A Journey Through The Semyen
by J. A. Medley
The High Semyen of Ethiopia lie near the equator; a serrated tableland at about 12,000 ft. with its main peak, Ras Dashan, being the highest mountain in Ethiopia. To the east and north there are escarpments that fall to the gorge of the Takazze—¦ many miles of remote and exciting precipices. This river is the boundary between the provinces of Gondar and Tigre which must still be among the most inaccessible regions of the whole country. The western edge of the plateau on the other hand is easily approached from the main road between Axum and Gondar, and especially from the town of Debarek.
To traverse the Semyen eastwards from Dabarek is to descend the escarpment, cross the Takazze, and trek through western Tigre to Makalle. This is a fascinating journey, the first part of which is largely tourism; the second part contains a considerable ingredient of exploration. To cover the whole is to recapture some of the experiences that evidently made Dervla Murphy’s journeys In Ethiopia with a mule so rewarding.
In recent years George Spenceley has made a practice of travelling through remote Ethiopia, including a notable expedition to Lalibella in the rainy season of 1973. A Y.R.C. party to do the High Semyen traverse seemed an excellent idea; in the event the only Y.R.C. man who could join George was myself, but we were accompanied by Eric Arnison, the ex-President of the Fell and Rock who has recently added to his achievements in the Alps some notable ascents of the mountains of Central Africa.
We arrived in Addis early on 7th April, 1974 and spent the rest of the day exploring the city. A capital founded some eighty years ago as the “new flower”—”addis ababa”— of Ethiopia, I found it surprisingly like a large new town in Australia; the same pleasantly warm, dry, sunny weather, the styles of public building, and especially the eucalyptus trees. It was Palm Sunday, and the people in the streets looked relaxed, happy and for the most part prosperous. Yet there were also plenty of police to remind us of the political instability. There were beggars too; not as obtrusive as elsewhere in the country, but enough to emphasise that the pleasant features of the city were likely to be a-typical of Ethiopia as a whole. In the bars, the prices, the customers, the telly, seemed perfectly familiar, but outside, after nightfall, the streets were empty. Apparently one could drive but it was not safe to walk. New friends told us that the risk of mugging was a recent feature in Addis, and we got a lift. My personal inclination to attribute these deteriorating standards to the influence of the telly rather than to political factors was tempered by the discovery that the chaps who drove us on one of the evening’s cross-town journeys were Eritreans of the Liberation Front; they were very ready with most conversational leads but not with references to bridge-blowing in the north.
The next day we flew to Gondar in an Ethiopian Airlines DC 3, over the hills and valleys through which flows the Blue Nile. Prevailing impressions were of the clusters of settlements on the hilltops with the inevitable threshing circles and of the extreme physical discomfort of the air pockets. (The local conditions are such that afternoon schedule flights were discontinued, and the only DC 3 ever lost was, it seems, broken by air turbulence). There was a welcome respite flying over Lake Tana. Gondar airport buildings are delightful, rather like a disused country railway station converted into an exotic tea-garden, and there was a special welcome for George from the official in charge and VIP conveyance into town.
Gondar, the ancient capital where a series of seventeenth-century rulers each left behind his own castle, was in a ferment. There had just been a head-on clash between the police and Gondar’s principal judicial officer, and the latter had been killed under spectacularly violent circumstances. Retrospectively, this incident became a landmark in the revolution that was about to break. In our single day in Gondar we saw something of the incoherent revolt that followed; youths on strike from school were milling around in the streets with no leadership and no plan. One noticed particularly that youngsters with a few words of English, whose immediate intuitive reaction was to beg, entirely forgot to do so in an eagerness for conversation. This happened in other places too but never to the same extent as in Gondar.
