ETHIOPIA: Blue Nile Falls

The Ethiopian government, apparently due to great demand for hydroelectric power built a dam on the Blue Nile River. Understandable. Everyone needs power. The routine power outages throughout the country indicate that they need even more power. But, why, oh why, in their infinite wisdom, did they place the dam directly upstream from the Blue Nile Falls.

I liked the falls. Liked it a lot. I had a great hike to the falls and then across the river, meeting with villagers along the way. It was one of the most enjoyable experiences I have had in Ethiopia. Many people told us to just expect a trickle due to the dam. But these were still genuine waterfalls. Nice. But as the guide told us, before the dam they were waterfalls to behold. The water rushing rapidly over the cliffs as to block all other sound, the forcefulness sending mist upwards and outwards to deter sight. I liked the falls but wish I could see them in their natural state. They are supposed to run strong at the end of September, which is the end of the rainy season.

That damn dam:



When looking at the falls imagine all the exposed rock covered by falling water. Picture the mist rising and obscuring the view. That would be the falls sans the dam. But, alas, all I have are these photos of the Blue Nile Falls:






Within the area of the Blue Nile Falls are villages. The village children come out and follow you for a bit attempting to rent you walking sticks or making deals for you to buy a scarf from them. “My name is Marta. You remember me.” “I’ll remember you.” “You buy scarf from me.” “I’ll look at your scarves. I may not buy.” “You remember Marta and you look at my scarves.” “Yes.” Marta was a precocious little thing who spoke the best English I’ve heard from a child her age.* She was quite the young businesswoman too. Because we decided to cross the river after viewing the falls we didn’t backtrack through Marta’s village and I never did see her scarves. I think she would have convinced me to buy one.

The river crossing would not add to a view of the falls but just make the hike longer and more interesting. We get to the crossing and there are loads of villagers. All asking to assist you as you as you cross. I wanted to go it alone and said so repeatedly. A little girl had a walking stick that she kept sticking in my hand and I kept refusing to take. The water was flowing fast and about knee high. I slipped off my shoes and socks and unzipped my pants. (Unzipped them on the legs and this releases the bottom part of the pants and leaves me wearing shorts. Did you think otherwise?) I looked again at the flowing water, decided I could use the walking stick, told two boys I didn’t want their help, and proceeded barefoot into the river. Right when I touch the river the two boys grab me on one arm each. They were going to get their Birr no matter what, I guess. Actually, it was good that they were there. The current was strong, the riverbed slippery, and I may have fallen into the drink if not for them. But, really, the most difficult part of the crossing is because of the villagers. They are always there hovering around, asking to help, walking right in front of you, handing you unwanted walking sticks. They only get to help you because they make walking through their land so arduous that you need their help.

So we get across. Now the two boys and the girl whose walking stick I really didn’t use because I had Ethiopian boys on either side of me are asking for Birr. I give the two boys a Birr 10 to split. “Birr 10 each,” they proclaim. I give the walking stick girl her stick back and Birr 2. “Birr 5,” she proclaims. It never ends. The boys realize that they will split the Birr 10 and decide a different tact. The bill has a slight tear in it. They harangue me to give them a new bill. The walking stick girl keeps it up. “It’s a good stick. Birr 5.” She eventually goes down to just asking for one more Birr. I ask our guide if Birr 10 for the boys to split and Birr 2for the walking stick is fair. He says yes. Their subsequent requests for more Birr falls on deaf ears.

We hike a bit through some nice pastureland passing the young shepard boys cracking their whips noisily in a show-off manner. You’d hear a sole crack and turn your head in its direction. Once the Shepard boy sees that you are looking at him he goes crazy with the whip. Crack! Crack! Crack! It was cool. Then we reach a wider part of the river and pay Birr 10 to cross in a boat. This was a fare we knew of and agreed to beforehand and had to be done in order to complete the full hike. It was great hike through some beautiful country. By the time we completed the hike my shoes were a muddy mess. I needed a shoeshine boy. For Birr 3 it was as if I was wearing new pair of shoes.

Supporting the local economy:



*I have noticed that village children speak much better English than their urban counterparts. My first assumption was that foreign aid concentrated on building schools in the villages and this was a positive result from that endeavor. Someone else’s more negative assumption is that it is economically beneficial for them to know English to sell scarves and they only know enough of the language to make a sale. I don’t know. It seemed to me that Marta and the other village kids actually knew English, could answer questions intelligently with English, and weren’t just parroting certain memorized words.