat, heading for the Zege peninsula, which harbors a small forest and some ten thousand people. By the amount of chopped wood loaded on one of the traditional papyrus boats, we confirmed that deforestation is still common practice in Ethiopia. “It’s the only method the inhabitants of Zege have found of making some money”, says our boatman, explaining the continuous destruction.

Firewood from Zege Peninsula is transported in these small boats to the Bahir Dar market every Friday. The trip can take up to 5 hours.

On Zege, a rocky trail leads us to the Ura Kidane Mehert monestary. We decide to begin the day with the furthest and most beautiful temple. We were not disappointed. From the outside, Ura Kidane Mehert first round section is reserved for chanting. We enter, after first taking off our shoes. The second section, an internal circle, is reserved for praying. The most impressive part of the monastery however is the square in the middle, called the maqdas. It is the most holly place of the temple with its four exterior walls painted and is reserved only for important clergy.

The maqdas is the most sacred part of the monastery or church. The walls of the maqdas of Ura Kidane Mehert are among the most illustrated of Ethiopia.

A orthodox monk, with a metal cross, enters the circular monastery on the Zege Peninsula.

The frescos date back to the 16^th century. Each wall tells a story: the Virgin Mary, the life of Jesus, the Twelve Apostles, and the Miracles of Christ. The paintings were used to illustrate these chronicles for those who did not read Ge’ez, the sacred language that is used still today in Ethiopian Orthodox. Indeed it seems much easier to understand biblical history from the colorful work of art than the esoteric symbols of Ge’ez.

Certainly the best collections of ancient religious artifacts from Ethiopian Orthodox are not found in museums in Addis Ababa, they are revered and looked after in these monasteries. The maqdas of each temple holds an unimaginable collection of bibles, crosses, and other religious relics.

On our way back to Bahir Dar we stop on a small island to visit the Kebran Gabriel monastery. Only men are allowed on the small island, which houses the monks of the monastery. The omnipresent liveliness of children is far away, making way for a silent more profound atmosphere inside the monastery. The island has served for centuries as a refuge for men who have decided to dedicate their lives to prayer. Even our boatman admits that the island, void of distractions, is ideal to have a better connection with God, and that he would like to spend his old age serving as a monk for that monastery.

A Orthodox monk shows us a 16^th century illustrated Bible. It is one of the many treasures guarded at the monastery.

Our u-turn in the northern region of Sudan coincided with another important moment, acquiring FIFA World Cup tickets! From Wawa, we will head back south, towards South Africa (with a slight detour in Uganda, Rwanda and Burundi), in order to make it in time for the June 25^th Brazil versus Portugal match in Durban. The purchase of the tickets was thanks to Sudan’s great telecommunications providing us with cell data service (for 40 cents a day). Using an iPhone we were able to find tickets on Ebay, negotiate with the seller from Toronto, and close the deal thanks to Tamino’s Paypal account in New York, all while camping in the middle of the Sudanese desert!

Sudan is one of the few places in Africa where it is still perfectly okay to head off-road and bush camp. All four nights in the north were spent atop of our lovely tent (thanks Robby).

When bush camping you must be completely self-sufficient, having your own water and food. However, this was no reason survive on tang and trail mix. We ate very well and thanks to our fridge we had international dishes, with eggplant and garlic from Sudan, tomatoes and onions from Ethiopia, veggie burgers and mozzarella from Nairobi, Cuscus bought in Namibia, and even litchi juice from South Africa.  Our lunches were the best yet – delightful Arabic bread stuffed with market-fresh falafel, feta cheese, tomatoes and a daily assortment of dressing thanks to Nandi’s pantry.

Geographically, the region is flat and a vast desert, with one major exception: the Nile river. Famous for being the longest river in the world, the Nile collects its force from its tributaries in the highlands of Ethiopia and Uganda, until it finally empties into the Mediterranean in Egypt. This region of Sudan depends entirely on the river, and has done so for thousands of years. Every town and villages is found on the edge of the Nile and every other family seems to have a dual-phase water pump that pouring out water to irrigate crops and quench thirsts. The rich silt, brought in with the river current, provides productive soil for agriculture.

In some places, green fertile lands extend a couple kilometers from the riverbanks while in others stretches the sand dunes embrace the Nile.

The powerful river transforms the desert into an oasis with date palms fields of wheat.

We crossed the infamous river several times as we discovered the ancient Nubian ruins and pyramids. There are several new bridges recently built when they paved all of the major roads. However, to reach the site of the Old Dongola village, we had to cross the old-fashioned way, by ferry.