The long ride to Debarek in the bus which was packed with country people wearing the shama and many carrying firearms, took us another step towards the traditional Ethiopia. But we were still tourists; Europeans had travelled on the bus before but not often. At Debarek, ensconced in the town’s main hotel (at 20p per night) we confronted the problem of organising mules and supplies for the Semyen traverse. To hue mules for a return trip to Sankober or Geech would have presented no problem, for this would have been an ordinary tourist trip to an area which is being opened up as a National Park. The traverse into Tigre is a different matter; nobody was willing to go so far. At this point we had a stroke of luck for which the students’ strike was responsible. We were sought out by Yerga Teshome, fifteen years old, who spoke English well and who had during the previous year accompanied an Englishman, Rupert Gray, from Debarek to Lalibella. In fact we had heard of him from an English Education Officer in Gondar and had discussed the possibility of his coming with us as an interpreter. In the event he did, and in addition to interpreting behaved most admirably as an executive negotiator. With his help, and with considerable consumption of meeting-time coffee and tea with various middlemen managers and principals of the Debarek market, we finally departed with three riding mules, a pack mule and a pack horse, aiming to reach in four days the village of Beyada on the far side of Ras Dashan. Thence the animals, with two muleteers, would return to Debarek, leaving us to make what arrangements we could for the onward journey across the Takazze into Tigre.
The first two days were a very pleasant and comfortable trek with overnight stops at two camping sites of great natural beauty that are gradually being transformed into permanent resorts of the Semyen National Park. The first was at Sankober, astride a broad ridge which is really a western spur of the plateau. First we went over rolling country meeting countless parties of farming people taking animals or skins to market at Debarek. Presently this changed to narrow mule trails across steep slopes, and we gained some initial acclimatisation at about 10,000 ft. and confidence in the sure-footedness of the mules.
Early the second morning we skirted the edge of the deep ravine known as the Abyss and crossed the plateau eastwards to Chenek. This was a grazing tableland with settlements such as Geech. Villages are at the tops of precipices and mountaineering is in reverse. I had imagined that the whole terrain might resemble the Grand Canyon in Arizona, and indeed there are similar features, but the overall impression given by the Semyen escarpments is less splendid, partly because of the colour of the rock, and partly because of the more undulating and less broken character of many of the lower foothills. Also we may not have seen the escarpments to best advantage. We had to by-pass Geech and the northern tip so as to keep to our time-table. With hindsight, we should have allowed at least one more day.
We followed the shallow depression formed by the Balayos river where there was a profusion of the tall and spectacular mountain lobelia, and arrived at Chenek on the precipice edge. From here the northern skyline, with the curious flat-topped amba of Howada and the deeply cleft ridges to its right, was most impressive. But the most memorable thing about Chenek was its wild-life and, in particular, the sightings we got of the Walia Ibex, of which perhaps only about a hundred survive. Taking the expedition as a whole, Eric must have been satisfied with the many rare creatures he caught sight of, and especially the magnificent Lammergeyer vulture.
Next day (12th April) we climbed to the Buahit ridge and thence dropped some 5,000 ft. down a long grassy valley, past blue gums and candelabra trees, across a branch of the Maysa-ha river. We continued eastwards up the opposite valley to Arnbika, a group of three or four tukuls, a climb of some 600 feet through some spectacularly broken basalt dykes. At Am-bika we had company, a German expedition to Ras Dashan, with many attendants and very elaborate arrangements. They had their own field kitchen and did not, like us, eat Ethiopian meals in the tukuls. The following day we made a particularly early start. Vegetation became progressively more sparse, and presently we were among bare and shattered peaks with stone shoots reminiscent of the Cuillin ridges, though on a less impressive scale. The summits of Ras Dashan form a group of three of these peaks. We left our animals and equipment to be taken on by the muleteers and climbed the central, highest peak. The going was not difficult, but slow because of the altitude, for we were still not fully acclimatised. The highest point of the Ethiopian Empire is a satisfactory sharp and pointed top and we had some splendid clear views.
Soon the descent was south-eastwards by gentle slopes and before long we had caught up with our caravan. But the rest of the day seemed a very long trek. Bayada was reached quite late, a well-populated green area in a particularly arid part of the plateau, with the land falling away to the south. We were met by a large turnout of spectators and a highly suspicious policeman in an Italian greatcoat. Bayada is the seat of the regional Governor, and we were led to his compound. He greeted us with great dignity and hospitality, a tall and imposing figure in one of the few really white shamas we ever saw. We were allowed to put up our tent in the compound and bidden to a meal in the Governor’s house.
