The Flip Side of the Coin

We are in Harar, ancient city-state in the far east of Ethiopia, one hundred kilometers or so from the Somalia border. For centuries the city has been at the centre of trade between Axumite, Egyptian, Indian and sub-Saharan civilisations, not to mention an important centre of Islamic scholarship. Nowadays, like Stone Town in Zanzibar, its old crown has slipped, leaving behind a forlorn yet spectacularly atmospheric shadow of its former self.

For centuries non-Muslims were forbidden, on pain of death, from even entering Harar. However, since surrendering to Christian Ethiopian Emperor Menelik II in 1887, Ethiopian Orthodox churches have since sprung up alongside the city’s mosques.

The Old Town, known as the Jugal, is entirely encircled by huge stone walls, built in the fifteenth century to defend the city against marauding Oromo tribesmen – fearsome desert raiders from the south. These towering walls enclose a labyrinth of cobbled streets and twisting alleyways that (we soon found out) can swallow up tourists in seconds. And in every lane two smells only fill the air – fresh roasting coffee beans and stale urine. (Ethiopia is where coffee was first cultivated, and Harari coffee is reputedly some of the finest in the world. A natural diuretic, it’s not surprising that the prevalence of the former should contribute to the latter.)

Donkey and camel are still the transit vans of this town. Away from the lawnmower-engine auto-rickshaws and battered blue-and-white Peugeot 404 taxis that clog the few roads big enough for motorized vehicles, it is only the black plastic water-tanks, gleaming white satellite dishes and crooked telegraph poles that stop you from thinking you’ve taken a step back in time. This it seems is all that’s changed from when British explorer Richard Burton became the first non-Muslim to enter the city in 1854.

Harar is also a famous centre for the production of chat – a narcotic herb with a mild stimulant said to increase concentration. Everywhere young and old walk about a distracted manner, clutching transparent plastic bags full of salad-looking leaves. Watch them for a little while and now and again they will reach in and grab a handful of leaves, and pop them into their green-stained mouths. A most peculiar sight…

Harar is full to bursting with beggars: everyone begs from everyone else. Even priests get in on the act… And if a person is not begging then he or she is handing out small change to someone who is. Christian beggars sit outside churches; Muslim beggars lie outside mosques; children scream “Money!” at every white face. (As if the faranji might instantaneously reach into his bottomless pocket and hand over a wad of birr…)

Our guesthouse lies just outside the crumbling city walls. Our bedroom window overlooks a rubbish dump that during the day swarms with people searching forlornly for anything of value that may have been discarded – plastic, metal, rubber, almost anything can be recycled here. Later in the day, as the sun’s heat diminishes, stray dogs repeat the search, this time on the lookout for an easy meal. Overhead, huge scruffy vultures endlessly circle the busy scene…

Later still, when darkness has fallen and even the dogs have departed, we are visited by packs of hyenas looking for dinner in the city’s garbage. When darkness falls, squads of these lolloping scavengers emerge from the shadows and take silent possession of the waste ground. We are woken late at night by their eerie laughter and piercing calls. Sometimes it seems they are directly underneath our window: perhaps they are – in the small hours the hyenas completely take over the sleeping city.

This is a town of scavengers and beggars all right. But it is also a place of arcane, medieval beauty. Strange sights and strange smells, a highlight of our travels but also a challenge to test our traveling mettle…