Number 42 Ecuador 1996

Tracking the Incas

At the height of their power the Inca empire extended from northern Ecuador to central Chile. This huge area was linked by a system of well made roads, the longest of which extended over 5000 km from Quito to Talca south of Santiago de Chile. Since the Incas had not yet invented the wheel, the roads used stairs to climb up and down hillsides. In addition the Incas preferred to travel on the crest of the mountain ranges and not in the valleys when possible. Although today much of the roads is lost there are still some remnants which can be walked. The most famous is the one to Macchu Pichu which since a long time is overrun by tourists to such an extend that it is closed for a month each year to clean away all the rubbish. A far less travelled stretch is in the southern part of Ecuador not far from Alausi. A walk of 3 days leads to the Inca ruins of Ingapirca, the biggest and best preserved in Ecuador, but of course no match to the famous Macchu Pichu. 

The road up to the pass 

A truck brings us from Alausi to the little village of Achupallas. From there a hike of six hours takes us up along a creek into an increasingly empty Andean wilderness across a pass to the laguna las tres cruces at a height of almost 4000 m. Wheezing we fight our way up in the thin air. Since we have left the village we did not meet a human being. 

A big part of the road is on the crest

The lake is surrounded by complete silence until an Indian with a long machete arrives on a donkey and angrily shouts at us. We do not understand a word. After he has disappeared we set up our tent and begin preparing our dinner of pasta and tuna-tomato sauce. It is not yet dark when somebody appears at the other end of the lake, shouts something incomprehensible and throws something into the lake’s mirror-like surface. We are a bit worried and after it gets dark I remain sitting in front of the tent but there are no more visitors. It gets dark quite early so close to the equator and at this height it is cold at night. There is no way to spend the night in front of the tent and finally I retreat into my sleeping bag for a restless sleep. But there are no disturbances and we wake up in the morning without being hacked to pieces. 

Our tent at the Laguna las tres cruces

We follow the remains of the old Inca road which still forms a clear line along the valley. There are even some ruins of Inca bridges where the road had to cross the creek. From the top of the ridge some Llamas watch us, but otherwise we are left alone. We reach a cluster of ruins called Paredores in the map. 

The ruins of paredores

The ruins are supposedly dating back to the Incas, but they could also be much more recent. The masonry is crude and there are no typical Inca features. The main structure has three big and two small rooms. Scattered around are the foundations of several smaller buildings. The sun has come out and so this is an inviting place to stay. Nearby is another lake, Laguna Culebrillas, where we set up our camp. 

Llamas watch the hiker

When we wake up in the morning the mountain tops at the horizon are covered in snow. After paradores the Inca road widens to its full breadth of 7 meters. However, the area becomes more and more boggy and walking with the back-pack in the mud turns into a real nuisance. We regret that we did not bring walking sticks. It gets even worse after the area becomes more developed and the stony Inca road turns into a country road. A herd of cattle has been on this road before and the surface is a loose slimy brown mass. The mud sticks in a lump to the sole of the boots and there is no grip any more. With every step the feet slide sideways and with the back-pack it is difficult not to fall. It gets even worse after it starts drizzling. My mood is at its lowest point when we encounter the first human being in two days, an Indio on a mule. My reply to his hola is only a “carretera mal, gobierno mal.” I don’t know whether the poor guy on his mule knows what my problem is. 

The snow covered mountains at the horizon

The only other traveller in two days

Eventually we reach the ruins of Ingapirca. At 3160 m above sea level the buildings have some of the typical Inca features of close fitting masonry and the trapezoidal windows, which the Incas had to built since they did not know about arches. The museum is closed and we continue along the frustrating muddy track to the nearby village. I am glad that the torture on the muddy track is over. 

The ruins of Ingapirca

We find a truck which brings us to Cañar, a village on the main road pleasant enough to spend the night. The friendly owners of the residencial where we stay are also eager to prepare an especially tasty dinner for us. They come with a sack with something living in it. The content of the bag are two lovely, frightened guinea pigs, which they want to prepare for our dinner. We would never be able to eat these cute creatures, so I guess they get another day of life. Instead we get pollo, which must have been very skinny. I am glad that they did not show us the living chicken before they prepared it. At least there is no problem with the beer …. 

   

The begin of the expansion of the Inca empire traces back to 1438 starting from an area around Cuzco in Peru. At the time the Spanish arrived in 1532 they had conquered most of the Andean districts between Colombia and central Chile. However, their hold of the subdued tribes was rather loose. Local rulers would be offered gifts to accept the Inca supremacy. Most had no choice than to agree. Those who resisted were killed. Children of the local dignitaries would then be taken away to be educated by the Incas and sent back indoctrinated enough to take over rule according to the ideas of the Incas. 

