Advice needed.........Ethiopia here we come

[Tricky Dicky]

Hi Everybody,
As you can see from the title we (SWAMBO and I) are on our way to Ethiopia. This has come about through the organisation called MAPA. (As advertised on this forum last year.) As there is no sub-section under the Overlanding section I thought this would be the best place to put my request forward.

The plan as it stands at present is to fly into Nairobi, (Tickets bought & paid for, depart Cape Town 5th August 2009) pick up our allocated vehicle, either a Toyota D/C or Land Rover(which model? W.C.S.) and after filling up with food, refreshments and fuel we head off towards Moyale. Once in Ethiopia we head for Yebelo Wildlife Sanctuary, do some mapping, then off to Awash National Park, more mapping, then to Harar and the Babile Elephant Sanctuary (if it still exists!), map the sanctuary, then on to Yangudi Rassa National Park, Map the park. Now we head to Lalibela and the Rock-hewn Churches, map the trails and pathways, then head west to Gondor on Lake Tana, map the historical areas, on up to the Simien Mountains and map as much as possible, mostly hiking trails but one 4x4 track! the highest peak is 4620 meters!! From her we go to Axum, one of the most ancient city/towns in Etiopia, map the historical areas. Now we head back the way we came as far as Gondor then go around Lake Tana to Bahir-Dar, map the area including the Blue Nile Falls, then to Addis Ababa from where we fly back to RSA after 5 weeks on the road, arrival in Cape Town 9th or 10th Sept. 2009.

With the above in mind I would appreciate some advice/guidence with regards to the following points:-

1) The road conditions between Isiolo(in Kenya) and Moyali (on the Kenya/Ethiopia border. If there are any forum members or friends of members who live in Kenya that I could contact that would be a great help.

2) Some hints on driving in the mud/soil type called "Black cotton soil". It is not like any mud I have come across in Southern Africa!

3) The cost of fuel (Diesel) in Kenya (I am assuming the vehicle will be diesel). I need to calculate the amount of Ksh as we can not change money at Moyali. (This I find very strange, but every guide book tells the same story and so does the Ethiopian Govt. web site)

4) Any specifics for driving in Etiopia. i.e. latest regulations that have not filtered down yet.

5) The mounting of a video camera. I had thought of making a bracket to go under the wing mirror. Would the anti-shake survive the trip? Would a bracket make the vibration of the road too harsh?

[MikeAG]

My instinct is to suggest you PM Tony Weaver of this parish who has travelled extensively in Ethiopia.

My other instinct is that a mounted camera of any description on most roads in Africa is a complete waste of a good camera! You will shake it, and probably the bracket, to bits.

You ask about Ethiopian conditions, but you will find some really very harsh conditions indeed in Northern Kenya. I hpe you are well prepared!!

Mike

[Tony Weaver]

[QUOTE=
1) The road conditions between Isiolo(in Kenya) and Moyali (on the Kenya/Ethiopia border. If there are any forum members or friends of members who live in Kenya that I could contact that would be a great help.

2) Some hints on driving in the mud/soil type called "Black cotton soil". It is not like any mud I have come across in Southern Africa!

3) The cost of fuel (Diesel) in Kenya (I am assuming the vehicle will be diesel). I need to calculate the amount of Ksh as we can not change money at Moyali. (This I find very strange, but every guide book tells the same story and so does the Ethiopian Govt. web site)

4) Any specifics for driving in Etiopia. i.e. latest regulations that have not filtered down yet.

5) The mounting of a video camera. I had thought of making a bracket to go under the wing mirror. Would the anti-shake survive the trip? Would a bracket make the vibration of the road too harsh?[/QUOTE]

1. The road from Isiolo to Moyale is a shocker, unless the long-trumpeted upgrading has begun (don't hold your breath). It's a boulder-strewn, rutted swine of a road. You must travel in the daily military/police convoy as there is serious banditry in the area. You can camp at the police post at Moyale on the Kenyan side of the border, or else there is a reasonable little hoteli on the Ethiopian side whose name escapes me. Change dollars or KShillings to Birr on the Kenyan side of the border.

2. The only hint I can give you about driving on wet cotton mud is don't! There is very little you can do to get through it, even with really good mud tyres like Cooper STTs. You can usually find a way around it, especially in the desert where the bushes aren't too thick. Looking at your route, the only place where you might encounter it is on the Isiolo to Moyale stretch. If it has been raining heavily, that road can become impassable.

