Our original schedule was ambitious; in the morning go by boat out on Lake Tana to the islands where the ancient Orthodox monasteries are and visit them, then in the afternoon to the great waterfalls of “Tississat” or “Tis Abay”. But the more I thought about how much work that felt like the less energy I had for it. The boat ride to the monasteries seemed the greatest hassle so Wanda and I decided to drop it. And it felt like a relief, a burden lifted. So now we devoted our energies to going to Tississat for the morning.
Our friends, Charlie and Dee Ivy were wonderful hosts. Dee volunteered to go with us to the falls so after a relaxed breakfast and early morning we packed a lunch and drove to the falls area. It was a pretty drive through fields being prepared for planting. Men, behind their single-pointed wooden plows and oxen, tilling the fields to make ready for corn, or wheat or teff planting. Dee had her new camera and snapped photos left and right. We were a relaxed group as we headed towards one of the largest waterfalls in Africa (perhaps second after Victoria Falls).
We found the ticket office in a small village and bought our tickets. Then we had to drive out to the parking site and begin our walk to the falls. Tourist-wise, it was wonderfully undeveloped. There wasn’t a parking lot, but rather an open field. And there wasn’t a person checking our tickets (guess we could have driven straight over to the falls without paying). And the walking path was as natural as they come, a 300 year old bridge was the only ‘unnatural’ structure which got us over the Blue Nile river. We trod the path thousands had come before us up and down over the rough terrain to make our way to a vista facing the falls.
. . . or one could look at it the other way, it was maddeningly chaotic. The person at the ticket office was a rather disinterested employee, taking his time in writing out our receipt/ticket as we waited. We bounced our way through a village, no paved road here, and somehow made our way to the parking site in spite of a minimum of signs marking the way (good thing Dee was with us and knew the routine and that we were following another vehicle of obvious tourists like ourselves). When we got out we were met by hawkers ‘volunteering’ to watch our vehicle or be our tour guide or trying to sell us trinkets or drink. They gathered around us like flies to honey. The desperation to make a living is a powerful driving force that overcomes natural shyness or suspicion of strangers. And the draw of seeing ‘ferenjis’ (white westerners), with the assumption of western wealth to each white face (a relative truth, but truth nonetheless), was a powerful attraction.
Our group of 6, our family and Dee, politely fended off all comers and started the trek. It was a rocky and difficult path, no paved walkways or railings to hang on to. Definitely not a developed tourist destination like Niagara Falls. We made our way through a village where a dozen children met us with surprisingly good English and a very aggressive sales pitch for their wares. “Hello mister, how are you? What is your name? My name is _____. Remember me when you return (from the falls, there is no real way to avoid coming back the same way). Promise me you will buy from me. Mister, what about me?” This is a running monologue with 3 or 4 girls all around me. One girls slipped her hand in mine and we walked through her village and up the hill. All were desperate to extract a promise to purchase their handmade products. At the top of the hill we found two boys in a tree playing a type of wooden flute, all for the hope of money. The narrow path snaked its way further until finally the falls came into view.
For all that hassle a spectacular falls would be worth the trip. Alas, however, the falls was a disappointment. A thin trickle of water spilled over a tiny section of rocks. I have seen bigger falls in secluded places in Oregon. But there was evidence that at one time a majestic falls once existed.
Nearby is a hydroelectric plant and we were told that up to 95% of the water was being diverted to the plant for badly needed power generation. Being as we had seen the effect of power cuts all over the country in our travels, not to mention our own travails with power cuts in Addis 2-3x a week, we were sympathetic to the situation. But it was truly a pathetic sight, to see once glorious waterfalls reduced to a sliver of water.
We sat there for a while trying to decide if we should try the long trek around the falls (several kms of more rough hewn paths) or turn around and go back. The sun was shining and it was quite warm by now and noon was approaching. Already the girls were talking about being hungry. So that settled it, time to go back. But facing the mob of tiny hawkers was not a fun prospect until Dee had an idea. Give each girl 10 Birr and make it a game. See how much you can buy and then when we get to the Land Cruiser we’ll share our stories. The girls were excited about this idea of ‘shopping’, not having a clue what was in store for them. So as we approached the village the multitude of village children came swarming up to us, zeroing in on the adults. But I told them that my girls had the money and would buy something. This really seemed to confuse them. A few went over to Amani, Abby and Sophia but the others came back to me in disbelief, “Mister, what about me? What about the promise?” I had made no promises other than that I would be back. And now I said, no, I won’t be buying anything, but my daughters would. Of course Dee, Wanda and I kept a sharp eye out on our daughters to make sure nothing happened. The village girls seemed unsure of what to do. They tried selling our girls things but kept their eyes on us as if to say, we know where the real money is but we’ll play your little game to humor you. But, mister/ madam, what about us? Remember us . . .
As we walked through the village and to the old stone bridge the hawkers became more desperate in pitch and tone and I was more than ready to run back to the vehicle. But our little group kept on going. The girls each bought something, hand-made trinkets that were not well made, to be honest. A couple of kids desperately wanted us to exchange U.S. dollars they had received from other tourists and give them Birr. After some hesitation that this may be a scam, I examined the $10 Thom Jefferson note and gave the kid 100 Birr, a slight advantage in exchange for him. Then it was time to leave. We said no to that last hawkers at the parking lot and paid the parking lot ‘attendant’ for watching our vehicle and drove out. The picnic basket remained in the back, there was no place to eat where we wouldn’t be accosted or stared at. We looked for a place on the way home to stop and picnic. The one place we stopped, where a huge shade tree stood and it seemed no one was around, we waited only 15 seconds. As I looked around I saw what I had expected, in the distance people had seen our Land Cruiser stop and had dropped their work implements and started to come running. There would be no place to picnic in public today. We went back to Dee & Charlie’s house and had a quiet, happy picnic on their front porch.
That evening I made a pizza based on the More-With-Less cookbook recipe. We had a very nice time hanging out talking more about life in Ethiopia, the politics in the U.S. and religion as well. Charlie & Dee are good hosts and engaging conversationalists, very knowledgeable about a wide range of subjects. Of course it helped that we agreed a whole lot more than disagreed on the subjects we touched upon. Wanda and I had to be aware of getting the girls to bed and packing in preparation for leaving in the morning. This we managed and still talked into the evening . .
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