The only route between the two sides of the Nile for miles, the ferry provides the transit for people, cars, goods, can camels.

Old Dongola was an important city in medieval Nubia. It was the capital of the Makurian state in from the 4^th to the 14^th centuries. Finding this desolate village of ruins during sunset, Haroldo and I went trigger-happy with our cameras. We spent the night, bush camping, where the last ruins meet the sand dunes with a perfect view of the Nile. Not a shabby place to celebrate Haroldo’s birthday. After dinner we took in the sounds of the desert and the river and were amazed how sounds can travel long distances in the desert. We could clearly hear the Muslim prayers from the mosque kilometers away and could distinguish the paddle-strokes of the night fisherman floating down the Nile. In fact, there were so many different sounds that we thought someone was approaching our camp from the ruins. We grabbed a camera (the first intuition of a photographer) and headed towards the strange noise! It must have been the wind playing tricks on us, we found no one. Well, no one we could see at least.

Hosting a medieval church, Old Dongola was the region’s capital for over 10 centuries.  Even at night, you can imagine how the bustling village used to look like before it was taken over by the dunes.

Everything started with the King Piye, around 750 BC, when the Kush Kingdom began to concur Egypt. The Nubians ruled the lands of the Nile (from where Khartoum is today to the end of the Nile in the Mediterranean) for an entire century, and thus, the ancient Egyptians also influenced their culture. The Nubian ‘black pharaohs’ adopted the Egyptian customs, building similar temples, using hieroglyphs and even building pyramids. Because of this they were considered to be one of the important Egyptian dynasties, precisely the 25^th dynasty, the one of the Nubian pharaohs.

The Sudanese today are proud of their ancient temples and pyramids from one of the most ancient civilizations in the world. However, they will be sure to clarify that it was because they ruled ancient Egypt and not the other way around.  We begin our journey in search of the ancient relics in Naqa. Only three hours from the capital, Khartoum, and after a tricky 35km through the sandy desert, we arrived in the Temple of Amun. Although it is over 2 thousand years old, it is one of the best-preserved temples in Sudan. Built by King Natakamanu, the sanctuary looks very much like a temple from Egypt, with columns with hieroglyphs and statues of sheep in the entrance. Only a few hundred yards away is the temple dedicated to Apedemak, also known as the Lion Temple, which also exhibits ancient carvings in stone.  

The Lion divinity, Apedemak, dominates one of the walls of the Ancient Lion Temple in Naqa.

Excited to see pyramids – after all the uniquely shaped structures easily provoke a sense of mystical curiosity – we continue our journey following the Nile. The river, contrary to what you would imagine, flows North, towards Egypt coming from Ethiopia. We arrive in Meroe, the capital of the ancient Kush Kingdom. The inhabitants, Kushitas, also followed the Egyptian tradition and built pyramids (Bragawiyah) that were used as royal tombs. They may be smaller than the ones found in Cairo (in Sudan, nothing was built over 30 meters high), but what is most impressive is the amount of pyramids.

The pyramids of Meroe, we counted almost 50, were used as tombs during a long period, between 800 BC and 280 BC.

We found even more pyramids at the foot of the sacred mountain, Jebel Barkal. The huge outcrop, almost 100 meters high, sits on a long curve on the edge of the Nile and was used for millenniums as a strategic and revered place. For religious and military reasons, Jebel Barkal was considered by Nubians and Egyptians as the place where the God Amun lived. The temple dedicated to Amun, which is found at the foot of the small mountain, only has a few columns that tell its story. Built by the pharaoh Thutmose III, in the 15^th century BC, about 3,500 years ago, the temple is proof of the site’s age-old sacredness. The pyramids, also found at the foot of the holly mountain are ‘newer’ relatively speaking, having been erected by the Nubians of the 3^rd sentry BC.

Roughly 20 pyramids were built by the Nubians near Jebel Barkal. The ones that have survived until today remain in excellent state.

Our excursion following the Nile ends only a few hundred kilometers from the border with Egypt, at the temple of Soleb. To arrive we had to cross the infamous river one more time. But this time it was in a small canoe. Also dedicated to Amun, the complex was built by Amenhotep III in the 14^th century BC, the same Pharaoh that built Luxor in Egypt. Some 130 yards long, the temple has a similar design compared to Luxor, with massive rock columns with sculpted hieroglyphs.