Since Addis we had progressively de-Europeanised our eating habits, first in camp cooking and adoption of talla or kor-ifi as our main drink, then (as in Ambika) by eating by the fire in the tukuls. By now we were well used to the staple diet of injera and wat, the very highly seasoned pancake made from teff. But now (it being Lent) we were offered it in enormous amounts as virtually the sole item. The not-so-hot wat alletcha would have been more to our taste but of course we could not bring this to the attention of our host, so here we were, in his large and magnificently tidy tukul, with the prestige carpet and more utilitarian fire-arms on the mud walls, the Governor sitting on his elaborate baked earth, skin-covered bed urging us to continue to eat. Eventually young Yerga must have said directly what was anyway obvious and the wat was whisked away. Was he offended, we wondered, for we were utterly dependent on this man’s good will if we were to continue our journey? Soon afterwards neither the Governor nor his wife appeared to be in the room. Would he come back? What about the Katikala, a locally distilled spirit that was to have rounded off the entertainment? A minor official led us home, explaining that it would be in order to thank the Governor in the morning.
Early next morning (Easter Sunday), our paid-off muleteers and the animals left for Debarek, and we now had to strike a satisfactory bargain with the Governor and his licensee. We did not get away until late the following Tuesday. Because of language difficulties we were never quite sure of the terms or the reason for Yerga’s anxieties. There were evidently problems and we tended to be suspicious. Subsequently we realised that there had been a genuine shortage of suitable mules, that there had been no profiteering whatsoever and that Yerga himself had advanced a loan to the expedition on the security of property belonging to one of his relatives. The loan, in turn, was needed as an insurance against the possible loss of the mules. When Makalle was reached everybody was repaid in full without any question or charge to the expedition.
The enforced stay at Bayada was nevertheless rewarding; we got to know the local Sub-Governor and his family (who on Easter Monday gave us the most wonderful breakfast imaginable of freshly killed and cooked meat, the Administrative Secretary, the school teacher, all the children who spoke any English—never before had there been any English-speaking visitors—and, less happily, the numerous sick, who were importunate for medicine. We saw at first hand something of the ordinary life in relation to justice, education, industry, leisure and health. We had wonderful hospitality in addition to the object lesson in business ethics already referred to.
From Bayada we struck north-east, hurrying to get to Lowry with as little night travel as possible. There was now a different aspect to our movement; our appearance would be unfamiliar and our reception less certain. We were accompanied by a capable young man called Mahomet—at the insistence of his father, who owned the mules—together with two assistants. Also the Governor provided a compulsory armed escort and there was a trader with four hides for Makalle market who travelled under the security our party provided. We were never intercepted by shifta; whether we met any or not is uncertain. It is quite possible that the succession of village communities through which we were to pass during the next few days really do regard strangers as legitimate prey; certainly our companions said that the hospitality that we actually received would have been something very different had we not been accompanied by friends. One also got the impression that our party generated considerable fear in individuals whom we met on the way. The evening journey to Lowry, for instance, involved considerable detour and enquiry at isolated dwellings, for we were looking for a particular tukul where we would expect to find a local chief. People whom we approached seemed too frightened to be friendly.
It was midnight when we got to Lowry, and tired as we were a meal was produced for us, and it was extremely difficult to refuse. Our host was a most kindly local Governor— here we also met for the first time Shamba Kiti, who was to become a great friend during the ensuing days. He was part-policeman, part-herdsman, from a small community down the escarpment towards the Takazze, and the next day he took us there.
We started early; we saw that we were at last on the edge of the escarpment and for the first hour or two we enjoyed some of the most magnificent scenery of the whole expedition. Soon we started our descent. The mule trail traversed backwards and forwards over ridges and foothills and down steep slopes, and we were thankful that the weather had remained dry. We reached Kiti’s village at last and camped there, still several hours short of the Takazze. Earlier the temperature was distinctly cool at night and we had needed the tent to keep warm; now we felt that we would be stifled unless we slept in the open.