      

The elaborate Inca masonry    

When the Spanish arrived at Guayaquil in what is now Ecuador, Francisco Pizarro had 170 men, 1 cannon and 27 horses. On the other hand the Incas neither had horses nor did they know about iron or steel. Their weapons were from hardwood and there victories were attained by an excess of manpower. The Inca Atahualpa had just won the civil war of succession against his brother Huascar and had 80.000 men at his disposal. It was his mistake that he met the Spanish with only a small group of followers. Atahualpa was imprisoned. To be set free, he accepted a ransom in an amount of gold sufficient to fill the room he was imprisoned in and double of that amount in silver. It took 4 month to collect almost 8 tons of gold. But instead of being set free the Spaniards publicly strangled Atahualpa in retaliation for the murder of his brother Huascar. There was some more Inca resistance but by 1572 their last stronghold was taken and their last leader Tupac Amaru executed. However, the Incas did not only have to fight the spanish enemy. With the Spaniards came the smallpox and the virus had taken a great toll among the non-resistant Indios. The efficient road system might have helped spreading the virus. 

Chapel of one of the villages on the way

The horrible betrayal and genocide committed by the Spanish on the Incas put the latter in the light of innocent victims who underwent a tragic fate. However, the Incas were a ruling caste whose brutality probably was in no way inferior to that of the Spanish. Another part of the Inca road network passed through the area of the charming northern argentine town of Salta. The biggest attraction of the museo archeologico de alta montaña at the main square in Salta are mummies buried by the Incas on Llullaillaco volcano, with 6715 m the third highest active volcano on earth. The Incas had the revolting practice of burying children alive on high mountain tops. 200 summits are known to have these sites, 50 of which are in the argentinian province of Salta. That happened in less than 100 years. The children were gifts from different parts of the Inca empire with the intention to increase the bondage between the rulers and their subjects. They were brought to the top of the mountain, drugged and buried alive. The mummies from the Llullaillaco volcano were a 6 and 15 year old girl and a 7 year old boy. The six year old girl is called “la niña del rayo” since the mummy had burns from a lightning that struck at a point in the 500 years it was lying there.

The plaza mayor of Salta. The museum is in the building on the right

But if you think this is history and our times are better the museum will provide proof of the contrary. They also have another mummy, called “la dea de montaña”. This mummy, originally discovered years ago on a summit near Cafayate in Argentina, was sold and disappeared for a long time. Eventually it resurfaced from the house of a private owner. Who would bring it into his sick mind to buy a mummy and keep her in his house? Maybe he had her next to himself in his bedroom?

Number 41 Ethiopia 2012

"Rightfull blood"

The Mausoleum of Menelik II

When I came to Ethiopia in the beginning of 2012 the prime Minister was Meles Zenawi of the EPRDF. He had been in power since the communist tyranny under Megistu‘s Derg had been overthrown in 1991 as a consequence of failing support from the increasingly disfunct Soviet Union. His rule had become more and more dictatorial. There had been a two years war with Eritrea from 1998 to 2000 which financially exhausted both countries, and subsequent parliamentary elections in 2005 and 2010 had been acknowledged to be fraudulous by independent observers. An increasing number of opponents to the leading party disappeared. Meles died in 2012 and was replaced by his deputy Hailemariam Desalegn, who as first ethiopian ruler resigned voluntarily in 2015. By then his party was the only one in the parliament. His resignation was followed by protests, which were crushed violently. State of emergency was declared between october 2016 and August 2017. 

In the streets of old Addis Ababa

This is the contemporary background of Francesca Melandris book „sangue giusto“ (the rightful blood). An ethiopian refugee with an identity card under the name of Attilaprofeti appears at the doorstep of the teacher Ilaria Profeti in Rome and claims to be the son of an ethiopian half-brother so far unknown to her. Her father, Signor Attila Profeti, 95 years old, had been in Ethiopia as part of the Italian occupation army in world war II. Up to that moment, Ilaria and her three other brothers had no idea what her now dementing father had been doing during WW II.

Taxis and Minibusses as public transport

It is the "real blood" that is missing for those who flee seventy years later from the African states devastated by civil wars and tyranny. In Ethiopia the son of Ilaria’s brother, the immigrant, had been a teacher, but as a dissident was threatened with imprisonment and torture. After his cousin was murdered, he fled first north through the desert into the nightmare of a Libyan camp, in an overcrowded boat to Italy, where after months of waiting his fate is decided in a few minutes. His asylum application is rejected. 

