We visited the Mursi tribe, a people famous for their lip-stretching practices. Anthropologists are not sure of the origin of this tradition, but it is certain that today among the Mursi, the women with the largest clay disks inserted into their lips are considered the most beautiful.
The Mursi are not exactly a very welcoming people. Along with lip-stretching, they are known for being extremely aggressive. We actually had to have an armed government scout escort us into the Mursi area.
As soon as stepped into the village, we saw the importance of the scout's presence. The men were armed and they did not look happy to see us.
The children, on the other hand, looked very happy to see us. They saw us as sources of cash. Children poked us, tugged on our arms, yelled at us, pointed to our pockets, tried to open our pockets, fingered our watches, stared at every object on our bodies, and begged for money. But that was not the worst of it. Our entire stay in the Mursi village was supplied with a particular soundtrack that went like this, "photo? photo? phoooooto? photo! photo!!!" and when we refused to point our cameras at the individuals yelling at us and then hand over the cash they were after, they got very angry.
The chief of the village seemed like a really nice guy--not as aggressive or angry as some of the other men. Ryan asked if he could take a picture of me with the chief, at which point the chief put his machine gun into my hands and posed beside me.
Here is a woman grinding the sorghum. If you look closely, you can see that her lip has been cut and stretched, but she does not have a clay disk inserted at this moment. The women regularly take out the disks when they want to be more comfortable, like in this moment when she is working. Since the disk is out, the lip hangs down with a wide opening. We heard that young people today are starting to reconsider the beauty of lip-stretching not only because it's so unusual in the modern world but also because whenever the clay disk is out, drool runs down the sides of the open lip--something the women have no control over.
Another thing considered beautiful by the Mursi, and other tribes in the area, is scarification. The scars are seen as physically attractive, and also representative of that individual's tolerance for pain, and thus his strength.
Scars on chest:
The man in the center, below, was recently cut, so his scars haven't healed. There was some sort of ointment on his cuts:
Although I am not describing it in much detail, the whole experience in the Mursi village was quite traumatic. I remember one moment when we walked away from the village to try and get some fresh air. Well, we were followed by dozens of kids who continued yelling and poking and pointing and begging. Ryan and I got separated at one point and I was completely surrounded by these kids who demanded something from me which I refused to give them. They just got angrier and angrier and I felt trapped!
Somehow, we managed to maintain a sense of humor. Here we are, smiling with our local guide, as we were leaving the Mursi village.
Outside the village:
After leaving the Mursi village, our drive through Mago National Park offered awesome views of the mountains and the valley below.
Delicious lunch in Jinka after our crazy morning with the Mursi. Yummm!!!
We also visited an Ari village. It was a breeze after the aggression we experienced earlier. No one followed us around or made us feel uncomfortable. We simply walked around, enjoyed feeling present there.
And I made a new friend for a few minutes:
On our fourth day, we went to a town called Dimeka, famous for its market.
On the road to Dimeka:
In Dimeka, walking to the market:
It was really neat to be on the path "to the market" along with hundreds of other people including villagers from three different tribes. Everyone was walking on the same path, with the same destination.
Dimeka market:
Beautiful lady who walked beside me with a smile:
Many crafts for sale:
Here I am selecting a bracelet with lots of help and attention!
It was really nice to wander around the market in the morning before it got too hot. We saw groups of men negotiating the prices of livestock. We saw women sitting in the shade of a tree with their items before them, hoping for a good trade or fair price. It was neat to see all the different tribes interacting.We spent a couple nights at a campsite in a tiny town called Turmi. Turmi is one of those places where every bit of shade is precious. We got a nice spot under a big mango tree.
Ryan taking a nap:
From our campsite in Turmi, we drove a few hours to the southwestern tip of Ethiopia, where the Dassenech people live. You can see Kenya to the south and Sudan to the west! To reach the Dassenech village, we crossed the Omo river in a traditional boat.
The Dassenech people were so lovely! They have been adversely affected by tourism as have other tribes in the area, but these people were so kind and funny. They could laugh about the absurdity of the whole thing, and they were a pleasure to be around. The kids were especially wonderful.
One of the coolest things about the Dassenech people is that they are as eco-friendly as humans can possibly be. They make everything from recycled materials. You can see the kids in the picture above have their head decorations made from bottle caps. Their homes were distinct from the typical mud and straw homes we'd seen in the area. They made their homes from whatever materials they could find, all recycled stuff. The strongest home was the one with the most good junk on it.
They did have these cute little mud homes, raised on stilts, in which they stored their sorghum:
The Dassenech people were so interesting, and I think Ryan and I enjoyed our visit to this village more than to any other village for a couple reasons. First of all, the people were not aggressive or negative or demanding. They laughed with us. We had fun together. Also, our local guide in the village gave us tons of interesting information about what it means to be Dassenech and he answered every single question we asked. I did not inhibit myself. I asked him everything--about female circumcision, marriage rituals, education, ambitions of youth, etc.More shots of the lovely Dassenech people:
We were very lucky that our second night in Turmi, a traditional and rare ceremony was going to take place in a Hamer village nearby. We'd read about the "Jumping of the Bulls" ceremony in our guidebook, but didn't know for sure if we'd be able to witness this unique coming-of-age ritual. It just so happened that the final Jumping of the Bulls ceremony of the year was happening while we were in Turmi.
The Jumping of the Bulls is a day-long celebration marking the passage from boyhood to manhood that can only happen once a boy's family has amassed enough wealth (measured in cattle). So, it is not determined by age, but by accumulated heads of cattle.
The ceremony lasts many hours, and relatives and friends from villages dozens of kilometers away travel for days in order to attend the special day.
