Embrace the Lentil

I’ve been in Ethiopia nearly a month and I believe I have eaten lentils in some form or another at least twice a day, every single day. Ethiopians are in the midst of a 55-day fasting period before Orthodox Easter and that means no meat or dairy. I will keep the details to this: a vegan diet that consists almost entirely of legumes causes some ‘interesting’ bowel behavior.

In addition to the gaseous intestinal phenomena, we have learned four other important lessons today:

1)      The tuft of hair in the spout of a traditional coffee pot (the ‘filter’) must be from the tail of an ox, not a cow. Reason? Cows pee on their tails.

2)      If you are an alarmingly emaciated Danish cross-dresser, do not wear your skirts and bangles to Ethiopia.

3)      My Seahawks cap is not considered an appropriate female head covering for entering ancient rock-hewn churches.

4)      If you are a two year-old boy, do not poke a stick into the family beehive.

Late this afternoon, that last one caused quite the kerfuffle in Shimbrety, the plateau on which we are sleeping tonight. Dawn and I were sitting on a rock, minding our own business, when the farmer’s house across the draw erupted in a mass evacuation of livestock: chickens ran around aimlessly, squawking like maniacs, the oxen and cows bolted down into the eucalyptus trees on the edge of the precipice and the sheep ran who knows where? 

The children—all 6 of them—tried to contain the sheep and the cattle, the mother went running into the trees with the cows; the two women from our guesthouse grabbed the two braziers full of smoldering charcoal intended to cook our supper, and raced with them down the rocky hill. Then one of the women commenced to run up to the farmhouse, grab a three day-old lamb by the back legs and fling it down the hill. Our guide followed our cooks, every square inch of skin, besides his eyes, covered—he told me he was going to carry the ninety year-old man who sat motionless by the dried dung pile over to our place.

We had no idea what was happening and Dawn and I made up what turned out to be a completely incorrect story that had to do with unruly cattle, a lamb-in-distress decoy stripped from its bleating mother by the evil cook and an elder that had decided he was ready to die. Ridiculous! Turns out, a toddler had stuck a stick into one of the family’s 6 beehives and the bees went berserk, hence the bolting of the livestock. The lamb was actually saved by our cook, not tortured, as it was covered in stinging bees; in due time, the elderly man got up (he had remained stock-still on the ground and covered himself with his gabbi,)  and escaped with only a few stings around his wrist. One of the family chickens, however, was killed—we walked over later and the chicken’s face was covered with a gazillion yellow stingers.

Our trek today was awesome. Down the 1,500 foot wall to the valley floor, green from the recent rains. We were followed for quite a distance by an entourage of girls, periodically posing for photos. We spent the early afternoon zig-zagging back up to the top of the plateau, another 1,500 foot elevation gain; on the way, we came upon one of the cave churches and were lucky enough that the priest was still there after Sunday services. This is another ‘St. Mary,’ church, but this one was built in the early 10^th century, quite some time before the Lalibela churches. A small door led to the interior hollowed into the cliff; the ceiling was carved and painted and they now have a generator that powers a single light bulb in the main chamber during services. The place was fascinating.

The hike up the cliff also revealed a hand-carved tunnel that bores directly through a relatively thin point in the massif—this tunnel was carved in the 800’s A.D. and for all these centuries has functioned as a conduit between the two huge valleys on either side of the imposing and completely vertical, tens of miles long, system of sandstone cliffs. It is still an important transportation link between two geographic areas that otherwise—even now, because there are no roads here—would be isolated from one another.

Our community guesthouse this evening is identical to the one last night and situated atop the high plateau in a similar site, at the very edge of the precipice. On our way across the plateau this afternoon, we were greeted by a Tigraen troop of Gelada baboons. This evening we walked to two nearby stone homes (one, the site of the unfortunate bee incident) and were given tours by the very hospitable families. These are families that, according to Mulat our guide, are ‘medium’ families, meaning they are neither destiture nor well-off (by rural Ethiopian standards.) The home is stone with an earthen roof, consisting of kitchen room (with a clay injera cooker) a room for eating and for the kids to sleep and an enclosure for the cattle, sheep and donkeys so they are protected at night from hyenas and leopards. The mother and father sleep together in the cattle enclosure to ensure the safety of their wealth.

Over dinner we witnessed the second night of intense thunderstorms. I am so thankful these people are receiving rain and I am told by Mulat he heard the storms are also dropping rain further south, all the way into drought-stricken southeastern Ethiopia and Somalia. Good news, and everyone hopes they keep coming.

Oh, and about the alarmingly emaciated Danish cross-dresser. Remind me to tell you that story when I get home. Suffice it to say we shared the guesthouse last evening with a very strange guy….

Photos: Fasting injera platter at guesthouse, with our guide Mulat; guesthouse at Shimbrety; Tigraen farmer's dog on roof; Tigrai sandstone; our donkey and donkey man taking a break; endless cliff climbing; 9th century tunnel and cave church; farmer's kitchen and cooking injera; Tigraen valley view; Gelada baboons at Enaf; child carrying child.