Ethiopia
Gondar
As you cross into Ethiopia you not only enter a different country, it seems as if one also goes back many centuries. Every traveler is astounded at the complexity and uniqueness of this country.
Ethiopia is a country with 83 languages with 200 dialects, its own calendar (13 months), own year (7 years younger than the West), different time (a day starts with sunrise), and its own script (Amharic). This country is truly unique and unlike any others, we have traveled.
Young Nubian BoyTravelling in Ethiopia is challenging and certainly not for the faint of heart and yet it offers some of the world’s most ancient sacred religious sites and unique and unusual tribes. The ancient sites would be on the list of every traveler’s itinerary if access were not so difficult and the accommodations and facilities often less than desirable.
Our time spent in Ethiopia was truly inspiring. We loved the countryside, the people, the cultures, historical sites and even got to enjoy local meals of “injera.” We visited the capital, Addis Ababa, the castle ruins in Gondar, sailed Lake Tana to see the Blue Nile leave on its journey to Cairo and visited Lalibela, Ethiopia’s most famous historical site. We met some very special people and made wonderful new friends.
St George Monstery Lalibela
So it is with great sadness and difficulty that I share with you our last days in Ethiopia. It is every traveler’s worst nightmare. While driving we hit and killed a little boy. Road conditions in Ethiopia are bad and dangerous. The constant dust obscures your view, goats, cows and donkeys wander across the road. Ethiopians have the reputation of being the world’s worst pedestrians. They walk all over the roads and at times; it seems as if the entire village is out on the road, walking, playing, socializing, and oblivious to the dangers of traffic. We saw more traffic accidents in Ethiopia than we had seen since leaving Cape Town.
Unknown Future
Under Ethiopian law, the pedestrian always has the right of way and the driver sent to prison regardless of the cause of the accident. It is recommended, that if one is involved in an accident of any kind, not to stop but to continue driving to the nearest police station, because of the very high risk of being the target of a mob revenge attack.
We were less than 30 minutes from the Ethiopian Sudanese border and I was driving. I saw about 30 children and adults ahead, stretched across the entire road. I slowed down and hooted and they all scattered to the sides of the road, then a little boy simply changed his mind and ran right back into the path of our car.
Lalibela Monstery
We got out of the car, a sense of disbelief of what had just happened. The little boy lay motionless, in a pool of blood. As I ran to get our first aid kit, a busload of people arrived. I yelled Tom to come and help me as I was having difficulty dislodging the first aid kit from under the boxes.
Unable to hear my screams above commotion and the noise Tom, was watching the crowd to try to gauge their mood. Finally, I managed to get the first aid kit and started attending to the child. Tom appeared and above the wails and shouts, I yelled at him to bring me a blanket.
Monk in Church
Tom picked up the boy in his arms and we ran to the car. The crowd was screaming to us in Amharic trying to stop us from leaving. Finally, we managed to understand that the father of the child wanted to come with us. Tom opened the door and a sobbing man got in.
We arrived at the clinic and we were ushered into a dusty stark examination room with a stretcher, bare desk and a dirty sink in the corner. “He is gone,” wept Tom “he died in my arms.”
The doctor arrived announcing, “I am here to determine the cause of death and then you will be fully accountable.” He pulled the blanket down glanced at the lifeless boy. Looking at the child’s bandaged head he said, “He died of intracranial bleeding” and with that, he pulled the blanket up over the child’s face before turning to leave the stark room.
Orthodox Monk
The little boy had a large gash at the back of his head but there was not another mark on his body. He must have fallen backwards and hit his head on a rock.
The little boy had a large gash at the back of his head but there was
not another mark on his body. He must have fallen backwards and hit his
head on a rock.
Overwhelmed by sadness I began to weep, “Why are you crying?”
the doctor wanted to know. “Children die all the time, if he hadn’t
died today he would have died later of malnutrition or disease; I see
it every day. So stop crying; you are lucky that they didn’t put
a bullet in your head.”
Daily Prayers
The police arrived and I was ushered into a small grubby office at the clinic to wait alone, out of sight of the agitated and restless crowd that was growing. Tom went to meet the local police chief and to arrange for a vehicle to take the boy’s body, the father, and others back to their village. Fortunately, a nurse who spoke some English appeared and he explained to me what was happening. Trying to reassure me he said, “You will need to pay the family something, and then perhaps you will only spend a month or even only a day in prison, it is not too bad. Don’t be sad.”
Several hours later Tom returned, with a truckload of distraught people and the police. We all left in convoy for the police station. Once the crowds were certain we were in police custody, the truck full of people and the child’s body left for the boy’s village.