3. Sorry can't help.

4. Ethiopian drivers are generally not bad, especially the bus drivers. The Kenyan drivers are appalling. Whatever you do, don't drive in either country after dark. In Ethiopia, watch out for donkeys - they are everywhere.

Some general points: check the security situation before driving to Harar - there are pockets of banditry in the Arba Gugu mountains. Also check the security situation east of Harar on the way to the Somali border, lots of banditry there too. Generally, Ethiopia is a fascinating country, but the kids - the "you yous" - will wear you down. In the towns, especially in Lalibela, Gondar and Bahir Dar, it is worth hiring a guide just to keep the kids at bay.

I would check the condition of the "road" into the Simyens. We trekked in with mules, and the road wasn't much more than a rutted track that wasn't really driveable, but that was 10 or more years ago.

If you need more info feel free to email me direct on [email protected]

TW

[Tricky Dicky]

MikeAG and Tony Weaver
Thanks for the inputs. I think the Isiolo to Moyali is going to be the toughest stretch of road driving wise. I will put the blog/trip report address up when I have it so that you can follow the trip.

Dick

[Tony Weaver]

Hi Tricky,

I'll post two articles that I wrote on Ethiopia - the first (pasted below) was a general advice piece I did for Out There magazine in 1998. Much of the advice is still current, even if it is 11 years old. I'll post the second piece, which I wrote for Sunday Life, in the next post. It was specifically about the hell run to Moyale. Don't be put off, though - we were driving a 1969 SIIA Land Rover that had a top speed of 80km/h, and we had to try and keep up with a brand new Land Cruiser!.


"AFRICA'S not for sissies." How many times haven't we heard that refrain from the boeties who go gung-ho into any offroad situation and usually end up dying of malaria ("because my friend's friend said you shouldn't take prophylaxis") or dribbling out their life-blood under the wreckage of a rolled four by four? Africa may not be for sissies, but that's no reason to go into it with an attitude problem.

And travelling overland through Africa has a helluva lot to do with attitude -and with fine preparation and a good deal of knowledge about continental politics and military developments. Africa has never been a safe continent through which to travel. Right now it is probably the most dangerous continent on earth in which to travel.

For instance, nobody in their right minds would travel through Algeria unless they're a French land yacht surfer sponsored by Medicin Sans Frontiers, Sector Watches and Gauloises Blondes and living off grand pere's trust fund. Travel in the Congo is only for ambitious young American journalism school graduates trying to win a Pulitzer Prize and land a job with CNN. They're re-laying the minefields in Angola and Uganda has suddenly become a dangerous place again, with rebels striking into the heart of Kasese, the jumping off town for the Queen Elizabeth National Park and the Ruwenzoris.

That's just the very short list, the "just for example" list.

So is there a dangerous place in Africa in which it is safe to travel? No, but Ethiopia is a safer dangerous place than most. That's part of the attraction. It's a great dinner party conversation stopper: "When we were in Ethiopia," you say, and a deathly hush falls over the table. "You've BEEN to Ethiopia," someone shrieks. "Weren't you scared?" You look around at the triple locked multi-barred magnetic crash doors and the alarm system that costs more than your Land Rover and reach for the bottle of Scotch. The Rottweilers and Dobermans barking outside and the sirens of the armed response companies drown out your reply.

Everything I write in this article will be out of date by the time it's published, but what the hell: Eritrea and Ethiopia, comrades in arms who, as rag-tag guerrillas defeated the Soviet-trained army of the horrendous dictator, Mengistu Haille Mariam and set up two neighbouring states, are at war.

It's the end of Africa's fairy tale romance. There were lots of hugs and kisses. Eternal brotherly (and sisterly, Eritrea is one of the most politically correct nations on earth) adoration. Then they went to war in May, ostensibly over a piece of land, but really because of a lot of macho posturing. Men are very bad at talking, they should leave all peace negotiations to women.

Anyway, it's an obscure little war with the occasional tank battle and air raid and lot's of people dead in one go, but so long as you know where the battles are, you should be fine. Unfortunately, Eritrea is temporarily out of order because of the war, unless you're prepared to enter through Egypt and the Sudan, or ship in from the Middle East or the Gulf. Bummer.