This tour through the north of the country brought great surprises and discoveries. Besides meeting some of the most hospitable and genuinely kind people, we did not imagine we would find such spectacular pyramids and temples. As the Sudanese expression in Arabic goes, our trip was “Tamam, Miamia” (great, 100%)! 

We could see the powerful columns of the Soleb Temple as we walked through the plams on edge of the Nile.

We finally arrived at our destination for the night, the Blue Nile Sailing Club. The one place to camp in the city, it was our only choice unless we wanted to dish out lots of cash for a hotel and leave Nandi on the street for the night.  The Sailing Club, on the banks of the Blue Nile right before it converges with the White Nile, is indeed a sailing club with a small marina for its members along with other amenities. With a nice lawn and basic facilities it also serves as a good spot for foreigners to camp.

As we begin to relax and let our guard down, a tall man wearing the traditional jalabiya (a white, ankle- long gown) approaches. I figure he is a member of the club and say hello is my limited Arabic vocabulary, “salaam a’ Laykum,  tamaam?”. He responds in Arabic and then in English, “Have you just arrived? Where are you from? Come sit, lets have a coffee.” I was a little skeptical about his invitation – often these seemingly benevolent invitations have some sort of special interest – but accepted anyway. We sit by the Nile talking, hours go by and I notice that there is no hidden agenda; he is a genuinely friendly guy. It gets dark, and suddenly we are on his boat cruising down the Nile as he tells us “You know, Khartoum is one of the safest cities in Africa. You will notice Sudanese people are very friendly and hospitable.”

Kamal Omar (left) and new friends cruising down the Nile on our first night in Khartoum.

It was not long before we experience Sudanese hospitality and generosity. By Friday, the Muslim holy day of the week, we had made so many friends that we were invited to various parties and events. We begin our day at a special wedding brunch. The father of the groom invites his colleagues and friends to share food in celebration of his son’s wedding.  “Welcome, please sit and have some food”, says the host of the party. He explains that this one of the many parties one must have for a traditional wedding. This particular occasion is only for men and roughly a thousand guests are expected.

Haroldo and I join Kamal and colleagues around a table for some traditional food. A large (carried by two men) takes over the table and offers a smorgasbord of Sudanese traditional recipes, including falafel, fool medemmas (fava beans), feta cheese, and an assortment of breads. Of course, there were meat dishes (mostly goat and lamb) but as vegetarians we did not pay much attention to them. We quickly adapted to local table manners, eating only with your right hand.

Returning to the Sailing Club, another acquaintance invites us to witness a unique spectacle, Nubian wrestling.  Several kilometers outside North Khartoum we find a large makeshift ring of hung fabric near the market. People file in, literally buying a seat from the stakes of chairs by the door, packing the dusty improvised stadium to the hundreds. Hassan Aburass Salim, president of the Khartoum Wrestling Association explains “Nubian wrestling is an age-old tradition, dating back almost 3,000 years to pharaohs of ancient Egypt.”

Each match lasts 5 minutes and is won when a wrestler successfully downs his opponent.

The winner is celebrated with euphoria, carried on the shoulders of fans for a victory lap around the ring.

As the sunsets in Khartoum and the dust settles in the wrestling ring, we head to our next social event of the evening, simaya (naming-ceremony) for little Mohamed. The party is hosted by Kamal’s friend, the father of Mohamed. They blocked off the entire street in front of their house, literally carpeting the dirt road, setting up lights and stage for a well-known band.

“Yes, this is common for any party” affirms Kamal in response to our amazement at the scale of the festivities. Once again we are invited to join the family for a meal.  We savor the delicious local flavors and realize we are taking part in typical Suddenness party, not your common tourist attraction. Every person we spoke to at the party was friendly, welcoming and genuinely kind, even knowing that we were not Muslim and that we were armed with cameras.

Nazik Edres (in black in white), mother of Mohamed dances among friends and relatives. The festivities last past midnight with a band and a lively dance floor.

I think back to Kamal’s word, “Safest city in Africa”, could it be?  To test his claim, I decided to do a little experiment. I set out a two-pound bill (almost a dollar) under a cold Coke on the hood of the car that is parked on a random street in the middle of the downtown district of Khartoum. How long would it take for someone to snatch the money and the drink? We waited for over three hours even after it got dark, and it was still there.  Enough said.

We leave the comfort of a luxury lodge knowing that we had a tough few days ahead. The road from Isiolo to Moyale, on Kenya’s boarder with Ethiopia, has a reputation for being one of the worst stretches in the region (even if it does connect the capital of two neighboring counties). For decades the 300-mile desolate dirt, sand and rocky road had an additional challenge: bandits from Somalia. Today, thanks to the innumerous police check points, the road is safe and armed escorts and convoys are no longer necessary.