Women Monk Chatting
The police station consisted of several tin office shacks around a dusty, grubby courtyard. Each office consisted of a desk with messy piles of paper and a phone. Opposite each desk stood two plastic chairs, a light bulb hung from the ceiling and a hole in the tin wall was the window. In the center of the courtyard was a secure wooden shack with no windows. No one opened the door; the police simply shouted to the persons inside. I assumed it was the local prison.
A large crowd gathered in the courtyard, muttering amongst themselves and watching us closely. Tom and I were each given a plastic chair to sit on in the courtyard while the police discussed amongst themselves their next steps. Tom managed to contact the Canadian Embassy in Addis Ababa on our satellite phone and informed them of our situation.
Prayer Book
After some discussions between the Canadian Embassy and the Regional Headquarters Chief of Police, I was informed, they were not going to arrest me, but they were going to impound our car and my passport. They allowed us to get some toiletries and then we were escorted to a “safe and secure” location. We were informed that we were not to leave the room, be seen or go near the car for our own safety as the “family may return for a revenge attack.” We were to be escorted by the police back to Gondar (the nearest town) the following morning.
It was a restless night; the tiny room was hot, dusty, and stuffy. During the evening, the local district police chief and his assistant arrived in plain clothing wanting to meet with Tom. They offered to help us get to the Sudan border but it would it would cost us some money and it would have to be a “secret.” After some thought of all the possible outcomes, Tom told them that he could not agree to anything that was to be a secret. The police seemed somewhat shocked that we would prefer not to make a dash for the border, at a cost of only US$2000.
Blue Nile Falls
The following morning, we left Metema in convoy and arrived in Gondar late in the afternoon. We met with the Gondar District Police and a translator arrived to assist us. We made several phone calls were made to the Canadian Embassy. The family arranged for their own translator and we all met to discuss the options. The family and we agreed we would “settle out of court” and negotiation would take place the following day.
Understanding a third world judicial system, the informal or unofficial systems, and value of a life is difficult. Rules change, different people come and go, and everything is hand written on a plain piece of paper. There were no computers, no forms, and no official stamps.
I signed the agreement written in both Amharic and English and after the payment was complete, we were preparing to leave for the boy’s village so his mother could sign the agreement. We had only turned around to leave the office when yet another demand was made.
Father and Child with Gun
The stern looking police chief said, “We need agreement from the Canadian Embassy that they will bring Janet back to Ethiopia at any time we want to question her further.”
We were both exhausted it had been four days since the accident and finally Tom had had enough. He was firm and told them, we were not prepared to do that, we had signed all the papers and we needed to leave.
You need “international immunity” replied the policeman. Tom called the Canadian Embassy, explaining what the police wanted.
“Just tell them you have it” was the advice, so he did and finally we were allowed to leave Gondar under a police escort.
Ethiopian Road
The police were to escort us to the boy’s village where we would meet the mother and the village elders.
The boy’s village was about a four hours drive from Gondar. We arrived at the village, and with their guns at the ready the police escorted us to the village center. The villagers were sitting on wooden benches around a large tree were waiting for us. We were greeted with wails and cries and I saw a young, pretty, women clutching a small pair of boy’s pants, weeping softly into the little pants. She slowly made her way towards us and with no words spoken between us we gently shook hands. We were directed to be seated on a bench next to the family. The policeman spoke to the crowd. I wept as nothing prepared me for such sadness.
Rift Valley There was some discussion between the village elders and the policeman and he turned to me and said, “The people want you to say something.”
Expressing my sorrow of what had happened to the boy, I struggled to find the right words to say. I expressed my grief as a mother of sons, I apologized for the accident, and I thanked all those who had helped us during this time.
The policeman translated my words and there was some more discussion amongst the villagers. Finally, the policeman turned to me again and told me the villagers said they knew it was an accident and I should not cry for the boy. The mother thanked us for stopping, rendering first aid and taking the boy to a clinic.
A Reminder of War
They were astonished that total strangers should feel sadness at the boy’s death.
“Don’t cry,” said the translator, “by this time next year she will have another; children die all the time. You should not feel sad.
After signing the papers, I hugged the mother and we left the village, police around the car, guns at the ready. We reached the main road and the police convoy escorted us to the Sudan border.
At the border, the police again expressed their amazement that we actually stopped at the scene; amazed we gave first aid, took the child to the clinic, and compensated the family.
Journey End
“Even Ethiopians would not have stopped after the accident,” the police expressed.
The accident was horrendous and yet from it we met some very kind Ethiopians. We saw a side of an Ethiopian family and community that we would never have otherwise had the opportunity too. We experienced the Ethiopians as compassionate and kind, the family and village community, forgiving and gentle.
Perhaps they too the experienced white foreign tourists differently. Hopefully, we are all now wiser and more understanding about each other. I know I am.
