Nairobi to Addis

And so we have found a glorious internet café with a connection that (nearly) never fails. We can now share with you all the story of our wonderful 6-day journey from Nairobi to Addis Ababa, a journey we will never forget, or recover from.

It all started on a Tuesday morning. We awoke at Nairobi backpackers with the idea of getting a taxi into town and then a bus on to Nanyuki. To our delight though, Ken (the crazy owner) told us that two other people had hired a private taxi to take them all the way to Nanyuki, non-stop! We bargained a fantastic deal with them, and soon found ourselves on the way to the equator. This was not after some sad goodbyes at the backpackers though. That lovely man in the background is Ken, the rest are fantastic Canadians. They rock.

The taxi ride was uneventful, much to our pleasure. We just sat, listened to iPods and watched the Kenyan countryside pass us by. The bus driver though soon had other plans and cranked his stereo to a world record breaking level, rendering our mp3 players somewhat useless. He especially enjoyed turning that volume knob all the way to 11 when the “Jambo, Jambo Bwana!” song hit the airwaves. For those who have traveled in Tanzania or Kenya, I’m sure you will agree that this could constitute a mild version of hell. Besides that though, completely uneventful.

Reaching the equator was quite something. As we crossed over the line, the three of us just looked at each other, we all knew that this was a major milestone and the adventures of the Northern Hemisphere would soon begin. We couldn’t wait!

Jumping for joy at the equator.

Once out of the taxi, we immediately ventured down towards the line that cuts the globe in two. The area around the great sign had an eerie silence about it – as if it had been expecting the arrival of the three brave South Africans. We were soon greeted by Chris who, while putting on his glorious satin red tie, told us all there is to know about the equator. He then answered the question that we had been biting our tongues to ask, “Does water actually spin the other way in the Northern Hemisphere?” He walked us 20m south of the sign, and water spun anti-clockwise. We then proceeded to the actual equator, where it did not spin whatsoever. And then finally 20m north of the sign, where it spun clockwise. We were in awe of this magical man! The rest of Nanyuki was spent drinking a beer south, north and on the equator, and NOT getting sunburnt. I didn’t even put on suncream, I didn’t wear a hat and it was midday! I’m lank proud of that hey, the others didn’t believe a ginger could do it.

Matt was given a quick carving lesson in Nanyuki. We were impressed.

A quick matatu (minibus) ride from Nanyuki and we arrived at Isiolo. A glorified bus-stop more than much else. But we found a decent hotel, Matty gave me a haircut and we found plenty people to help us organize a ride on a truck to Marsabit. Reason being, no taxis venture past Isiolo. The road is considered too dangerous and any vehicle heading past this town needs at least two armed guards. The really fearless ones don’t travel in convoy, we eventually caught one of these.

Haircut. Bitchin'.

But the next morning, the one on which we were promised a wake-up call to catch the convoy when it arrived, we awoke to find a whole load of broken promises. And so we played some wicked hacky-sack, drank wicked juice and found a ride on a wicked hardcore Landcruiser. While Pd and I were waiting in the back of the Boeing 767 (that’s what the owner referred to it as) we saw this flash of a blonde mop and Matty appeared, as if from no-where. He had been sitting outside and, without warning, was treated to the strident cock of a soldiers G3 assualt rifle. That soldier sat down in the front seat and another joined us in the back. He too held the rifle in the air and cocked it loud, for all to see and hear. This should be fun.

The "Boeing".

The assualt rifle.

The three of us in the back of the "Boeing".

The ride was long, dusty, uncomfortable and definitely not as exciting as the presence of assault rifles led us to believe. But it did take us to Marsabit, which was one step closer to Ethiopia. Marsabit itself was also quite small and mainly used as a stop-over to Moyale. I know these names mean nothing, but the few of you not too lazy can look them up on a map and get a better idea of the route. I am lazy though, and so you will not find a map here.

That evening I spend sound asleep in our room, while Pd and Matty were treated to tea at the house of a local camel tour operator named Dube. Once they returned they told me all about the great trips that he takes tourists on, and I was super keen. But then found out that instead of riding the camel for 7 days, you walk next to it, through the desert. My enthusiasm soon died.

Again we were promised only the best of things in Marsabit, but this time chose to believe none of them. This proved wise. Nothing left the town during the night or following morning, each hour we checked, but we did organize ourselves a ride for the afternoon. And so, after the mechanic completely refitted a new right rear spring, we were on our way. A convoy of 5 or so goods trucks storming through the desert. It was unreal!

The truck on top of which we sat through the desert.

We were first treated to a magnificent sunset and then to a night’s sky so bright and clear it still shocks me. At one point a shooting star made its way across the sky, burning bright orange and then red, the whole event lasting around 4 seconds. We honestly could not believe what we were doing.

After a much needed night’s sleep in the middle of the desert, we were taken to the Kenyan side of Moyale, a border town with the actual border running right down the middle. We followed the advice of past travelers and went straight into Ethiopia, where we were in for the surprise of our lives.

The language called Amharic, which they speak here, is completely illegible. We couldn’t understand a word spoken, nor read any of the signs. But we did find a hotel! Well, sort of…it was more like a bar and disco area with a few rooms scattered around the edges. I think it was a brothel. We weren’t deterred though, and so put our bags down, ordered a beer and Pd went to the toilet. Well, he tried to at least. He just returned, shaking his head and sat down, shaken to the core. He led us to what had surprised him so, and there before us was the toilet on the right and the shower on the left. Wait no, the toilet on the left and the shower on the right. Oh shit, I mean…okay, we couldn’t really tell the difference. The only real give-away was that the shower had a make-shift shower head on the roof. Besides that they were exactly the same – a hole in the ground, concrete floors angled towards the hole, and crap everywhere. I have never seen anything like it. And for those already accustomed to Swahili-toilets, this was nothing similar. At least with the latter there is a ceramic sculpture semi-resembling a toilet.

The rest of Moyale was just as dirty, helluva exciting though. At one point, while sitting on the side of the road, we were approach by the town-loon. We kept on shouting (translated), “NO, NO, NO!! THE PRIME MINISTER OF MALAWI IS UNDERNEATH THE GROUND!! NO!!” He would then point towards the sky and bow his head. Once he spotted Pd though, he quickly made his way toward the Dutchman and hugged his shins, kissing his knees quite provocatively. It was when his hand headed towards Pd’s groin that we quickly left.

A local called Danny took us to a bar to try some locally made Ouzo (75% rocket fuel) and on the way the crazy-man had tracked us down again. This time he was walking down the road urinating. It the middle of the afternoon. Urinating. This though didn’t stop him from chasing us down the street, still urinating. He urinated for about 3 and a half solid minutes. What a bladder man, what a wicked large bladder. Urinating. That’s a nice word.

From Moyale it was a 2-day bus ride to Addis Ababa. It was an emotional roller-coaster. At first we were stoked and the bus was comfortable. Then it changed, and not for the better. It became cramped, stuffy (Ethiopians believe it bad luck to have air enter the vehicle, hence no air-con and no open windows) and disgustingly long. As you can tell, I don’t really want to talk about it. I have asked Pd and Matt to both write this bit, but they have declined. The memories are just to painful to relive.

Police checkpoint during the hell bus ride.

At the halfway point where we would spend the night in another brothel, receiving the Ethiopian wake-up call (don’t ask, but it involves prozzies), a glimmer of hope flashed before us. We found some cheap beer and a tv playing the cricket. We then lost the cricket, the only source of joy in our lives at the time – besides the cheap beer of course.

But we are here! And Addis is wonderful. Super cheap – draughts are R1.50, meals R2.50 and Raybans R20. We love it.