We see our first camels of the expedition. Wondering down the rough road that takes us to Ethiopia they are our only company in the desert.

It takes an entire hour and a lot of patience to prevail merely 20 miles. When we are not dodging massive mud puddles and sharp rocks the road is extremely corrugated, making everything in the car rattle and shake. It takes two entire days of driving to complete the 300-mile road to Moyale. On the boarder, we park Nandi atop a concrete garage-pit, allowing us to closely examine the under-carriage. No loose bolts, no broken parts and no tire punctures! The only damage was to our rear door latch, which due to the dust and trepidation broke, once again. Without being able to properly close the door (we tied a rope from inside holding the door shut), we had one more reason head directly for Addis Ababa, capital of Ethiopia.

In Ethiopia the scene changes completely. The good news is that the roads are in great condition, tarred and sealed without holes, we were finally able to give Nandi’s springs and shocks a break. However, the bad news is that Ethiopia has a population of 85 million people that all seem to be walking on the road at the same time. It was rare to find a stretch of road without pedestrian traffic. We had to watch out for everything: herds of goats, careless kids playing in the middle of the road, horse-drawn carriages with loads larger than trucks, and even fruit vendors who insist on exhibiting their merchandise from the double yellow lines. In fact, we listed over 20 dangers on the road, toping the list are the donkeys who are unpredictably dumb.

Driving through any Ethiopian village demands extra caution. Pedestrians on the edge of the road (and in the middle too), farm animals and other forms of transportation all present a challenging obstacle course. We even imagine we are in a videogame, getting points for every person we avoid running over.

We make it to Addis and in less than an hour we find a new lock for the rear door. Now with a securely locking vehicle we proceed to Holland House, where we would spend the night.  It’s a mini camp site near the old rail station run by Wim, an old Dutch man who decided to stay in Ethiopia 20-years ago after marrying an Ethiopian women. As it is the only place to camp in the city, Holland House is a meeting point for travelers crossing Africa, from both the North and the South. We meet Carolyne Thomas, a 30-year old British woman traveling down from the UK with her Canadian boyfriend Beau Stocker, on motorcycles. The instigator of the journey is Ken Thomas, Carolyne’s father, who at the age of 61 knows everything there is to know about his motorcycle.

If you think our road trip through Africa is difficult, imagine doing it on a motorcycle. Although more fuel efficient, their tanks can hardly take them 200 miles before hitting ‘E’. With Nandi’s duel-tanks we can make it 600 miles before we need to see another gas station. On motorcycles, they can each only carry 4 liters of water (we carry over 50). The amount of clothes, first aid, and miscellaneous things is drastically reduced to a mere 40 pounds (we have at least ten times that in our Land Rover). How about food? The two-wheelers carry only a small thermal bag for their fresh produce and some cookies. When we show Carolyne our huge drawer filled with a couple dozen cans, pounds of rice and pasts and endless bags of granola, she responds with envy, “my next trip will be in a Land Rover, not a motorbike!”

Family photo at Holland House. From right to left: British Adam and his bike, Eva and Hiula cyclist couple (from Germany and Mexico respectively), bikers Carolyne and Beau and of course, Haroldo, Mikael and Nandi.

But the astonishment did not end there. If you think that crossing Africa on a motorcycle would be hard, imagine doing it on a bicycle! Eva Reichholf and Huila Rodriguez left Bavaria (Germany) in August of 2009 and in seven months they have reached Ethiopia. The limitations on a bicycle are even more demanding. While they don’t need to depend on petrol stations to refuel, their distances are limited to the strain on their muscles. A long day for them means at most going 70 miles down the road, what we do in a mere hour and a half. “We need a lot of luck to find the right people on our path. We depend a lot on the locals helping us with water, food and shelter”, affirms Hiula. “On a bike we are much more vulnerable. Some kids, wanting to get our attention, through rocks at us, and many dogs follow us.”

As usually we exchange notes about the roads. They confirm that the Ethiopian roads north continue to be paved and populated, and the roads in Sudan are all newly tarred and should present few challenges. We share the bad news about the Moyale road and warn them of the difficulties ahead. We explain that the rough road will slow them down and there are very few villages to stop for water and fuel. One of their largest challenges will be the heat and dust of the desert. “We need to have a lot of faith and perseverance to continue”, says Hiula who is already preparing himself psychologically.

