AFTER NEARLY THREE hour’s driving, Zeno called a halt. ‘Okay, Abebe, pull over and stop at that gravel space just ahead.’
Minutes later, the second 4WD pulled up. They were glad to stretch their legs and have a break. Everyone gathered around Zeno. He suggested the students find seats on the rocks next to the vehicles. If they needed to relieve themselves then the bush behind them was appropriate.
They sat on rocks, their feet apart on the gravel for balance. Water bottles were passed round. Zeno placed himself in the middle of the group. He wore a necklace with a beautifully carved dark wooden cross which seemed out of place for a man who presented such an animist and radical view of his country. In this roadside setting, as in the lecture theatre, he was a natural one-man show. He quickly altered topics in a conversation as his stream of thought was diverted by the landscape, or by a student’s grimace or smile. Given the cross he was wearing, they were not surprised when he told them that it was impossible to avoid religion here. ‘Ethiopia,’ he said, ‘was originally an ancient kingdom with Christianity in its Coptic form as the official religion.’
In this isolated roadside stop, looking towards the light and shadow of the wooded valley below, they listened intently. Zeno didn’t expect they would be quiet for long. The blonde Australian woman would be sure to ask questions.
‘Ethiopian people, even remote, poor people, are very religious, but they also know how to enjoy themselves,’ he said. ‘Enjoyment can also be a religion, you’ll see.’
Carmen chewed her lip, and in her Lancashire accent, spoke up. ‘Tell us how religion can be enjoyed?’
He paused before replying. ‘I want to tell you that although I am not religious, I respect those who are, especially as their beliefs have often helped them to survive difficult lives. And their beliefs, particularly Ethiopia’s Coptic Christian beliefs, have existed here since earliest times, and at least since the tenth century.’
Carmen nodded but Louise knew she was an atheist and was still holding to her scepticism.
‘Although there are Muslim villages here, as in Afar, generally the villages of this region and, of course in the north in Amhara and Tigray, are places of passionate Christianity with many religious festivals and happy occasions. People believe that when there is suffering, as in the famines, eventually their God will relieve them and plentiful times will return. This attitude is at the core of their optimism.’
‘Were they still optimistic during the recent famine?’ asked Horst.
Zeno shrugged, eyes narrowing. ‘During the famine, of course not, but you’ll find proof on this trip that when the famine ended, the Ethiopian people quickly recovered their spirit. Pessimism is the real enemy; it can rot and destroy the fabric of village life.’
Louise felt her face flush with admiration for Zeno’s passion. She watched the way he gestured as if his whole body spoke about the famine and its aftermath.
Zeno talked about his long embrace of Ethiopia’s people, extolling one tribe, one family group, one small farm after another, alluding to different cultures, dress, language and history. The students listened intently.
‘You’ll no doubt face scenes that could be unpleasant. Poverty, by Western standards, is everywhere in Ethiopia, particularly out here. You will have to cope with seeing many unpleasant scenes. Ethiopia’s rural poor are very poor. Many people think they’re just backward, but these are outstanding people who make significant contributions to their community. Try and think like that. There is much to see and admire – village people will welcome you.’
‘Dr Wolde,’ Louise said, ‘it has taken you years to identify closely with the native people of Ethiopia, so what do you expect of us on this short visit?’
He looked at her warily. ‘My best advice is, spend time with these people, accept them as equals and note their traditions. Tradition is important for them. They have much to teach us. And their lives won’t change quickly, especially in isolated villages.’
Zeno explained how tribal elders, steeped in tradition, did not contemplate changes to their way of life. ‘But,’ he said, ‘some younger people are on the move, mostly to try and get work in the cities. Movement of people signals change, however minor. Ultimately they will judge what’s best for their community.’ Then he added, ‘Especially now the famine is almost over.’
The group remained sitting on the rocks, chatting among themselves, with a slight breeze rustling leaves. Zeno emphasised how they needed to live among village families, share with them and chronicle their lives. Louise thought about her Australian Aboriginal friend Mandy Watson and how through her dot paintings and Dreamtime stories she was able to recall the lives of her ancestors.
At this point, as the morning sun began to warm them, Zeno said they should continue their journey. They rose, stretched their legs and climbed back into the vehicles.
2: Aboriginal Influence
Mandy Watson
MEMORIES HAVE A place in one’s thinking. Louise’s time, when she was thirteen, with her Aboriginal friend Mandy Watson in South Australia’s town of Crystal Brook was no exception. Louise remembered the day she first saw Mandy at the town football oval one Saturday afternoon. She was a lively, dark-skinned girl about her own age with shiny brown eyes, who was wearing a bright-coloured dress and seemed to chat with everyone. Louise was intrigued. Mandy skipped along like an excited cockatoo. She was tough, fleeting, rarely in one place or with one friend for long.
Later Louise heard she was known as flippant and a school truant. Mandy didn’t share the conservative country town’s views about the separateness of Aboriginal Australians which, even in early 1970s, was still practised. Mandy’s spirited and often mischievous behaviour led many of her teachers to dislike her. In turn, she took little notice of their advice and direction. During the week when Louise first met Mandy, her brothers Geoff and Alex were staying at the family home at Stirling in the Adelaide Hills.
The sight of Mandy walking jauntily round the oval and the flash of her smile made Louise want to get to know the girl. So she left her grandfather’s car that was parked facing the peeling white oval railings, fastened her anorak tight and headed into the cold breeze. The girls smiled as they came face to face.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Louise.’
‘I like that. Mine’s Mandy. Where do you go to school?’
‘At Stirling, in the Adelaide Hills.’
‘Are you here on holiday then?’
‘Yes, we always come here for holidays.’ Gaining confidence, Louise asked, ‘Do you go to school in Crystal Brook?’
‘Nah, haven’t been to school for weeks. No one can make me go. It’s boring.’
‘What do you do when you don’t go to school?’
‘Hang about, meet boys, do some painting.’ She paused. ‘Most of all I look for wild animals and collect lizards and frogs. Collecting stuff’s good.’ Noticing Louise’s expression, she added, ‘But I don’t keep everything, not live things, I let them go again.’
Louise imagined meeting Mandy’s friends, walking and camping in the bush and patting the soft fur of a joey, or koala. Then with the quick smile which always lit up her face whenever something excited her, she said, ‘I like wild animals. Can you show me some?’
‘Sure – do you want to find some this afternoon? Now?’
‘Yes, if we can, but I’ll tell my granddad what I’m doing.’
‘Okay!’
The girls walked back to Louise’s grandfather’s station wagon. ‘This is Mandy,’ Louise said proudly to her grandfather, who was standing with his footy friends on the edge of the oval. ‘Is it okay if I go for a walk