From the preparations for my trip to Ethiopia I had learned a lot about the twists of ethiopean history and the colonial past but I knew little about the current political situation. My diary gives an account of my day to day impressions and during my first wanderings around the streets of Addis Ababa I note that compared to other african capitals like Bamako or Dakar the town seemed to be cleaner and less chaotic. But there were lots of, sometimes severely handicapped beggars. In front of a church I see a saw next to a human bundle on a scrap of fabric, of which one mainly saw the bare, deformed back. Women with babies sit on blankets on which passers-by have thrown coins. Several days in a row I pass a begging woman in rags with several kids sitting in the gutter. They seem to sleep there. Some beggars drag along on one leg, but there are plenty of others who do not seem to have any physical problem. I am more or less left in peace. People seem to be friendly, smile or even say hello to the faranji, the unknown foreigner. 

I had to go to the Hilton Hotel to visit the office of ethiopian airlines. The huge hotel is surrounded by a pleasant garden with swimming pool, petanque field and tennis courts. Expats and rich Africans sit at tables covered with white linen. The interior of the compound is a different world which excludes the outside. But the computer system of ethiopian airlines is down and the shops where I look for a SIM card are closed. 

When I go back into the street a little boy called Abraham starts talking to me. He tells me his story. His father is dead, his sister of 27 has a little baby, whose father died from Malaria and he has come from a village 7 km outside of Addis Ababa to earn money to support his mother, who has to pay the rent of 700 Birr, about 30 Euro. He is 9 years old and goes to school because he wants to become an engineer. Somehow he must have learned some English.

Woman reading a book in the garden of the cathedrdal

Together we walk through ethiopian history. The Beta Maryam Mausoleum holds the tomb of Menelik II, Ethiopia’s most celebrated ruler, who stopped the first attempt of italian invasion when he defeated the italian army at the battle of Adwa in 1896 and drove them back to Eritrea. In his time Addis Ababa rose from a heap of dust to the capital of the nation. The statue of the lion of Judah on its column was erected at the occasion of the coronation of Haile Selassie in 1930 and is regarded as the symbol of the ethiopian monarchy. In 1935 it was kidnapped and set up next to the Vittorio Emmanuelle monument in Rome. A young Eritrean immigrant spotted the statue and started to pray in front of it during the celebration of the Italian empire in 1938. When armed police tried to stop him he drew a sword and attacked them before he was shot. In the 1960s the monument was returned.

The lion of Judah has returned to Addis Ababa

Outside the ethnographical museum is a set of spiralling stairs, one for each year of fascist reign in Italy. There are not so many steps, but this is the time when Attilo Profeti, the shadowy main character in Francesca Melandris book, becomes involved with Ethiopia. The ethnographical museum is the former palace of Haile Selassie, Ras Tafari, which he left after a coup in 1960, when he was on a trip to Brazil. His and the empresses bedroom and bathroom are unchanged. In the paintings on the walls the bad guys are clearly distinguished by having only one eye – including the Italians. The mirror has a bullet hole from the attack in 1960. In a cupboard is a collection of official presents the Ras Tafari got from other countries. The Russian gave the model of a tank. Down the road is the Derg monument. The Derg overthrew and killed Haile Selassie in 1974 and installed a regime of terror. Under their leader, Haile Mariam Mengistu, the monument was erected to celebrate their achievements. It is still crowned with a red star and hammer and sickle. 

The stairs symbolizing the reign of fascism in Italy still survives in Ethiopia

The monument of the Derg

The monument for the victims of the Derg

The Piazza is the colonial italian town centre. A lot of the beautiful buildings are completely dilapidated. My little boy warns me about pickpockets. I spot a nice looking, almost stylish cafe. The boy wants to order a cake. The girl attending us seems to know him and pinches his cheek. She convinces him to better take a Hamburger. I also buy him the cake and a triple decker guave/avocado/orange juice. 

Piazza and Abraham in the cafe 

After we have left the cafe Abraham increases his demands for money. Next to the 700 Birr for his mother’s rent he now also needs 100 Birr for a ball for his soccer team. We pass the Ras Hotel, one of the traditional hospitable establishments in town. I give him 50 Birr, say hello and disappear through the revolving doors. He wants to follow but the porter does not let him in. I feel like a real ass hole when I see him and his disappointed face waiting outside. The coffee and mineral water I order in the cafeteria of the hotel in the midst of sedate, beer-drinking black dignitaries and bribe recipients sets me back half of the amount I have given to the kid. The telephone card I buy in the hotel shop next door costs me 40 Birr including 15 Birr credit. 