We leave Addis, headed for Khartoum, with the impression that our expedition is first class. Thanks to Ocaia, our fridge, we have cold water and fresh veggies at any time of the day. We have our loyal GPS (nicknamed Ode), confirms our route and destination for the day. We can sleep anywhere and drive off-road on un-charted routes. Traveling through Africa in a Land Rover is truly luxury.

We reach the Blue Nile gorge, an almost 5,000 feet descent. We crawl down the winding mountain road in third gear so we don’t waste our breaks. When we arrive at the bottom and wonder about the excruciating effort that Hiula and Eva needed in order to climb up the mountain at 8,500 feet in altitude. May Omega Megog, the divinity of travelers, continue to protect them and us in our journeys.

Crossing the highlands of Ethiopia during the sunset. We look forward to return on our way south and getting to know the country better, but first we will discover Sudan.

If asked to name an indigenous ethnic group in Africa, many will site the Maasai, especially if they have visited Eastern Africa. Because of their residence near game parks and their unique dress, they are among Africa’s best-known groups. The Maasai are an indigenous semi-pastoralist tribe with a population near one million that live in Kenya and Tanzania. They have become recognized for maintaining their age-old traditions while adapting to the influences of the modern world. It is perfectly common see a Maasai adorned in decorative beads wearing a shuka (usually red cloth), and holding a o-rinka (wooden club) in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

Elder Maasai women: The piercing and stretching of earlobes is common and sometimes ornamented with beadwork. Decorative bead jewelry, usually made by women, is a significant part in the Maasai tradition.

One of our first activities during our stay at Il Ngwesi was to visit the local village. Contrary to other ‘community visits’, the genuine experience offered opportunities to learn about the Maasai way of life. We woke up early to arrive at Bamati Lemaa village in time to follow the young Maasai men as they take their cattle to drink in the river.  “Our cows are the most important part of our culture”, says Isaiah Torongos, a schooled Maasai who led us towards the river with his cattle. “It is our primary source of food. We have the milk, the blood and the meat, that is why we must take good care of them”, affirms Isaiah as he begins to examine a lingering cow that was recovering from an injury. For the Maasai, wealth is still measured in terms of the amount of cattle one owns.

Cattle are central in Maasai culture. It is like the their savings account, each cow (worth roughly $300 UDS) is an investment that is closely guarded.

Isaiah pulls out his traditional Maasai knife (every warrior carries one along with their traditional wooden club and either a spear or long stick used for herding) and cuts off a branch from a small bush. As he sharpens the stick on one end, he explains that it makes for a great toothbrush and toothpick. “As warriors we are still not married and want to look good to impress girls”.

A central part of Maasai society revolves around age-set.  Roughly every 15 years, an age group is created with a new generation of Il Murrans (Warriors) being initiated.  All the young boys from 13 to 18 years old go through a rite of passage, involving a circumcision ceremony, from which they emerge as junior warriors.  At this time, the existing warriors, having spent 15 years in the role, graduate to junior elders and can now marry and have kids. After some inquisitive questioning from Haroldo, Isaiah admits that although it is formally prohibited, young warriors have ‘relations’ with girls in the village. “Only the warriors in the same age-set know of each other’s girlfriends, it is carefully hidden from any of the elders and parents”, explains Isaiah, “it is very bad if a warrior get one of the girls pregnant because that child will be outside of any age group”.

On the next day we visit another village where the young warrior have come together to sing and dance.  While the occasion was no coincidence, is it clear that the ritual is an integral part of their tradition. The Maasai warriors were much more interested in impressing the young girls than our cameras. We are told that it is an optimal moment for flirting. For hours they preformed a series of songs and dances that left us impressed with their endurance and stamina. As they thrust their neck back and forth and perform a rhythmic throat humming, the song leader in the middle of the circle will sings a melody of verses in a call and response pattern.

Dancing in circle the Maasai sing about their cattle and other themes in their daily lives. They exhale leaning their head forward and inhale leaning back.

Adumu (jumping dance) is a competitive dance where warriors jump straight up. The young women watching keep a close eye on the warriors who can jump the highest.

It was a profound experience to witness these dances and learn more about the Maasai way of life. With major threats to their cattle, including draught and limited rangelands for grazing, maintaining a pastoralist lifestyle is becoming challenging. Some clans such as Il Ngwesi in northern Kenya have diversified their portfolios reaping benefits from sustainable tourism. In this case, tourism dollars are not only supporting the conservation of wildlife in Maasai community lands but also stimulating the preservation of Maasai culture.