“If you give a man a fish, he eats for a day... If you teach a man to fish, he eats for a lifetime.”
This Chinese proverb is commonly used in our culture today. The Ethiopian corollary replaces fishing with 'baking a loaf of bread', a version that seems natural for a landlocked countryside sewn in wheat and barley, I suppose. Regardless of its origins, finding ways to “teach” rather than to simply “give” has been challenging me since we arrived in Ethiopia a week ago.
We woke early on Friday morning to make the three-hour drive across 100km of winding dirt roads from Gondar to Debark, a town of over 50,000 people that serves as the gateway to the Simien Mountains (for those keeping score on my spelling, all Amharic words are offered phonetically, and I have seen both ‘Simian’ and ‘Simien’ in various presentations, as well as ‘Gondar’ and ‘Gonder’). The Ethiopian government not only requires a permit to enter the park, but to hire an armed scout as well. On the advice of our ‘Lonely Planet’ guidebook and previous trekkers, we opted to hire a mountain guide, a cook, and a mule to carry most of the provisions. All told, there were five locals indulging our endeavor to explore this spectacular national park and UNESCO world heritage site over a period of four days and three nights... a luxury that, at first, seemed reminiscent of colonials from a previous era, and made us feel a little uncomfortable.
Next to the road at the trailhead, there was a small group of children from the nearby village who were selling hand-made crafts. Their marketing skills were well-honed to “ferangies”, the word for foreigners in Amharic, and we were introduced to a theme of charming salesmanship and outright begging that would weave through the entire trip. Although we were not interested in buying anything, I asked Getenet Akalu, our veteran guide of over 30 years, if it was okay to offer the children a small fee to take their picture, a suggestion from our guidebook. His answer was kind and gentle, but emphatically ‘no’.
Getenet led Heidi and I down the trail with Fente, our scout, walking close behind; an old, bolt-action rifle slung casually over his shoulder. The three-hour hike rambled and twisted along the rim of a 1000m drop opening onto a beautiful, yawning expanse that reminded us of the Grand Canyon. We snapped countless pictures, including an impromptu shoot with a troop of “Geladas”, endemic baboons to the Simien highlands seemingly designed by the Ministry of Tourism for anthropomorphic cuteness... the ‘Geico Gecco’ has nothing on these guys!
That evening we were treated to the first culinary delights of our cook, Abi, at a camp called ‘Sankaber’ near 3200m. A warm, hearty vegetable soup was followed by a platter of traditional Ethiopian vegetable dishes and an excellent Italian penne. Our new friends from Spain, Rosa and Daniel, had also hired a guide and cook and had intimated a similar discomfort with the decadence of it all. But we were all consoled somewhat when we saw how the camp cooks formed a harmonious common kitchen and seemed to take honest joy in their craft. Plus, the food was as good, if not better, than anything we had eaten in a restaurant!
Getenet ate with us, as he would every meal, sharing stories and answering my endlessly curious questions about the language and the region with grace. He is a humble man with deep inner strength and transparent sincerity. A father of seven children of his own, and four orphans whose parents have died of AIDS, Getenet has dedicated himself to sending every one of them through school past the secondary level, and has succeeded thus far in doing so. If that wasn’t enough, he also runs a kindergarten in Debark, and I almost never saw him miss a chance to talk to a child along the trail, investing even the smallest moments to educate the next generation of his beloved country. His optimism about Ethiopia was contagious, and he helped us to see that we as tourists were in fact participating in its promise by introducing a relatively new and expanding revenue stream that touches many people’s lives.
On the second day we hiked up to a camp at 3600m just above a village called Gich (pronounced “geech”). Getenet led us through over 20km of what is best described as scraped earth; terraced fields of recently harvested barley and wheat claiming every arable inch of the mountain landscape, and untouched by a serious rain since September. The dust was actually choking at times.
We stopped for lunch at a river crossing in the audience of another small group of children who were herding a flock of sheep through the valley. After we politely refused their begging requests for food and money, one of them started saying, “Photo? Photo?” to us in earnest. I snapped a few pictures and gathered them around to show them the LCD screen which was received with excitement and giggles. But when we went to leave, their disappointment was weightier than previous encounters with begging children, and Getenet explained that they had thought we’d agreed to pay them before we took the picture, and therefore felt cheated.
Perplexed, I opened the conversation again about what was the right thing to do in this situation. He explained in his calm and wise way that while it is important to teach them not to expect money for the common kinsmanship of taking a photo, it is also not fair to take a photo if being paid is what they expect. Feeling like Luke Skywalker training with Yoda in the Dagobah System now, I continued to press him for clarity. This is when I learned that the Ethiopian version of the saying is to “teach a man to bake a loaf”. To say Getenet lives by this notion is an understatement. It is more than a belief to him... it is who he is.
By the time we reached Gich, a mud-hut village of some 300 households more than 30km from the closest road and 3km from the only water source, I was ready to try a new approach. When an adorable child approached us carrying a lamb in his arms, I motioned a request to take a picture. He replied promptly in excitement, “One bihr?” (roughly $0.06). I replied sadly, “No, thank you.” And we continued our walk through the dust to our camp ground.