Ethiopia. A friend was going there the other day and asked for some advice. What could I say? "Don't drink the water; watch out for the you-yous; don't drive after sunset; be polite to the military; always find a place to stay long before dark; fill up with petrol whenever you can; the local beer is brilliant; the people are charming and beautiful; don't bush camp; carry lots of spares; carry lots of tinned food; always check in major towns about the security situation up ahead; if you're driving into an area of which you are unsure, link up with a couple of truck and bus drivers, make friends with them, tell them what you're doing, they will talk you through the road blocks."

Shoo, broer, heavy.

When we left Nairobi, a British expatriate who had last been in Abyssinia just after "the war" (the other war, the one that ended in 1945), looked us steelily in the eye, clenched our hands and said "good luck! Jolly good luck!"

The way north from Nairobi to Ethiopia is across one of the worst highways in Africa. On the maps it is called the A2. The road winds north from Nairobi, passing through Thika on the way down to Isiolo and Archer's Post. It skirts the base of Mount Kenya, then the tar highway swoops down into the hot desert blast of Isiolo, and 500km of badlands lie ahead. It degenerates into a bowel-clenching, chassis-destroying, suspension-smashing, madness-inducing, dust-filled swine of a road.

You join the military convoy anywhere between Isiolo and Torbi, depending on the level of bandit activity. Soldiers armed with grenade launchers and automatic rifles race up and down. They have manic stares and frantic bursts of energy, leaping onto the back of a truck, then leaping off again, cocking and uncocking their rifles. They all chew miraa, chat, a wild plant with the kick of a pocketful of barbiturates mixed with tequila if you eat a bush of the stuff.

A fat Kenyan army officer came up and gave us a pile of grubby forms listing next of kin, indemnifying the Kenyan government, swearing we were not drug smugglers. He said "these shifta are murdering bastards. They will kill you for nothing, they come across from Ethiopia and Somalia, and they just shoot. It is like an accident, it can happen anytime." Very confidence boosting.

It was a wild, dust-filled, adrenaline-inducing ride but we made it through in one piece, although a few shattered nerves lay in the potholes behind us.

The next morning we crossed the border and met the dreaded You-yous. Ask anybody who's ever been to Ethiopia what the most irritating thing about the country is and they will give one of two answers: "the You-yous" or "the stone throwers" (they're usually one and the same thing).

In every village or town, large groups of kids follow you around shouting and clamouring for your attention. They're called You-yous because that seems to be the only English most of them know. Charitably, we decided it's a shortened form of "you, how are you." Most of them are war orphans.

You-you could also be a short form of the formal Amharic for foreigner, "yewichager sew". We encountered a variety of other shouts: "You you," "you teacher", "you spaghetti", "you, give me pen", "you commando", and "you Cuban". They can drive you nuts if you allow them to - but there's an easier way: Speak to the kids -- all they want is some attention. Single out an older one, make them your guide, even if they speak no English.

Once enlisted, your guide will quickly initiate you into the next Ethiopian national sport, stone-throwing. Kids throw stones at each other, at goats, cattle, trucks, faranjees. And they're deadly accurate.

The next major hazard is . For some reason, Ethiopians anywhere that happens to be available when they're caught short. While in Addis Ababa, we stayed in a delightful suburban pension cum brothel that was snuggled away in a relatively upmarket suburb. Relatively, because the sprawling suburbs of Addis are really just a series of interconnected rural villages, livestock grazes in the muddy lanes, there are very few toilets, so at night people come out and on the pavements and streets. The United Nations Centre for Human Settlements says Addis is the worst city in the world for housing -- 79% of its inhabitants are either homeless, or live in "unfit accommodation".

It's even worse in towns like Gondar and Dessie, so tread warily and keep your eyes on the ground, except when you're watching out for flying rocks.

Then there are the shiftas, the bandits. This is another national, and fairly honourable, Ethiopian pastime. Shifta have an odd position in society, being both feared and admired, they have "guabaz" -- the quality so admired by male Amhara, embodying bravery, ferocity, toughness and general male competence, ie, they've got balls. Banditry is a form of upward social mobility, a bit like being a fast track achiever in the West: The most famous upwardly mobile bandit was Ras Kassa of Quara, who rose to become Emperor Teodros, ruling Abyssinia from 1855 to 1868.

Substantial chunks of the country are no-go areas for travellers because of shiftas. Most of the lowland, desert areas in the east are unsafe. The Danakil people from the desert of the same name have a nasty habit of cutting off the penises of unwanted guests. We were never able to work out whether or not the shifta situation is as bad as people make it out to be, because educated, urban Ethiopians have an almost irrational fear of travelling in the countryside - perhaps because of a combination of years of war and xenophobia.