It begins with all the female relatives of the boy who is coming of age dancing in a circle. Prior to their arrival at the ceremony site, the women put on all their beads and finest decorative items, including coating their hair with butter and a red dye. They danced and sang, moving in a circle, and the bells on their legs loudly as they moved.
After singing and dancing for a while, the female relatives then approached the appointed male "whipper" and begged to be whipped. In this ceremony, the women related to the boy coming of age prove their love for and loyalty to him by sustaining whippings. They play a kind of game with the whipper. He pretends like he's going to walk away without whipping them, and so the girls dance around him, tease him, and beg for a whipping.
After several whippings, the women walked away with bloody backs. They showed no pain. In contrast, they seemed elated to have proven their love by bearing the beatings.
If you think that we were able to watch this scene of repeated aggression while withholding judgment and emotional reaction--you are very wrong. I could see it in no other way but abuse. Yes, the women wanted it. It was their choice. It is something considered honorable in their culture. Yes, I understand all that. But what I saw before me was men beating women, and it was very, very difficult to see that.Standing back, in disgust:
It was as difficult to watch the behavior of the tourists as it was to watch the locals. Because this ceremony is so rare and special, all tourists for miles around drove to Turmi to attend. There were hundreds of tourists there (almost entirely middle-aged Europeans), and they were the epitome of the "terrible tourist." These people were awful! They seemed to think the ceremony was a show for their sake. They routinely entered the space where a part of the ceremony was happening and jammed their cameras into the faces of the participants. They observed no line between the ceremony and themselves. Their was even a shouting match between the Italians and the French because they were in each others' photographs, "ruining" the shots. I was repulsed by this arrogance and ashamed to be considered one of them by locals. When the whipping was going on, most of the tourists acted like they were watching a movie. Some of them smiled (even laughed!) and stepped in closer to the action. I was in disbelief. Not only was a horrific scene happening before me, but there was an enormous group of white folk loving the "entertainment" and in their love for it, they were approving of it, encouraging it.
Tourists everywhere:
Back to the ceremony. After the women were all whipped to their satisfaction, they took a break before another round of dancing and singing:
Meanwhile, some men began painting the faces of the whippers. The whipping, indeed, was not done. There were many hours left in the ceremony. Watching the face painting was like heaven after observing the whippings. I loved how delicate and graceful this was.
Ryan, however, had had enough. We'd already been at the site for a long time, and it was very hot. So, Ryan found some shade and went away from the craziness for a little nap:
After a few hours, everyone began moving. We all walked through the bush for about 20 minutes from the initial site to the center of the Hamer village.
Upon arrival, there was a coffee ceremony. Followed by more dancing and singing. Then more whipping. It was totally insane. Ryan and I decided to enjoy the shade beneath this neat manmade canopy.
We sat next to these really awesome old dudes who were in the middle of some serious debate. These guys were so kind. They kept on trying to talk to us in their local tongue, and offering us things. It was interesting how they didn't seem very concerned with all the rituals happening outside the canopy. They were content discussing their own matters.
After a couple hours in the village, there was another 20-minute bush walk. At this point, we'd been at the ceremony for over four hours. We were ready for the big bull-jumping moment.The final walk to the bull-jumping site felt like a pilgrimage. All the women sang as they walked. Our local guide told us that they were singing songs of good luck, wishing luck to the boy who was going to become a man.
When we finally arrived at the site, the women danced and sang in a circle until the bulls appeared:
Everyone watched eagerly for the moment we'd been waiting for all day!
The elders arranged the bulls in a row--this is the path the star of the ceremony was going to run across. His task: to run across the backs of the bulls, running across a total of at least four times. If he were to fall, the elders would help him up, but it would be a source of serious embarrassment.
Lining up the bulls:
And then it finally happened! He jumped very, very high up on to the top of the first bull and ran across the row of bulls. Then he jumped off the back of the last bull.
Then he jumped back up and ran across again. He ran across a total of six times! It all happened so fast, and it was over before we knew it.
At the very end, everyone yelled and sang and clapped and there was a vibe of absolute, extreme joy in the air. The highlight of it all was the smile on the new man's face. He looked so, so happy, and extremely relieved. Ryan and I talked about this later and we both felt the same way: that seeing his smile made the entire experience more than worth it. Here was someone who had officially come of age, and now eligible to find a wife, and he was so proud of his achievement. It was amazing to see that in his face.
We had another day in the Omo Valley and we visited one more tribe before returning to Arba Minch. We planned on parting with our driver in Arba Minch because we had planned to stay in the south for another week, heading a bit east to go to the Bale Mountains. However, the final night of our Omo trip, a huge discovery was made. We'd been robbed. Yep! 3,500 birr stolen from our daypacks (about $150). That was the cash we were counting on to get us through another week in the south (there are no ATMs in the south), and now the cash was gone.
The worst part of the whole thing (aside from losing cash and having to scratch our plan of going to the Bale Mountains) is that we were 99.9% convinced that it was our freaking driver who stole our cash. The driver we'd just spent six whole days with! The man we'd foolishly come to semi-trust. We very stupidly left our daypacks in the car on the last day of the trip, when we went to visit the final village. That's when we presume he snatched our cash. He very kindly left us our passports, ipods, and kindles.
Needless to say, our plans had to change at the last minute. We had to leave the south and return to Addis to get cash and rework our itinerary. This ended up being a surprisingly good thing. After a week in the middle of nowhere, Ryan and I were more than ready for a city--even Addis. Also, I was supposed to have a phone interview for a potential job in two days, and making that phone call happen was far more likely to be successful in Addis.
So, after a week in Ethiopia, everything we thought was going to happen, and everything we thought we were going to feel or want---all that was irrelevant. We'd just experienced a week of constant begging and demanding, and then we got robbed. It was not a very warm welcome to the country.
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