When
Marty visited the states over Christmas, I took a road trip with
Adam, Emelia, and Adam’s brother Jeff to the southwest, to Lakes
Chamo and Abaya and to the Rift Valley highlands. This was a chance
to see crocodiles in the lake and the famous weavers of Dorze
(Dor-zey) in the mountains. We went for five days, 2 were spent
driving, one spent with police and courts because someone pinched
Emelia’s running shoes from the car (we got them back,
miraculously), and a day and a half on the lake and in the highlands.
This country is so frigging big, it takes many hours to get anywhere.
The area is around the town of Arba Minich (meaning 40 Springs) is
beautiful, occupied by Gema and Wolaita people. Besides getting to
see the crocodiles sunning on an island in Lake Chamo, we also
travelled to the highlands and visted a Dorze village, famous for
their weavers. Traditionally (pre-China imports), cotton was grown in
the lowlands around the lake, and traded to the highland weavers, who
are renowned in Ethiopia. Today the village of Dorze is run as a
cooperative to serve the weavers and take advantage of the increasing
tourist business (mainly Europeans and some Americans). The
cooperative also ran a rustic hotel which was a series of bungalows
around a central open dining area. It was cold in the evening, we
were around 7500 feet, but quite beautiful. Children could be very
annoying, thrusting goods into your face to buy and not leaving until
they sold you something. Our Dorze host said the kids come from other
towns, their parents send them with the hope of gaining something
from the forenjiis.
When we stopped for
mangos a young man stuck his hand in the back window and grabbed
Emelia’s running shoes, taking off into the small town. We would
have just let it be, chalking another one up to the experience, but
our hired driver was an ex-military policeman who insisted on
justice. We contacted the local police, and the following day were
told they caught the thief, someone well known in the community. We
went to the police station in Arba Minich (really just a building
with a courtyard and prisoners sitting at one end), identified the
guy, and then were told to come to court the following afternoon. It
was a “rapid adjudication and small court” and kind of amazing to
see Ethiopian justice in action. In Kenya, the cops would have just
beaten the thief to a pulp and thrown him away’ here no one beat
him, but had him and us tell our stories to a magistrate. Punishment
was swift – the boy pled guilty and was given a six month prison
sentence. He looked in pretty bad shape, poor, high (drink or khat),
and with dim prospects in life. But the shoes were returned, cleaner
than when they were stolen as they had been washed to sell in the
marketplace.
Finally got back to
Hawassa in time to get a ride to Addis to pick up Marty on January 6,
the day before Ethiopian Christmas. As I had a whole day in Addis
before Marty came in, I contacted, on a whim, Mulugetta’s brother
Ermias, who had contacted us on Facebook. In no time at all his (and
Mulu’s) mother called and said she was coming over to the hotel. It
was a very sweet reunion, she brought her two granddaughters,
everyone was dressed to the nines, and we called Mulu in the States
who, polite as always, said hello to his biological mom. The nine
year old granddaughter, Merima, translated in amazingly good English.
We have kept in contact with Mulu’s family in Ethiopia through the
years, and Marty and I support them with monthly checks. Genet was
incredibly grateful, not just for the money, but knowing that her son
Mulugetta, given up at 2½ years, was in good health and situation.
She phoned later and said she would visit us in Hawassa, five hours
away, next week.
That
will be the next blog. I am very glad Marty returned, glad my first
semester is coming to an end, and glad that we will be taking a trip
into Kenya in February to see my other African family, Kanikis and
Lugi (the main characters of my book Laibon: An Anthropologist’s
Journey, which Marty brought me copies to see).
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