In Addis, we were told that every journey we were going to do out of the capital was "very, very dangerous". And certainly, in every region, truck and bus drivers rush to get to the next town before dark. Hotel compounds become high security fortresses, and are inevitably patrolled by guards armed with AK47s. AK47s are another Ethiopian national sport. Every second man in the countryside carries one, they're like cellphones in South Africa.

So why would any traveller in their right mind want to go to Ethiopia? Because, frankly, it is probably the most beautiful, mind-boggling, culturally rich, exciting, challenging and friendly country in Africa - once you've dodged the stones, the and made friends with the You-yous. I'm going back as soon as possible. You you mark my words.
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FACT FILE:
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VISAS:

Visas cost R125. Ph (012) 342-6321/2. Allow two days. Alternatively, at the embassy in Nairobi, tel 723-035.

WHEN TO GO:

The small rains are from late February to April, and the big rains from late June to early September. The small rains are an irritation, the big rains are hazardous and a problem.

SECURITY:

Never travel before 8 in the morning or after 5 in the afternoon, never bush camp, unless you are in a national park or are absolutely certain you are unobserved. Every village has a hotel -- use them.

Areas to be particularly wary of include: The Tekeze River Valley north of Gondar; the Blue Nile Gorge between Dejen and Goha Tsiyon; the road to Harar through the Chercher Mountains; Gamo-Gofa district in the extreme south west near the Omo River; and the main road from the Kenyan border to Shashemene. With the current war against Eritrea on the go, anywhere north of Weldiya and east of Axum is potentially dangerous. The Eritreans have already bombed Mekele. The Danakil and Ogaden Deserts are very high risk areas.

HEALTH:

Take a comprehensive medical kit and carry a double supply of antibiotics for intestinal disease. There is no malaria in the highland areas, but in the lowlands it is rife, especially in the Awash National Park area and in the Omo area. Faecally borne disease is rampant. Make sure your hepatitis shots are up to date. Almost every village has a hand pump delivering safe water.

SUPPLIES AND EATING:

Warm clothing is essential, and lots of film - very hard to get in Ethiopia. The only vehicle spares freely available are for Land Rovers, Toyota Land Cruisers and Mitsubishi Pajeros.

Carry supplies of dried goods, tinned goods (including veggies), instant coffee and of sweets, sugar, brown rice, flour etc. Vegetables are virtually unobtainable outside of Addis Ababa.

Locally brewed spirits, wine and beer are very cheap and range from very good to dreadful. Highly recommended is Gouder Export red wine, Awash Cristal white wine, Harar, Bedele and Addis beer. The local gin is cheap and good. Mineral water, Ambo, is cheap.

Ethiopian food is fiery and not for the gastronomically timid, but delicious. The base of all meals is injera, large, pancake type bread which looks and feels like dirty sponge rubber. Injera is served with various sauces, called wat, made with meat, veg, chicken, fish or lentils, and fistsful of red pepper and ladles of oil.

ACCOMMODATION:

There are very few formal campsites in Ethiopia. However, every village has at least one hotel, and they are ridiculously cheap, usually clean, and many have secure compounds with room for a tent.

ROAD CONDITIONS:

Major rural roads are murram and generally in excellent condition. Almost all minor roads are four wheel drive tracks. Many of the minor roads shown on the maps no longer exist. Don't plan on high speeds and high average distances anywhere in Ethiopia.

MAPS:

The Michelin 954, Africa North East/Arabia map is generally good, but has some errors. Try to get hold of the very accurate Ethiopia 1:2 000 000 Tourist Map, published by the Ethiopian Tourism Commission.

FUEL:

Petrol is called Benzine, and Diesel Gasoil. But there are supply problems, aggravated by the war with Eritrea. Never pass a fuel pump without filling up. Petrol is very low grade, and diesel has a high sulphur content. High performance petrol vehicles will encounter problems, so carry octane boosting additives. Much of the travelling is at over 2 000m above sea level, adding to performance problems.

FURTHER READING:

The two definitive guides are the Spectrum Guide To Ethiopia (Camerapix), and Philip Briggs' Guide To Ethiopia (Bradt). In Ethiopia With A Mule by Dervla Murphy (Century, London) is a great read, an account of this intrepid Irish explorer's three month trek on foot and by mule in 1967.