Bahre and Ethiopias first car belonging to the emperor, of course

The next day my inseparable walking companion is a 22 year old student of radiology named Bahre who is halfway his 6 years of studies. With him I end up in the holy trinity church which was built under Haile Selassie and houses his and his wife’s tombs. Their chairs also wait there for their resurrection. A guide opens a heavy but simple padlock to let us in. While the tombs are at least protected by the padlock, there are no security measures in the museum nextdoor. It is full of liturgical artefacts and the crown of Ras Tafari, mostly of pure gold or silver. 

The cathedral ....

... and the tombs with their guard

The national museum not far away relates to another chapter of history, not only ethiopian, but of humanity. In a glass box they exhibit Lucy, 3.2 million years old and reconstructed from tiny bits of fossil found in the ethiopian mud. It is unbelievable that such pieces have been recognized as being a fossil and that the few bits were sufficient to reconstruct the size and shape of the old girl. Bahre brings me to a little juice bar, where we have another fantastic drink, and introduces me to the mini bus public transport of Addis Ababa. Unfortunately it is practically impossible for a foreigner to use it without the help of a local. The destinations are posted in Amharic writing. You would have to stay here for a long time to know where to go. 

Old man in the juice bar

Upon arrival of the Italians Haile Selassie went into exile to England. But the occupation only lasted for five years. Nevertheless it came with incredible hardship for the native population. On one occasion alone, after the attempted murder of the italian vice-king Graziani in 1937, 30000 Ethiopians were killed by the occupiers. In 1941 British troops ousted the Italians.

The monument for the victims of Yekatit 12

Again it is surprising how much of such a short and violent period has survived. In 2012 the only reasonably passable road leading south through the highlands was still the one built under italian supervision in the time of occupation. Many of the presentable buildings in the provincial capitals were built in the time. Pizza, Lasagne and Spaghetti are available everywhere in Ethiopia.

Old men at the churches  

But it seems to be one characteristic of modern ethiopian history that traces of the past are not eliminated. The Derg monument still stands in the center of Addis Ababa, even though the Derg were all sentenced to death (in absence, Mengistu got exile in Zimbabwe). The remainders of ethiopian imperial history seem to be celebrated and in the national museum the portraits of Mengistu and Haile Selassie hang on the wall not far from each other.

Ras Tafari's throne

Bathroom of the Ras

Portrait of Megistu

Attilo Profeti was one of the black shirts involved in the suppression of the ethiopian population during the italian occupation. But he also had an affair with a local ethiopian woman, who got pregnant. He knew about his son but his grandchild is not welcome any more in Italy. Francesca Melandri describes how the country is interested to make money in the former colony, but not in the fate of victims and their offspring. For 10 years the author has done research, travelled to Ethiopia to find the last witnesses of the time. But this not only is a novel with an historic background, but the book also gives a relentless and satirical account of italian post-war politics, where members of populist governments and their followers in industry try to fill their pockets on the expense of the population, who voted for them, or of the former colony. Slowly Ilaria Profeti not only discovers the role of her father in the colonial history of her country, but also in the corruption and mismanagement of post-war Italy. 

Begging women in old Addis Ababa

During my stay in Ethiopia I came back to Addis Ababa several times. Each time the diary becomes more negative. Finally I wrote: ”Why do I only now notice the ragged figures lying around the roadside? The smell of urine, exhaust fumes and dust hanging over the city? The streets full of people who don’t have anything to do for the day, and the next day, and the next week, and the next year, and their entire lives. The crowd on the sidewalks of Piazza, where suddenly a woman, a complete stranger is hugging me, probably because she wants to steal something. Suddenly all the children are pushy when they approach me with the shout "faranji - money", I roughly reject them, one of them barely escapes a slap in the face. Streets where only rusty scrap metal is sold as spare parts, loaded onto trucks by half-starved skeletons. The incompleteness of the town, where they built everywhere at the same time without finishing anything any time. The new buildings which seem to disintegrate as soon as they are finished. The few river beds where dusty vegetation is surrounded by a sluggishly flowing, stinking cloak full of rubbish.” 

Beggar in the street

Probably the drought in the two years before 2012 drove many from the countryside into the city. That and the subsequent political turmoil drove people into emigration like the boy suddenly turning up at Ilaria Profeti’s front door. It could have been the little boy who guided me around Addis Abeba. 

The donkey is still needed in Addis Ababa

But there are also positive aspects. The Chinese have made big investments, built a new railroad and have replaced the old italian built mountain road by a highway. And Bahre is well, got a job and just got married to a beautiful woman….

"In post-war Italy, the ex-colonialists were even more invisible than the ex-fascists" (Francesca Melandri"