If you believe what you see in the movies, then at any one time there are probably hundreds of smart and mysterious people travelling all over the world, attached via a chain and handcuff to an equally smart and mysterious looking suitcase. These suitcase wielding types mean business, and will normally undertake said business in the shadier parts of town, entering into a tense discussion with an evil protagonist who will offer them some sort of combination of drugs, weapons, or the return of their loved ones, in exchange for what is inside the suitcase. With composure and flair the suitcase is ceremoniously laid on a conveniently placed table, before being opened with a flourish to reveal a ludicrous sounding amount of money usually in dollar bills…the encased cash is almost never in Sudanese Pounds, for reasons we were soon to discover.
Perfect example of the global appeal of US Dollars on a previous trip to East Africa...
Be it their availability, economic reliability, or a global passion for grainy pictures of dead presidents, the US dollar is undoubtedly the world's most functional and accepted currency, which makes it the preferred hard cash option for travellers and international crime factions alike.
Having secured visas allowing travel from Addis Ababa all the way to the Mediterranean coast. Nick and I began looking into some other practicalities which might force an abrupt end to the trip, namely, how to get hold of some Sudanese Pounds before entering Sudan – a task which, according to our research, wasn’t going to be quite as easy as going to a bank or an ATM.
Ironically perhaps, thanks to the US embargo on Sudan, Sudanese banks aren’t recognised on the international stage, meaning that no international credit or debit cards are accepted in Sudan (it also means that I am at the time of writing unable to get a visa waiver for the United States, but that’s another story!). This leaves foreigners wanting to get their hands on the coveted Sudanese Pound, in need of some other currency with which to trade in at a bank once in Sudan, the prefered currency for this...good old US dollars of course.
'No problem' I thought, as I strolled into a branch of one of Ethiopia’s many, colourful banks, 'US dollars are a global currency, they're bought and sold all over the world, getting hold of the iconic green notes is never a problem is it?'...... After a lengthy discussion with the poor unsuspecting woman behind the counter at the bank, it turns out if you are in Ethiopia, then yes, yes it is a problem, and quite a large problem at that! It was the same story at the bank next door, and the one at the bottom of the hill, this wasn’t going exactly to plan, and thus began two days’ worth of tramping around Addis Ababa, trawling through endless banks and foreign exchange bureaus, only to be told the same thing again and again: “Sorry you can’t buy US Dollars here, it’s government policy”.
Ten of the coveted Sudanese Pounds...
The Ethiopian government are, rightly so, proud of Ethiopia’s national history deifying colonialists and occupiers alike. As one of only two countries on the African continent not to be colonised, there is naturally a national pride, which unfortunately hasn’t lent itself to foreign investors setting up shop; currently foreign banks are not allowed to trade in the Ethiopian market place, which results in a strange situation where you are more than welcome to spend US dollars in Ethiopia, but if you want to buy them (or any other foreign currency for that matter) it is a completely different story.
With the banks failing to provide us with the service we required, we began to explore other avenues – the avenue next to the national theatre to be precise. Ironically located opposite the headquarters of the National Bank, this avenue is where the extremely public black market could be located. Amongst the coffeehouses and bakeries were a number of men sporting a vivid variety of tracksuits and football shirts, shouting exchange rates at us whilst struggling to hold onto the sizeable wads of cash in their hands. A softly spoken man sporting a leather jacket and slicked back hair like something from and East African version of Grease, approached us and introduced himself. He assured us that his rate was the best in all of Ethiopia, and showed us to a table in a nearby bakery where he conducted his less than official business. Maybe it was the shininess of his shoes, or the neatness of his brylcreemed hair, but I couldn’t shake the ridiculous possibility that he was some sort of undercover policeman who was about to change our money and then arrest us for our illicit currency dealings, so we thanked him, told him we would think about his ‘generous’ offer, and decided to try one more option before taking the risk with Greased Lightning.
The cool mountain climate of Addis Ababa
After our failure at the banks we had turned to the internet for some answers, and found a thread on the excellent overland travellers facebook page explaining the exploits of some overlanders who had found themselves in a similar situation to ourselves, and who had had some success at the headquarters of the National Bank of Ethiopia. With its convenient location next to the black market, we headed through the thorough security checks and into the beautiful cylindrical building, where we climbed the curving stairs towards window 68.
After a short wait in the wood panelled interior of the bank, the smartly dressed lady behind window 68 listened patiently to our request, I went through the now tedious script we had been pedalling all day, and as I finished I prepared myself for the inevitable “sorry we are unable to sell US Dollars...” I was taken aback when I was asked how much we wanted to buy – RESULT! We were handed some forms to fill out, and we provided the usual details, we had finally sourced some dollars, and our attention turned to more exciting prospects like when we could get our next Tocoma coffee, or what type of pizza we would be having for dinner.
It was all going swimmingly, and I had decided on a shredded chicken pizza with extra cheese, when the lady behind the counter asked for our plane tickets...”I’m sorry, can you say that again?” We had just lost our paddles and were once again struggling in the proverbial creek, and it was about to get worse as we were told that without an onward plane ticket the bank would be unable to sell us foreign currency, thanks to the now infamous “government policy”. We argued the point, but to no avail, our only chance was to speak with the manager – an angry looking man in a pink shirt who looked like dealing with two scruffy backpackers was the last thing he wanted to do with his day.
