Issue link: https://bluemagazine.uberflip.com/i/25240
ngs on to Ethiopia due to the war in the north with Eritrea. Tensions between the two countries escalated in May 1998 and again in February 1999, resulting in armed conflict. Ethiopia and Eritrea are still battling over a small, parched piece of land. The State Department warns: "The border should be avoided. US citizens should stay clear of security operations and should not try to intercede with police on behalf of Eritreans .... Armed attacks, apparently targeting foreigners, have occurred in Ethiopia." We ignore the cautionary words and are soon four-wheeling through the remote Omo Valley in southern Ethiopia. For two weeks we bump along the dusty roads, through desert scrub and open plains. Thin, red twisters dance between ancient acacias and sun-bleached skulls scattered across the barren land. It takes four days of off-roading to reach the first of many tribes who live in the valley. The Hamar, Karo, Konso, Beme, Tseme Amar, Bana, Mursi, Galeb and Bume battle for water in the hot desert. AK-47s dangle off bare shoulders. Thick iron bands line wrists and ankles. Withered goat skins hang tight around thin hips. Colorful beads sit in thick rows around necks and down chests, blackened and greasy. Neat leave delicate patterns across smooth skin. They are like cacti, these people: haughty, hardened products of desert, beyond all sufferings we in the West can ever imagine. These people are nomads and follow the rare rains to find grazing land for their cattle. Drought is more regular than rain in this desolate land. Some tribes are so remote they have only recently learned a place called Ethiopia exists. At 5:30 AM, too early for Addis Ababa to be awake, we hear two explosions. In our half-awake state, we try to rationalize the noise, thinking maybe it's backfire. The commotion outside of barking dogs and yelling is the first warning. The man banging on our door screaming "FIRE!" is the second. Without electricity, we pack our bags and morning. Smoke billows up from the roof of the government hotel behind ours. Because of the war, there is talk that Eritreans started the fire, apparently targeting foreigners. An old woman with sagging breasts and a wrinkled face sits in the sun scaling fish. She is eager to show us a tortoise shell and the barbed hook she uses to catch crocodiles. Nearby, a cluster of men circle around a huge pot of boiling fish parts. Nile Perch and Lung Fish lie drying on palm racks in the hot sun. It takes only two days for them to dry. With no vegetation in sight, save for a few brave thorn bushes, the EI Molo tribe lives completely off the lake, eating only fish and crocodile. The original tribes people of Turkana, there are only a few hundred remaining. They are attacked often by the Burano tribe from Ethiopia, who come south armed with AK-47s to steal cattle or goats. For five goats, you could own an AK-47. The smiles and laughter of children don't hide their distended, roads are hell on our kidneys as we bump, jar and slam across the land. After hour upon hour of bracing our bodies against a door or a seat, we finally give in , slump down and slam into metal. In one day alone, we count 13 buses, cars and trucks that have flipped, smashed, crashed or burned. Children run madly after the car screaming, "YOUYOUYOUYOUYOUYOU!!! " Others stare in disbelief at the passing faranji-foreigners. One boy yells, "Welcome to this mother-fucking country." Tension is tight due to the war with Eritrea. Fighter planes whine overhead, while military trucks and buses pass us, filled with eager young men. Naively strong and confident, in pressed military garb and shiny new boots, they wave as heroes from their cell-like windows as they head north into the war. Donkeys with bundles twice their size march steadily along. Young men follow close behind. Rusted carcasses of tanks, from a 30-year civil war ending only eight years ago, line the roads and vast fields. Ethiopia is seeping deep under our skin. Our Western view of what we thought Ethiopia would be-a vast, barren desert filled with starving people-could not be further from the truth. The majority of the country is above 6,000 feet and is the richest, most fertile land in all of East Africa: tropical areas abundant in fruits, lush green fields, forested areas with sweet-smelling pine trees and high plateau tundra with cool breezes and fresh, cold streams. Shadows of clouds blanket golden hills.