From: Berhane Habtemariam (Berhane.Habtemariam@gmx.de)
Date: Sat Sep 05 2009 - 07:57:45 EDT
ETHIOPIA - TheStar.com | AfricaMideast | Going tribal in Ethiopia Going
tribal in Ethiopia
Foreigners often learn paying a visit to Africa's poor means you must pay up
to feel welcome
Sep 05, 2009 04:30 AM
Robin Esrock
Special to the Star
http://www.thestar.com/Travel/AfricaMideast/article/690064
OMO VALLEY, ETHIOPIA-It's the traveller's Catch-22. We want to explore and
interact with exotic people from exotic lands, but the fact that we're
interacting changes the dynamics of the encounter. This unfortunate reality
is illustrated in southern Ethiopia, one of the most culturally diverse
regions on the planet.
Fifty-three tribes inhabit the area, most have unique traditions that range
from incredible art to self-inflicted mutilation. Tour operators offer the
chance to meet several of the tribes found in or around the southern Omo
Valley, and an increasing number of tourists brave horrific roads and long
drives in order to go tribal. But the experience comes with challenges.
The root of the problem is popularly known as the "Ferengi (Aramaic for
foreigner) Frenzy," the mob that surrounds tourists in the region wherever
they seem to go. Whether it is the result of prolific non-government
organizations (NGOs), aid workers or irresponsible tourists, ferengis are
heavily associated, by rural people in the south, with free handouts. While
it is tradition in Ethiopia to refuse gifts and be generous with what you
have, anyone booking a "tribal" tour will find these traditions hard to come
by. Instead, ferengis (also the name of an alien race from the Star Trek
series) are often mobbed for money, pens, empty water bottles, anything.
Especially, and sadly, by children with few clothes.
Our Land Cruiser stopped off the side of the highway to visit a band of
Alaba, a Muslim tribe living in dark mud huts with thatch coverings.
Immediately, children with their hands out surrounded me as our guide
negotiated a price with the leader of the family. An argument ensued, a
price was settled, the atmosphere became as welcoming as a doctor's waiting
room. A band of several dozen people stood looking through me, admiring my
cheap watch, pulling my shirt with the request of "one birr." In Ethiopia,
it is customary to pay anyone you take a picture of one or two birr for
their image; one birr is equivalent to 10 cents Canadian. It's fair and
well-intentioned, but many locals now see it as a quick and easy way to make
money.
Like many travellers, I always ask people permission to take their picture,
with the aim of capturing a moment, an authentic image, the picture to speak
a thousand words about life in that country. An Italian tourist expressed
the problem when he told me, "I don't mind paying for a photo, but I'm
finding it hard to find people being natural. They want to pose for me, so I
can pay them."
After entering a dark, smoky hut and asking some casual questions, it was
time to leave. Most tourists spend about 15 minutes with the tribe, longer
than most exhibits in a zoo, but not by much. As uncomfortable as I felt, it
was about to get much worse.
The Mursi Tribe, numbering between 6,000 and 10,000, are nomads in one of
the country's most remote regions. Famous for the clay lip plates worn as a
sign of beauty by their women, ritual scarification and stick fighting, the
Mursi are embroiled in an unfortunate dispute with the Africa Parks Board,
which is creating national parks in the tribe's roaming area.
As one of the most extreme tribes to be found anywhere on the continent, the
Mursi have been visited by tourists for decades. Foreigners are fascinated
by a "primitive" culture as alien to the West as whales are to poodles. It's
a three-day drive to the town of Jinko, and takes more than three hours to
drive just 27 kilometres on a bulldozed dirt road into the Mago National
Park.
My guide warned that visiting the tribe in the afternoon was a bad idea,
because of rampant alcohol abuse and the unpredictability of violence within
the group. The Mursi are also aggressive in charging for photos: one birr
for an adult, one for a child, and three for a mother and child. They only
accept crisp, new one-birr notes.
Deep in the bush, the four-by-four pulled up to a small village of a dozen
thatch huts. Immediately, we were mobbed by a tribe both frightening,
fascinating and thrillingly exotic. With their faces painted, the women made
it impossible not to stare at them and their lips that extended inches below
their chins.
"Take picture, take picture, take picture!" I was told, then pushed, poked
and prodded by half-naked men, women and children, several of whom held
semi-automatic rifles that were used in inter-tribe warfare. As more
four-by-fours of tourists arrived, the tribe swept themselves into a frenzy,
the tourists took photos while their subjects violently grabbed cash notes.
More and more people did their best to get into the photo.
It was sickening, yet the photographs are undeniably incredible. "We want
people to stay longer, some don't even get out of the car. They come, take
picture and leave," a Mursi man told me. But how can tourists be expected to
stay longer when they're mobbed with such feverish aggression? When it was
nothing less than a human zoo, everyone was exploited.
Perhaps the solution is organized structure, such as what I found with the
Konzo. Tourists pay the government-run central office a fee to visit the
tribe in the southern Omo Valley and are assigned a local guide.
While kids initially surrounded me with familiar pleas for money, the guide
kept them at check, explaining fascinating traditions and customs. I was
told that half the tourist fee is distributed to the tribe, and, although it
might not be enough, it benefits all parties.
It is, of course, heartbreaking to turn down children, but aid organizations
and charities say giving money, clothes or coveted empty water bottles in
Ethiopia only breeds a culture of begging.
A nutritionist for a local NGO told me Ethiopia has moved on from the famine
of the 1980s. Kids just want things as a sign of prestige. Better to donate
to groups that know local traditions and how best to help.
Robin Esrock is a Vancouver-based travel writer and TV host
http://media.thestar.topscms.com/images/b9/6a/92d7f5b74d29922558e99dd6fb1b.j
peg
ROBIN ESROCK PHOTO
A photo op of this boy, or any other member of most Ethiopian tribes,
involves a cash transaction that can make a traveller feel sad and empty.
.
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