I’d taken all the photographs assuming that I’d give them to the family, but now that it came down to it I didn’t know how to go about distributing them. There were pictures of two or three people together so to whom should I give it? There were pictures of adults with children. Should the picture be given to the adult or the mother of the child? And wouldn’t their mothers want the pictures of Zebachew, Sisay and Tadele? I was hoping someone would help me, but there didn’t seem to be a central authority figure. In the end I dealt with Zebachew and presented him with the whole album and said it was a gift for the entire family. They could keep it as an album or divide them up as they wished.

It seemed at first the pictures were going to stay together, which pleased me, but then Sisay grabbed the album, rapidly pulled out the pictures of himself, pocketed them and left. The others quickly followed suit. No one was interested in pictures of other people and there was a marked preference for the pictures that gave them a lighter skin tone. A few were taken in the shade and resulted in quite dark skin and these caused much embarrassment and were quickly taken and hidden or destroyed. Those taken in the full light of day and somewhat over-exposed were much prized. They were also uninterested in the pictures of them at their normal work. They barely glanced at them, much preferring the stiff posed portraits.

I had a missed a few of the family members and now they asked to have their picture taken and the rest came back for seconds. I was more than willing. Dereje, I knew, would have advised against this generosity on my part. He said that in Ethiopia generosity creates enemies. You give on Monday. You give on Tuesday. And on Wednesday when you don’t give you create resentment and get an enemy.

I took his point. There were 5 pictures of Zebachew on that first roll which I gave him. Two of them were extremely good. But then he wanted more and more and then more. Tadele acted the same. He asked for a picture and explained he wanted a head shot. It had to be in black and white and he needed 4 of them. He wanted them for some ID cards. Of course I was torn between wanting to be nice and not wanting to be taken advantage of.

Each time I started to feel sure of my ground in this context something happened that threw me. One morning, early, Zebachew burst in on me and asked if I wanted to learn how to play billiardo. (I won the game oddly enough though Zebachew tried to raise the point total so that he could win.) Later on when I paid for a meal he insisted on charging me 5 birr for the time we’d played billiardo. Another time I ordered a Coke. Zebachew said he’d join me, had a Coke and then charged me for both. Tadele said he wanted to show me an interesting place called Sodore. We could go on the weekend he said. I thought this was nice of him, but then I found out that Sodore was a hot springs resort complete with an Olympic-sized swimming pool. Tadele’s idea was that we go there for a couple days, at my expense of course.

I tried not to take offense at all these instances where it seemed like they were trying to take advantage of me. I knew from much experience that in these cross-cultural situations things are rarely as they seem. It’s best to suspend all your normal “common sense” impulses. Common sense is of little help when you fly around the world and put yourself in a place where nothing is common anymore.

It was obvious for example that hospitality, sharing, and giving was a large part of the Ethiopian culture. As I’ve already mentioned it was customary to invite everyone around to share in your meal. To sit hunched over a single portion plate at your table, alone, reading a book, was for them the height of bizarre behaviour. Food was constantly being shared and you were expected to accept what was offered. I couldn’t sit at a table without a constant parade of titbits being offered. Someone with a handful of peanuts would insist on pouring some in my hand. Someone else with a bread roll would hold it out to me. Before I knew better I tried to deflect some of these offers, but it was fighting a losing war. Refusing was not only impolite it also took ten times as long as you tried to duck a torrent of, “Please, please, please, please eat, why don’t you eat, please.” The offer was a symbol I learned and it was perfectly okay to accept symbolically by taking the tiniest piece of bread or just one or two peanuts.

It was easy to see, therefore, that it would only be natural for them to look for the same generosity in me. A weekend at a luxury resort in the guise of showing me the sights was admittedly a bit much, but I was probably missing some key piece of information there. The reason for the 5 birr charge for a game that Zebachew initiated could probably be found in the token system. Each person was responsible for dispensing key items such as beer, Coke, and the equipment for billiardo. The billiardo controller would only give out the balls upon receipt of a coloured token purchased from the cashier. In this case Zebachew probably had to surrender a token in order to get the balls. Someone had to pay and better me than him. The system didn’t allow him to offer me free time at the billiardo table even if he’d wanted to. And Tadele, who was in charge of draft beer, would only give out a glass of draft if Zebachew or Alem gave him a token. They in turn had to pay for the tokens up front out of their own personal float. If they then didn’t collect from the customer it would end up coming out of their own pocket.

The same system was used in all the bars in Addis and was very effective in keeping everyone accountable. It was confusing to the newcomer, however. I was continually messing up their system because I’d have a meal, a drink and several coffees over a period of 3 hours and then look for a bill or try to pay the cashier directly not realizing that each item was accounted separately and was handled by different people.

The system also led to reduced levels of service, which tourists often remarked on without understanding the reason behind it. I read one article where a foreigner was complaining about this. She had bought a cup of coffee, but the cup broke as the waitress put it down and the coffee spilled. The waitress cleaned it up and brought a second cup. But the tourist was charged for both cups. The reason was that the waitress couldn’t get a second cup of coffee without handing over another token. Somebody had to pay for the spilled cup and the waitress concluded the tourist could afford it better than her. The stereotypically rude tourist could send back a meal if they wanted, but they’d still have to pay for it.

This reminded me of Dervla Murphy’s experiences while hiking through Ethiopia as recounted in her book “In Ethiopia With A Mule.” Each village felt responsible for her and insisted on supplying her with an escort to the next village. Upon safe delivery they demanded a letter saying they had completed their duties, a “chit,” and then the next village did the same. No one dared risk being blamed for anything. The fear of blame was so great that Dervla was practically a prisoner and found it difficult to get any freedom of movement.

Zebachew displayed the same kind of protectiveness on a number of occasions. Any new person I was seen talking to was suspect. Even Dereje and Abiy, respectable teachers, had to pass inspection before Zebachew would let me go with them and even then he clucked over me like a mother hen.

Tags: Dervla Murphy, Ethiopia, Ethiopia Bike Trip, hot springs, ID