[Tony Weaver]

Here's the Sunday Life piece:

STUMBLING TOWARDS ADDIS

Photo-journalist Tony Weaver and documentary film-maker, Liz Fish, meandered across the east of Africa for two years. They stumbled into Ethiopia as an afterthought.


NAIROBI, Kenya: -- Manjit Singh, the best Land Rover mechanic in the world, was worried. He had done his best on some obscure object in the belly of our beast and thought he had fixed that strange noise that ate a lot oil.

"Ee-thee-yopya. It is a long way for a very old gharri. Your old lady is very old, but if you get to A-dees, say hullo to my cousin, Benny, he fixes Land Rovers just up top somewhere near the BP garage. I have not seen him in 25 years, since before the war, and I do not know if he is still alive, but if he still lives, he is a very good mechanic."

Manjit gave us a parting gift for the road north: A complete set of genuine Land Rover shock absorber and spring bushes, a prophetic and noble gift.

The way to Ethiopia is across one of the worst highways in Africa. On the maps it is called the A2 North. It winds north from Nairobi, passing through Thika then skirts the base of Kirinyaga, Mount Kenya, where the wind is icy, driving down from the glaciers on the twin peaks of Batian and Nelion. Then the road runs out of tar as it swoops down into the hot desert blast of Isiolo and Archer's Post, and 500km of badlands lie ahead, a hell run of a road through the Dida Galgallu, the Plains of Darkness.

It is a bowel-clenching, chassis-destroying, suspension-smashing, madness-inducing, dust-filled swine of a road.

We reached Marsabit at sunset. The Ethiopian refugee family who run the Kenya Lodge and Hotel (R5 double, no fleas) were astounded when they heard we were going to Addis Abeba, as the land border had been closed to travellers for 20 years.

"You are the first. This is a new thing, we did not know the border was open again." They scribble down the address of an uncle. "We do not know if he is still alive, but if he is, please give him this note, and ask if he will send us down a traditional bread cooker. He was very rich."

They run in very agitated the next morning, as we sit down to breakfast just after sunrise. "Why are you still here? The trucks have left already, you will miss the convoy, the bandits will get you."

But surely it is only 100km to Torbi where the convoy gathers at midday, we say. That is not far, and there are many hours left in the morning. It is very far, they say, and it is through the desert, it is very bad, you must not travel alone. At the police post we sign the register and the sergeant shakes his head and says "you are very late."

This is getting nervous. Too many people concerned about our health. So we floor the accelerator and coax the old Beast into dancing across the boulder-littered track. But the road defeats us, and we are forced to crawl into Torbi two hours late, but the convoy is also late.

Soldiers armed with grenade launchers and automatic rifles race up and down. All of the soldiers and all of the police have pinpoint eyeballs, manic stares and frantic bursts of energy, leaping onto the back of a truck, then leaping off again, cocking and uncocking their rifles.

I have seen men dazed by combat. There is a trauma which will never heal behind the eyes of the best soldiers and the best journalists and press photographers. These men had that look. They were all chewing miraa, a wild plant with the kick of a pocketful of barbiturates mixed with tequila.

A civilian comes up and says "I am Salim, I am the mechanic from Moyale. The soldiers say we must ride together, for safety." He gestures towards his vehicle, a new, six cylinder diesel Toyota Land Cruiser, fast, very fast. "I have four soldiers on my truck, and my men are all armed, we will travel together."

It dawns that he is saying we will ride together in convoy, just the two vehicles, leaving the rocket launchers and the machine guns and the hand grenades behind to follow at a slower pace. We will be the guinea pigs.

"Our gharri is very old, it is a 1969 model, we only have a top-speed of 80 kilometres per hour, downhill," we hedge. "No matter," says Salim, "we will do."

A fat and sweating captain comes across and makes us sign several forms, listing next of kin, indemnifying the Kenyan government, swearing we are not drug smugglers. He says "these shifta are murdering bastards. They will kill you for nothing, they come across from Ethiopia and Somalia, and they just shoot. It is like an accident, it can happen anytime."

Mad Max Salim was getting impatient. In the grip of miraa fever, he hadn't slept in 24 hours he was so wired about the journey. He pulled up next to us and said "now we must go fast."

The truck drivers lining up for the armed convoy regarded us solemnly, trying not to make eye contact in case there was bad luck ahead. We were entering bandit land, shifta country, the forgotten corner of Kenya where renegade Somali, Kenyan and Ethiopian outlaws rule. The next safe place was Moyale, the border post, 150km ahead.