There was a great deal of curiosity about us; we were surrounded by wide-eyed children who had never seen Europeans before, as well as by their parents. Again with the adults one sensed a tinge of apprehension but Kiti saw to it that we were well looked after.
I found the next day the most gruelling of the whole journey. An early start to avoid the heat was not possible as; we had first to be entertained at another tukul and extra time and a detour were required. We were also held up by the breaking of one of the harness straps, which resulted in George getting a superficial but unpleasant cut on the head. After several hours of traversing foothills we at length arrived in the valley bottom which presently ran out to the Takazze. There was water here and lush vegetation. The temperature must have been well over 100° F. and it seemed a long time before we reached the river and forded it, wide and fast-flowing on a shingle bed, but nowhere (at this season) more than two feet deep. Two hours’ slow climb in the evening light up the eastern slopes brought us to a settlement, differing considerably from any that we had seen in Gondar province. This was Messaza, quite large and built almost entirely of round, single-storey stone houses, with almost flat roofs. Our arrival brought everybody out, but there was no one clearly in charge and for some time it was uncertain whether we were welcome. We were extremely tired, hungry and thirsty. Eventually we were shown a shed, open at one side, where we slept. We dined off honey, the only food that was available, and very expensive. We later learned that because of the absence of the “little rains,” conditions were fairly desperate. There was a mother who was clearly going to lose her baby because of lack of milk, and we provided her with some of our powdered milk. But beyond this temporary help there was little we could do.
We moved on eastwards, and the composition of our party changed again. A “man with a gun” from Kiti’s village now returned, and we were accompanied instead by the Chief from Messaza. For the next two days there were two prominent landmarks—the flat-topped mass of No-Ai-Amba and its only slightly less spectacular neighbour—Mascal. Beyond No-Ai-Amba was a small town named after the mountain, where we arrived as night was falling. It had been a long day through the semi-desert and we were glad to take a quick meal from our own reserve food stocks and lie down in our sleeping bags in the large compound of the police station. Mahomet, Kiti and their henchmen were on all occasions magnificent. Unlike Yerga they spoke no English—none at all, but their introductions and dispositions could not have been more effective.
The next day brought definite indications that we were moving out of the wilderness. This was limestone country and we climbed a very green irrigated valley traversed by fast-running water channels. There was a church hewn out of the rock in the right-hand valley wall, and we passed by with reluctance. Thereafter we were on the open plain, greener than in previous days, on mixed limestone and sedimentary rocks. A well-kept church in the midst of nowhere was a reminder of how central is the influence of Coptic Christianity in Ethiopian rural life. This was reinforced by our meetings with priests. We avoided the heavily pressed hospitality of one large company, for according to Mahomet, we must. We did, however, take talla and coffee at the hands of a charming and imposing man who lived in a large and well-built stone house and treated us with every kindness.
As we moved eastwards building standards continued to improve, and the next village, Guiget, was really well constructed. Many of the stone-built houses were two-storey, with roofs of slate or corrugated iron. There were shops. Once again a local policeman befriended us, and he had unusual difficulty in keeping the local youngsters at bay, whose attention and begging was more aggressive than anything we had previously encountered. We got to know a medical dresser who had visited the U.K. He had many interesting things to tell us, and gratefully received a gift of most of George’s remaining drugs.
One more day’s march, one more bivouac, and we were within three hours of Makalle. We went in on the morning of 23rd April, along with the many parties of people trudging to market. Here in the grounds of the Ambra Castle Hotel, where George had stayed before, we took leave of our Ethiopian friends and with some sense of shame and self consciousness reverted to European living. We had been very kindly welcomed by the Indian lady who runs this admirable hotel, but after a bath, a shave and a change of clothes, I was taken for a newly-arrived stranger and had to be re-introduced.
We had some days remaining to be spent in Makalle and Eritrea; they were intensely interesting, but mainly in relation to social and political matters in advance of the approaching revolution. It is preferable to conclude with a backward glance towards the Semyen and the magnificent people we met there.