Much has been written about foreign bus travel, but I can I say without sarcasm, that I am a genuine fan of spending several hours in a pose a contortionist would be proud of, whilst simultaneously trying to suppress hunger, thirst, and the need to urinate. (Check out my declaration of love for buses here) It certainly isn’t the most comfortable way to travel, but it has served me well through many countries, and indeed continents as an affordable and affable way of travelling and integrating with local people, food, and culture. The same is true of the smaller, and even more uncomfortable minibuses which do a roaring trade throughout the world as a bus-cum-taxi service, known as collectives in Ethiopia, they have a single purpose: to deliver their passengers and cargo to the correct destination as quickly as possible. Often stretching the laws of physics to do it, their speed, lack of service history, and dubious driving practices essentially makes them mini death traps; but they are cheap mini death traps, so after leaving Awra Amba we happily waited by the side of the road to wave down the first minibus we could travelling in the direction of Lalibela.
The humble bus is still one of my favourite ways to travel, you can't beat the chaos of a foreign bus station... (Photo Credit: Tommy Atkins)
We weren’t waiting long before a friendly looking man driving an empty minibus stopped for us. He agreed to take us in the right direction if we went with him to the next village to pick up more passengers first. After watching the scrum of people cram into the back of the bus, we sped out of the dusty bus station, and back onto the beautiful tarmac of central Ethiopia; The Chinese government has invested vast amounts of money into the transport infrastructure of Ethiopia (for suitable political and economic gain), and their roads are an incredible feat of engineering, creating smooth snakes of tarmac slithering up, over, and around, even the fiercest of Ethiopia's substantial peaks.
Just outside town we turned on to the road heading east, and pulled over to the side; there weren’t any obvious passengers waiting to board the already packed bus, and surprisingly based on our experience so far, there weren’t any donkeys, carts, or young children threatening to leap out in front of us, in fact, there appeared to be no reason for us to have stopped at all. I looked at the driver, and he looked back with a cheeky grin, and asked if I was able to drive. I produced my pink plastic driver's license, emblazoned with data, pictures, and shiny holograms, and our driver seemed suitably impressed. I had used this tactic before to try and gain some common ground, particularly where the language barrier was a little too insurmountable, but this time around he was clearly pleased to have found another kindred spirit with which to talk about driving, so much so that he gleefully leapt from his seat, and crossed around the front of the bus until he was at my door indicating he wanted to sit down.
The smooth Chinese built tarmac makes road travel in Ethiopia much quicker and easier than it once was...
The passengers seemed completely nonplussed by this turn of events, I however was very confused. It appeared the driver wanted to swap seats with me, so I decided to call his bluff, and exited the bus. Before I had a chance to watch the driver squirm uncomfortably at my bluff-calling, he was already in my seat, and texting his friend with a competitive air. Not to be out done, I switched places with him and found myself in the much more spacious driver's seat, and looked back at the driver to await his surrender from these silly games, and for order to be restored; unfortunately, he was too busy giggling into his phone to notice me, most likely telling his friend how he was now a passenger in his own bus. I wasn’t about to lose face, and so I hatched a cunning plan, surely the roar of this beast’s engine would shake the driver back to the present, and he would come running apologetically back to the driver’s seat to reclaim his rightful place at the wheel? Alas, as I turned the key, the mediocre meow-ing of the engine served only to broaden the smile on the driver’s face, putting the minibus into first gear did the same, as did checking my mirrors for children and livestock, and before I knew it, I was moving eastwards towards the highlands of Lalibela in charge of a bus full of paying Ethiopian passengers, a startled looking bearded Englishman, and a driver struggling to contain his pure joy at this unexpected change of events.
Casually driving an Ethiopian bus... (Photo Credit: Nick Colwill)
Despite being (incorrectly) issued with a bus driving licence whilst in Tuvalu I had no idea what I was doing, however, as it turns out, being an Ethiopian bus driver is great fun! Racing along the beautiful tarmac (except for the few places where it had collapsed or buckled, prompting a tirade of anti-Chinese sentiment from our ex-driver), I had the best view of the rising highlands, I was greeted with waves, laughs, and beeping horns from everyone we passed, and arguably most importantly, I was in charge of the blue neon sound system, meaning we had ultimate veto over any dreadful music which (often) came on. The beautifully lush highlands were punctuated by intricate small farms where goats, children, and donkeys all did their best to justify the hazard perception test I had taken, launching themselves unpredictably into the road as we passed. This was brilliant!