After being told in a gruff voice to “wait” in the uncomfortable chairs next to Mr Pink Shirt’s desk, we realised that customer service wasn’t high on his list of priorities. We did our best to explain our situation, but Mr Pink Shirt quickly became Mr Jobs Worth, quoting government legislation and telling us that without an onward plane ticket, or express permission from the government minister for travel and tourism, he wouldn’t be giving us any money. We tried showing him our visas, which he aggressively told us were “useless”, we told him our planned bus itinerary which he (quite rightly) told us could be a lie, and finally we tried to tell him that other people had previously been able to get money without a plane ticket – he didn’t like this very much, it was as if we had just reminded him of a lull in concentration, or called his professionalism into question and it was at that point that he angrily told us to leave. That was that – we left the bank with very few options other than to return to Danny Zuko and the T-Birds across the road and accept the unfavourable rates on the black market…unless…unless we took this right to the top.
Visas issued, but no money to spend...
The following day, in our smartest 'embassy clothes' consisting of my only pair of trousers (with a hole in) and a creased, but clean shirt, we played our trump card, and went above Mr Pink Shirt, straight to the top by approaching the managing director of the National Bank of Ethiopia. Somehow we were let through the intricately carved solid wooden doors, and led to the second floor where we waited outside a smart looking office, whilst important people in smart suits clutching leather folders, moved about with purpose – we on the other hand, rocked awkwardly from side to side, knowing full well that we didn’t really belong here. This certainly wasn’t one of ‘must visit’ places in Addis Ababa (we had been to all 3 of those whilst waiting for our visas) but it could prove a crucial location for the rest of our trip. After a wait long enough to plunge us from: slightly awkward, to: forced-to-make-conversation-in-a-broken-lift awkward, we were greeted and invited into the inner sanctum by an important looking woman who calmly, but curtly, confirmed the government policy which was causing us so much issue – it seemed as if this was the end of the road, but we were given a glimmer of hope in the form of a name, and not just any name...this name belonged to the national head of foreign exchange, the bad news? Her office was within shouting distance of Mr Pink Shirt’s office...
Having thoroughly pissed off the fierce Mr Pink Shirt the day before, we weren't so keen on a rematch, but like two naughty school children being called to the headmaster's office, we went back into the lion's den. Thanks to the staff at the managing director’s office, we had been given a name: 'Miss Hanna' was the head of foreign exchange, and we hoped she would be able to solve our predicament without involving our nemesis. We crept back into the office, avoiding Mr Pink Shirt’s exposed desk, and found Miss Hanna’s office, only to find it locked and closed, with a bored looking receptionist sat outside. Without looking up from her computer, the apathetic receptionist told us that Miss Hanna wasn’t working today thanks to the Ethiopian Timkat celebrations – the most important celebration in the Ethiopian calendar. For the second time that day we were left standing awkwardly outside an office when the receptionist helpfully told us if we wanted, we could speak with the manager, and pointed a bejewelled and well-manicured hand towards our arch enemy – Mr Pink Shirt.
We approached Mr Pink Shirt's desk with trepidation as he went grumpily about his business - with a wave of his despotic hand, we were summoned to his desk, and we implemented our horribly under-rehearsed game plan, which we had prepared in the last 2 minutes: firm handshake, explanation, and definitely don’t sound too desperate.
Timkat Celebrations in Ethiopia are quite the event...
Maybe it was the holiday spirit (or the more placid hue of his now blue shirt), but Mr Pink Shirt seemed more relaxed today, more calm, hopefully more reasonable...he even managed a smile as we once again explained our predicament. He did a good job, and pretended to listen before letting out a long sigh and repeating what he had told us yesterday - our game plan fell apart, and we began to get desperate; we pointed at our "useless" visas with increasing urgency, pleading with him, telling him how much we thought of his bank, how his new choice of shirt made his eyes sparkle, and how the leather clad black market chaps couldn’t hold a light up to his style and vigour.
He held up a hand with the confidence of a Roman Caesar, and we automatically hushed. He looked at us with a compassion we had yet to see, and stoically said: "In this case...I can allow you $150 each" I could have kissed him (but decided against it) he explained his decision to a colleague and waved us on our way to enjoy the next hour of watching a bureaucratic circus, featuring bits of paper get moved from one place to another and getting sporadically stamped, until finally we were given our precious dollars (and some left over Birr as we had tried our luck at getting more than the allocated $150). We had our grubby hands on some precious US Dollars, enough to get us across the border and onto a bus to Khartoum anyway. With a smile and a wave Mr Pink Shirt sent us on our way, practically skipping back onto the streets of Addis where we were almost immediately robbed, twice (but that is another story!)
With some Sudanese Pounds in our wallets we were finally able to leave Addis Ababa and head off to explore the rest of the country...
Postscript:
After all of the drama of trawling the banks of Addis Ababa, we found a much easier and reliable way of getting US dollars. If you are in a similar situation, save yourself a trip to the National Bank (although Mr Pink Shirt is a really affable chap when you get to know him) and instead take yourself off to any large hotel or tour company where people often pay large sums for tours etc. and ask if they have any US dollars they are willing to sell. We found hundreds more US dollars this way, and more often than not were given an excellent rate (in particular if you are in Mekele try EKT Tours). Also if you are heading to Sudan overland, you can skip out the US Dollar middle man and buy Sudanese pounds in Gondar, or at the border town of Matema. If you make it to Matema ask around for Yoseph a ‘legitimate’ businessman who will gladly find you some Sudanese Pounds in exchange for Ethiopian Birr (decent exchange rate) or US Dollars (exceptional exchange rate) to fund his flourishing illegal electronics business!
Andy Browning © 2016