I was about to crawl into bed around 10:00 p.m. I was fully packed and organized and overloaded. Suddenly Tadale saw me about to sneak into my room.

“Douglas! Are you fine?” he bellowed and shook my hand. The momentum carried him into my room, the last place I wanted him on the eve of my departure for Gondar. The inevitable happened when he saw my packed bags: he wanted to help me carry them when the time came. I appreciated the offers of help that I got from them all the time, but their help was usually more hindrance than help and always came close to damaging the bike.

“What time you go?” he wanted to know.

I gave a vague reply. “8:00, 9:00 maybe 10:00.”

He wasn’t satisfied with this and pressed harder.

“What time plane?”

Plane?

“No plane. Bicycle.” And I indicated the bike.

Tadale was dumfounded. He couldn’t believe it. To Gondar by bicycle?

“No, no,” he said. “Impossible. You go plane, bus. Yes?”

“No,” I told him. “I’m going by bicycle,” and I showed him how all the bags attached to the bike.

By this time what I was dreading all along occured and my room filled with people, learning for the first time apparently of my plans to ride my bicycle through the mountains of Northern Ethiopia.

I was dumfounded in my turn and impressed once again with the absolute folly of believing you are communicating across a language plus culture barrier. I’d lived with this family for two weeks. I arrived by bicycle. We had talked (I thought) endlessly about my planned bicycle trip. We had spread maps over tables and traced possible routes and discussed ways of safeguarding my bicycle while I went hiking into the Simien Mountains. Hadn’t we? It seemed not. Though if we hadn’t I couldn’t imagine what they thought we had talked about.

The chorus of warnings began.

“Shifta! Shifta!” said Tegust as she demonstrated how the bandits would chop my neck and steal my bicycle.

“Farmers bad men,” said Tadale. “They think you rich man. They poor. Take, take, take!” and he pantomined swift hands robbing me blind.

“Hyena!” squealed Sahay. “They eat you.” And she also acted out the event, this time monstrous jaws gobbling me up.

There was near hysteria in the air by this point. They were trying to save my life. Tadale was practically on his knees pleading with me to change my plans and take a bus or plane.

Zebachew was the only one not panicking and the only one who seemed to have (or at least pretended to have) a glimmer of what I was doing and why. For my part I just wanted the conversation over so I could go to bed. It certainly wasn’t the first time I’d heard about the shiftas, the farmers and the hyenas.

When they realized I was perfectly serious they became sombre and gravely shook my hand as if they would never see or hear from me again.

Zebachew then took command and told me when was the best time to leave. I tried firmly to tell him that I would leave when I wanted to. (The famous Ethiopian hospitality tended too often to make you a prisoner.) But Zebachew paid no attention to me. He felt that 11:00 or 12:00 was the best time to leave. That was Ethiopian time and translated into 5:00 or 6:00 a.m. ferenji time. I had no intention of leaving that early, but Zebachew wasn’t hearing a word I said.

They all finally left with Tadale giving a dismissive little flip with the back of his hand. He was washing his hands of the matter. I hadn’t taken his advice and he was offended.

Sure enough at 5:30 a.m. Zebachew came into the hallway shouting “Douglas! Douglas!” He pulled on my door hard, but I had locked it anticipating just such an assault.

“You are not going?”

Still in bed I shouted back, “Not yet” and thankfully he left without pursuing the matter.

All the dire warnings had not been without their effect, however. My dreams were full of panicky moments as my bicycle was stolen again and again. I tried in my dreams to lock it securely, but I never did and it disappeared over and over throughout the night. It was getting to the point that when the shifta finally did rob me of my bicycle it was going to be a relief just to get it over with.

Tags: bike, Ethiopia Bike Trip, Simien Mountains, Suddenly Tadale