Ten minutes out Salim slammed on brakes and his men and the soldiers slithered out and fanned into defensive positions, weapons ready. "We make piss," said Salim. "Now we enter the danger zone, and there is no place to make piss for many, many hours."

I duly made piss. Liz toughed it out. An hour down the road her bladder was bursting, a potent brew of rough road, water and adrenalin squeezing in on her. On a wild and bucking road, she pee-ed into the 3-litre Willow Freezette bread box we bought at the Sun Valley Pick 'n Pay a lifetime ago. It was like pissing off the back of a wild pony without getting your legs wet.

That was the most dramatic thing that happened.

We reached Moyale at sunset. It's the Wild West. Smugglers, bandits, whores, truckers, beggars, soldiers, nomads, drunks, gunfights, dust. We camped out in the grounds of the police post where hyenas came at night and we heard a lion roar far off. Long after dark, as we sat around the fire, caked in dust, drinking warm beer, the trucks from the convoy started to come in. We saw their lights way off in the desert, then heard their engines growl as they geared down for the steep climb into Moyale. Crowds of ululating women gathered, the town celebrated as another convoy came through safely with nobody dead and nothing destroyed. We counted 14, number 15 was missing. He limped in three hours later, a terrified straggler, the driver's nerves shot to hell and beyond.

The next morning we crossed the border. There was a rusty sign in English and Amharic, "Welcome to Ethiopia". It was full of bullet holes. We felt at home.

The customs officer didn't quite know what to do with us. "You are the first South Africans I meet. You are the first tourists I meet." He welcomed us with a flourish and waved away our offer to open the back for inspection. It is very bad manners to search the first tourists you meet.

The first town was Yavello, a hundred kilometres into the Ethiopian mountains. As we slowed down in the main street, a hundred children surrounded the Land Rover, beating on its sides and shouting "you, you, you, faranjee, you, you."

The dreaded You-yous. We had heard of them. The war orphans, the tens of thousands of kids roaming the towns and countryside of Ethiopia, orphaned in the terrible 17-year-long civil war which killed over a million people.

A bunch of You-yous broke into a Land Cruiser belonging to people we met, and stole some gear. They called the cops and the head cop said "we will torture them." They rounded up all the kids and beat the hell out of them. After 20 minutes all the gear was back.

We fled.

By now we were filthy after five days in the desert without a wash. Our most common fantasy on the road was to find a hot shower, a steaming, high pressure, endless stream of hot water. In two years of travel, we had fewer hot showers than bottles of good red wine, and we had less than a case of those.

So it was the next day that we stumbled into a strange place called Wondo Genet. Somehow, somewhere, we had made a note in a grubby notebook about this place. It said "turn right just before the place of the Rastas. Camp site. Hot water". So we turned right just before Shashemene, where a Rastafarian community has lived since 1976, worshipping near the birthplace of Emperor Haille Selassie, Jah Ras Tafari, the Lion of Judah, smothered to death with a pillow by General Mengistu Haille Mariam, the man who should stand trial for war crimes long before any Serbs.

Wondo Genet used to be the Emperor's hunting lodge: In the lounge, stuffed animals hang from the walls over kitsch lamps and tapestries and porcelain dancing girls. A snarling Asian bear has pride of place over the bar.

In the forecourt, a fountain spouts clouds of steam. Flush the lavatory and the cubicle fills up with steam like a foul sauna. The whole lodge sits on top of a huge volcanic hot spring. We rushed down to the bathing place in the middle of a tropical forest at the bottom of a cliff where channels had been cut into the waterfall and great gouts of hot water poured down from above, cooling as they fell, until they hit you at absolutely perfectly the right temperature for the best shower of your life. We lay there, lolled there, turned pink and wrinkled, and washed away the desert and the dust and the bandits and the You-yous and Mad Max Salim.

We were in the land of the Queen of Sheba, of Prester John, a land of myth and legend where time has stood still, a land like no other in the world, a land of astonishing beauty with a wretched and barbaric past, where the scars of civil war are still a running sore in the national psyche.

[MikeAG]

Brilliant articles Tony! Love them....

-


Have you ever thought about writing for a living?



Mike

[Tony Weaver]

Have you ever thought about writing for a living?



Mike

You call what I earn "a living"?

[MikeAG]

You call what I earn "a living"?

To take that all rather more literally than either of us intended, I would hazard a little guess that you do more living than most........even if it doesn't always translate into big numbers on your bank statement!

Mike