Articles tagged with: bike
034 – Gomando
“Father, father, where are you go?”
Five minutes into the new day and I already had my first entourage of children. They didn’t call me “ferenji”, however. Not even “you you.” It seems I’d been promoted. I was now “father.” “Father, father, where are you go?” cried the children.
All in all I thought it a great improvement. The ‘father’ denoted a certain respect and the ‘where …
033 – Muketuri
The Land
The next morning the manager and the two young men watched with mute disappointment as one by one I carried my bags out into the street and attached them to my bike. Their eyes followed each one with a “give me” appeal that for once went unvoiced.
It was a bright and cold morning and Sululta’s main street was already filled with farmers tightly wrapped …
032 – Addis Abeba to Sululta
Traveller as Hunter-Gatherer
I took it slow when I finally dragged myself out of bed. I had no definite destination for that day. My goal was simply to break the inertia that had started to grip me while waiting for the rainy season to end. Even if I only made it to the far side of Addis and slept in a new hotel it would be …
031 – “Hyena! They eat you!”
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 …
026 – The Swarm Gang
I met Allen the day I had my wallet stolen.
I’d ridden my bike to the Piazza to get some pictures developed and on the way back I followed a road that curved high above Addis. Below me was the massive complex of the new Sheraton Hotel and on impulse I turned down a steeply winding access road that would bring me past the front gates. …
025 – “You Like Fucking Priest”
I woke up early again to the banging-crashing-radio blaring-shouting-floor sweeping waking up sounds of the hotel and family. Of all the sounds it is the sweeping that I’ll associate with this place. The sweeping went on eternal, harsh straw against old wood. Endless. It never seemed to move, but stayed in one place till I imagined they would grind a hole right through the floor.
It …
023 – That First Exuberant Profanity
My third attempt at cycling in Addis was as difficult as the first. I hadn’t gone more than a half kilometre from the Tiru Gondar when a boy ran out into the street in front of me. He waited till I was right on top of him, took careful aim and hit me on the chest with a sticky smelly banana peel. I hit the …
017 – Something Incomprehensible
I took another long ride around Addis the next morning. I retraced the route Sisay and I took to the Lion Park and then kept on going. Occasionally I’d turn off onto little side streets, more paths than streets, and arrow a little deeper into Addis. On one of these paths, I was doubly overwhelmed. First was the smell of human shit. I was right …