Gone But Not Left- A Revolutionary Village in Northern Ethiopia

We arrive in the town of Bahir Dar one afternoon after a 12 hour bus ride from Addis Ababa. Because of its location on a lake, Bahir Dar feels like a beach town. The wide avenues are lined with palm trees, attractive restaurants, and hotels. We see people biking the mostly flat streets in the sun. This feels very different from the aggressive, urban Addis Ababa.

When we get to the hotel that we are looking for, we find that is has been shut down for weeks. How could that be? We had just read a review for it on lonelyplanet.com that was written 2 days ago! The people hanging around the abandoned hotel tell us that things change quickly and the hotel probably couldn’t pay some government tax. Of course, one of the people is a young man who wants to take us to his hotel instead. We refuse his offer and sit on the steps of the closed hotel to look in our guidebook. We find the names of a few other hotels and set out looking for them.

After looking at 5 unacceptable places (2 claim to be hotels but are really only restaurants), we sit on some steps feeling homeless, hot, and exhausted. We are approached by another young man offering to show us his hotel. We turn him down and get ready to go to the next hotel on our list.

When we arrive, we see the same young man.

You walked all around to come to my hotel anyway!, he says.

We laugh and we agree to let him show us some places. He finds us a beautiful room with a view of the lake right in the city center that is within our price range.

The place also has wifi so I set about sending emails to my friends who I am missing more and more everyday. Because internet connections are usually shoddy, I type emails to friends in word documents so that when I have internet the emails are queued up and ready to go. By the time I send emails, I’ve usually been working on them for days.

Our helper’s name is Aleymeyhu. After he finds us a hotel, he offers us a spot on a boat tour of the monasteries of Bahir Dar, which are beautiful ancient structures situated in the “jungles” of the islets surrounding the city. Because these monasteries are on islands, you need a ferry to get to them and the rides are only offered to groups. It looks like we have to join a group but we have to negotiate a better price. After we turn down his offer he returns to our room hours later offering a better deal. After a half an hour of negotiating, we sign up. The boat leaves in the morning.

The boat ride is peaceful and I enjoy seeing pelicans on the water and fisherman in the traditional bamboo canoes. The monasteries are interesting, but I find myself more drawn to the small dirt paths of the islets than to visiting the monasteries. Each island has an air of mystery created by the jungle canopies. I am captivated by the vegetation (including wild coffee) and the serenity of each place. A rustle in the trees makes us look up and we see a monkey jump a branch.

The boat ride to the monasteries

A monkey catches our attention

Wild coffee

After a while, Kristin, another young woman in our group, and I strike up a conversation. She is African American but has spent most of her life abroad, and now lives in Addis Ababa. We talk about the relationship of African Americans to Africa, books, and lots more. I enjoy her company and at the end of the day we make plans to have dinner together at night. I am grateful to enjoy her company after so many weeks of not bonding with any women.

The following day, we take a journey to Tisa Bai to see the Blue Nile Falls. It is the bumpiest ride of my life (45 minutes on a dirt road in a 3 wheeled tuc tuc), but I am in awe of the life that I see around me. Everywhere I look along the road seems to be a photograph—people in bright colors carrying loads on their heads, leading cattle, laughing, and yelling things at us along the way. I imagine stopping the tuc tuc to take pictures, but I feel like an intruder in this world. I am grateful to just pass through to witness the sights. The next day we leave Bahir Dar to go to what we expect will be a major highlight of our time in Ethiopia, Awra Amba.

A month before we left NYC, Mat came across a documentary about Awra Amba, a village in Ethiopia of 400 people that is somewhat of an anomaly. Everywhere else in Ethiopia, men and women have very strict gender roles. There are jobs that are considered to be for men and those for women. In Awra Amba, the person who is best suited for the job does the job, regardless of gender. So some men are cooks, which you find nowhere else in the country. The proceeds of their industry, weaving, are shared evenly among the villagers. There is no begging, no poverty, all children attend school (and many go on to university), and old people are taken care of without having to work or beg. There is also no church or mosque in the village, though they are not atheists and the villagers are free to worship outside of the village.

Mat contacted the filmmakers for the contact information of the village so that we could visit. He also found out that they were looking for a place to screen the documentary in NYC. We ended up hosting the screening at Gratitude Café in Brooklyn and it was a big success.

Now we are here in Ethiopia and every time we mention Awra Amba to locals we meet, they are very happy and excited that we will visit. We can tell that the village is very respected.

We take a 2 hour bus ride to Awra Amba and we are let out on a road that is a 2km walk to the village. A child shadows us along the way. This happens very frequently in Ethiopia. Children follow you around hoping to be given money or candy to get lost. Finally, I turn and ask the girl her name. I ask if she is from Awra Amba. She says yes, but I know she is lying. “If you were from Awra Amba,” I say gently, “you would not be asking for money.” I’m not sure if she understands me, but I think I see a hint of shame in her face. Soon she stops following us.

The longer we are in Africa, the more I see the harm of fostering a culture of dependency. Everywhere we go, we meet intelligent, capable people. If children make money begging on the streets, there is no incentive for them to go to school and a cycle of dependency is perpetuated. So I am excited to visit Awra Amba where begging is not permitted, to see first-hand the ingenuity and wealth of a group of African people who have put their noses to the ground to create better lives for themselves. The people are humble, industrious, and self-reliant.

We take our things to the visitors’ quarters and are given a tour of the small village, where we learn the principles and history of the group. We meet Deresa, the man who is called “the angel of visitors,” as he is responsible for hospitality. Deresa is a sweet man with a warm smile, who laughs through almost all of his sentences. He wears an apron that was woven in the village. He takes our dinner order (our usual baiyenetu) and shows us our room. All of the buildings in Awra Amba are cement with tin roofs. Our room is painted yellow and has 2 small windows.

Deresa, “The angel of visitors,” posing in an Awra Amba made scarf and apron

Getting settled into our room in the visitor’s quarters

On our first night, we join the children of the village in a volleyball game. The children are so good that I soon decide to enjoy the game from the sidelines. Mat plays a good game and makes friends. I sit on the grass, imagining what they are saying, and watch the sunset. Because of the language barrier, talking to the villagers is next to impossible. Only a few speak English and those that speak English tend to have greater responsibility so they are quite busy.

The village is on about 50 acres of land and there is a tree in the center. Fields of cattle and beautiful mountain views surround the homes, cafeteria, school, museum, library, store, visitor’s center, and administrative building. I am happy to learn that the children participate in art programs that are conducted by volunteers who wish to donate their talents. There is very little money to pay for art programs. I contemplate doing theater with the children, but I don’t see a way because of the annoying language barrier. When we saw the documentary, I was concerned that art did not seem to be present in the lives of the people. Now I understand why. While they are prosperous and growing, every cent must be watched and art programs seem tertiary.

Our days here are very restful. We spend most of our time learning Amharic letters and words from some of the children and sitting under the welcome tree. We also play cards with another man who is visiting, reminding us of our many nights of card playing with Wes in Egypt.

Soon it is time to go. We leave the village with Gebahayu, the man who was our main contact before we came. He is an accountant and manages programs for the village. We discuss the agricultural goals of the village, my questions about art programming, and the recent trips the founder, Zumrat, has been invited on to discuss the ideals of the village.

When we say goodbye on the road, I feel our time has come too soon. Awra Amba has left an indelible mark on my heart already. The more time we spend in Africa, the more I realize how revolutionary this small village is. Though we have left, it has not left me. What happens when a group of people think outside the box, does something out of the ordinary, and uses humble ingenuity to re-imagine life? Awra Amba!