As we approached towns and villages, passengers would bang on the roof, and I would obediently pull over whilst the conductor collected fares, and the ex-driver shouted instructions. Nick didn’t want to miss out on the fun, and so after about an hour of this utter nonsense, we swapped places, and Nick got to experience the rush of the Ethiopian transport system. Passengers continued to alight and flag us down, and each time would smirk at the farangi driving the bus, but no one seemed to doubt our abilities, even the police who pulled us over and demanded to see Nick’s pink bit of plastic, were, after a brief inspection, happy for us to continue. The feeling in the bus was jovial, and we were busy taking pictures and recording the event for posterity - there was an audible murmur when I retrieved my GoPro from my bag, and began filming Nick and I, whilst simultaneously trying to conduct an interview with the ex-driver; he certainly wasn’t camera shy, and both he and the conductor were lapping it up, whilst talking to each other in almost hushed tones. The ex-driver continued to be all smiles and waves for the camera, whilst the conductor unbeknown to me, slipped into the back of the bus with the rest of the passengers, and made a stealthy phone call.
Our passengers didn't really seem to mind...
Before we really knew what was going on, another minibus pulled out in front of us forcing us to stop - the driver in charge of this new minibus, and our very own ex-driver were shouting at each other in urgent, angry sounding Amharic. Short of hello and the odd food item, our Amharic was non-existent, and so the mood quickly went from one of fun and games, to intimidating and confusing. Without ceremony, we were quickly bundled out of our minibus, and forced onto the new one, we were wary of our luggage, and made sure that our large bags were transferred from one roof to the other, with all the ceremony you would imagine from bags being thrown from roof to roof. Our ex-driver then handed us our bags from the front seat, and with a wry smile resumed his role as driver and sped off into the distance.
The whole confusing episode lasted less than a minute before we were back in our rightful place, folded into a tiny seat on the back of yet another Ethiopian minibus. Changing buses like that had been a little strange, but weirder things had happened in the past, and so as soon as we confirmed we were still heading in the right direction, we thought nothing more about it, and went back to contorting ourselves into the seats and cursing having to relinquish our power over the stereo.
The dusty road into Lalibela...
After a day of driving or being driven, we finally arrived in the little town of Gashena, a town which seeminly only exists because it is situated at the turn off for one of Ethiopia’s most famous tourist attractions: the stone churches of Lalibela. We had missed the public bus, there is only one each day in the morning, and although there were numerous ‘kind’ offers of private minibuses, each with their own less-kind price tags, we decided to hang around on the junction, with the entire teenage population of the town, and try to hitch hike the last few miles to Lalibela. The young people were very entrepreneurial, trying to find us transport for a worthy cut of whatever overpriced fare we would end up paying, but we politely declined their help, and instead surreptitiously managed to jump in a Toyota Land Cruiser belonging to the chief engineer in charge of the new road we were about to be driving on. After five minutes on the road it was clear why an engineer was needed (and a 4x4 vehicle) the road was spectacularly awful, dry, dusty tracks, full of potholes, with rocks the size of furniture, and river beds forcing a creative use of the surrounding gravel; it’s no wonder that travel by road used to take weeks in Ethiopia, and we thanked our lucky stars that our first outing as Ethiopian bus drivers hadn’t been on this road.
Our skilled driver weaved around the giant rocks, and utilised the 4x4 on the alarming gradients - we passed two Chinese work camps, and the engineer gave us the positive view held by many Ethiopians regarding Chinese investment, although he may have been lying as half way through his soliloquy he developed a nose bleed which slowed our progress even more. For hours, we drove through this Martian landscape with the surrounding hills gaining altitude and sharper features, until finally, just after the sun had set, we spied the glowing lights of Lalibela on the horizon. After so many hours of travelling, it was sweet relief when we finally pulled into town. Having not eaten much, and being well and truly pummelled by the old road, we had to muster the energy to ignore the inevitable touts, and instead began searching for a place to stay down a shady alley with a pungent aroma of stale urine, which meant we were in the right end of town for our accommodation budget. We eventually found a room, and sighed with relief, we had made it to our destination, and we had had an adventure along the way.
Unfortunately, not everything had made it to Lalibela, and as I opened my bag, I realised with despair that Mr ex-driver had enjoyed my GoPro so much, that he had taken it for himself. After the initial anger, we sat down and replayed the day’s events: it seemed that the whole bus changeover in the middle of nowhere was nothing more than a ruse to steal my camera. I was furious, not just because the GoPro had four months of irreplaceable footage on from my time in Tanzania and Ethiopia, or the fact it had been a thirtieth birthday present from my girlfriend, but also because it made me doubt how genuine people are, I have always been a strong believer and advocate in the kindness of strangers, and it is a belief which has been proved to me time and time again during my travels, so I was gutted and upset that this one event had made me doubt it.
The incident won't stop me from travelling by bus, I still think they're an excellent way to travel...
However, after the initial anger and frustration had subsided, I was able to think more rationally about the situation, and realised that holding grudges or judging people wasn't helpful. Without more information, I was unable to label the driver solely as a thief; I didn’t know his story or his motivations, I had insurance, so I wouldn’t be losing out financially, and as for the footage and pictures – frustrating as it is, I have other photographs, and my memories haven’t failed me yet. Annoying? Mildly. Life threatening? No. Adventure compromising? Absolutely not!