Time for a Phoenix to Arise from the Ashes

As we arrive in Addis and get to the Lion’s Den we are greeted by hordes of very friendly policemen who are sitting around the gate in their sandals enjoying tea ceremonies and cursorily frisking us. The AID’s tourists are in town and evident in their well padded prosperity, suits and conference badges, increasing the cost of hotels several fold as the Government is sponsoring some self congratulory conference. The conference venue is also well guarded and people are not even allowed to walk along the pavement outside. In a last ditch attempt to keept he car we a;- phone a friend (number given to us of assistant to Minister of Health who tells us to sod off and b;- try to get a tourist visa with a predictably negative response, so off to the Kenyan Embassy who after protesting great business give us a visa, but this largely takes up the day with two visits etc. As ever we get no further than the Greek Club who welcome us, despite bulging with Aids tourists with open arms. So next morning we navigate our way south out of Addis and set off for the rift valley lakes, though see little water or lake and Moyale the Ethiopian border, the road being tolerable but bumpy and the journey much longer than expected. There are various road blocks which we are waived through except for the last which we try to pass and stopped with waving of torches, guns etc. and stroppy customs officers. Karen is convinced that they are imposters despite the presence of uniforms and starts getting arsy, hopefully just through fatigue, we have been driving for aprox 12 hours but not a good idea. I creep, to the anger of Karen and finally we are on our way and arrive at what passes for a hotel (artful rush huts and beer and spaghetti) and have a tolerable if anxious night as this is malaria country before setting off on an early start next day. Our early start is like so much else kyboshed by finding a nail in the tyre and that a vital bit of jack is missing (thanks Greg) but improvision is all. This gives us a dilemma as I have not mended a puncture yet and getting it repaired will delay the coming journey more, so hopefully we press on which could have been a big mistake. We manage to bounce through the Ethiopian border without spotting it as it is a sleepy guard in a chair and having had our passports stamped in Kenya have to go back. The Ethiopian immigration man has a familiar red shirt, the computer is down and it is turn to be arsy, mine to Karen’s ire to be even more creepy and Karen to become rather shrilly protesting. There is the prospect of waiting there until power and internet connection is resumed but finally he relents and we are on our way. The carnet is stamped with little ceremony, we get Kenyan pass and set off.
In order to protect more sensitive readers I have been under instruction not to reveal that Northern Kenya is an area of badlands with appalling roads, tribal wars bandits and Somalis in abundance though we see none of these. We have been advised to take two armed policemaen with us and that these have been arranged but as we are late they are no longer in evidence – sod it we will do it on our own and off we set through bone and suspension crunching pot holes with complaining and increasingly rattling car. Bumps, dust and heat are indescribable, the passenger window in danger of falling out and strange noises coming from the left side suspension, not good, equally hardly a person in sight which may be good or bad. Villages are marked by a guard with a rusty stinger to stop you passing and the usual crowds of children, the first with shouts of Faranj which makes us wonder where we are but this fades. Third village in the duty soldier asks us to take police reservist and ailing 16 year old daughter (stomach troubles of some sort) to Issiolla at the end of the road to which we agree so he climbs in with 2 litres of goats milk for the journey, anorexic looking daughter and a loaded but unused looking Kalashnikov. This is slightly concerning as his cataracts are so bad I do not think he would know where to point this rifle should the need arise and with all the real and terrible bumps I pray (not sure to whom) that the safety catch is on and with it cradled between his knees it is not going to pump bullets into the roof, and the protesting rattely Rhino rack. Apparently the road was closed two days previously and it is frankly terrible now with deep ruts, corrugations, pot holes that you could sink into and not emerge and sandy detours that others have taken and greatly daring we take but worry as we know about getting lost. But this is desert with rain which means grass and scrub so you can keep an eye on the road. We break the journey about a third the way down in a half arse town called Marsebit but surprisingly it contains an ATM a petrol station and a man that mends tyres and having watched him I could now do it myself. Our misty eyed copper with Kalashnikov recommends an unfinished hotel so we spend the night as the only guests in a buiding site but are cooked a tolerable meal by torch light and eat in the subdued lighting of a two stroke generator which is turned off the moment our lights are. The bed is minute with a large satin heart on the coverlet that does not inspire any ardour but tolerable sleep given our fatigue. We are into our third 12+ hour drive. Next morning our guard turns up in civvies without gun having established from his police pals that the road ahead is safe and he does not want to lug his weapon around Issiolla. The road is even worse than before and in a moment of lost concentration I run it into the side after which there is a very strange noise and the side I did not run it into is lower than the side I did. It is making a very strange rubbing noise as you move along – all is not wel lwith the suspension but we are at least 300Km from help so very slowly we press on with a large bubble coming from Karen’s head with ‘It is all your fault written on it and increasing acidity. The suspension, in my defence has been making strange noises for a bit but I suspect straws and camel’s backs. One of the quarter lights has also fallen out and is rattling against the paint work, the various plastic fittings having shattered but sticky tape is a wonderful thing. Despite the little red light coming on the whine of the pump from the reserve to the main tank is no longer there. Over this time white ‘South African constructed (under licence) charge past with their suspension going nineteen to the dozen suggesting that soft European land cruisers, even when converted with tough suspension, extra tanks, expensive roof racks, mega tyres etc. are just not up to it. If you are going to do something like this buy in South Africa and distrust pale British conversions. Engine going fine except acceleration crap as turbocharger seems buggered and when you are trying to overtake lorries with trailers this can be tedious. Life improves with Chinese (what else) road initially smoother dirt and then ashfelt – we have done it. Well no disaster strikes in a grid lock traffic jam in outer Nairobi in the dark when trying to help Karen reverse a few feet with shouting Kenyans, suddenly the previously locked back door is suddenly opened and credit cards, passports documents and cameras disappear with fleet of foot car mugger – f*ck – and great distress from Karen and still with road works no idea where we are. Finally get directions from bunch of women of the night and guard so after 14 hours in broken car and now limited resource we get here, but have on the advice of the hotel to go to the local nick to report the loss. The policeman keeps his pens in an old C.S gas cylinder, marked ‘C.S irritant gas for riot control’ and we were interrupted by a ‘murder report’ which does put things in perspective – but we have our crime number.
So we are now ensconced in our guarded tourist hotel with fat cat safari tourists sans money, passports cards and sadly cameras with an uncertain future, will we get back to Ethiopia on a temporary passport. I would show you some stunning photographs but fear that they are being erased from the camera before it hits some market or other. Time for a phoenix to arise from the ashes….perhaps.