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
Taxis and Minibusses as public transport
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
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 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.
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.
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
Piazza and Abraham in the cafe
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
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
