The day the Ethiopian PM Resigned

Thursday 15 Feb

Chasing the shade we balance our camp chairs on the uneven ground of our bush camp. Halfway through our second game of Hearts, we are killing time until rider meeting and dinner.

It is the hottest day so far, perhaps a relief to some that we spent it on a bus. There are sounds of jubilation echoing around the scrub, carrying from the main road to Addis. Singing, beeping car horns, shouts and laughter. We are all too aware that such jubilation can quickly transform into anarchical chaos, danger and violence.

Today were travelled about 200km from Addis to Lake Langano. It was a route we were meant to cycle, over two days. I had been really looking forward to cycling this section as it was a route I knew well from my previous time in Ethiopia. I had been based in a village called Algae, about 1.5hours East of Lake Ziway. Unfortunately, due to the continuing anti-government demonstrations in the rural areas surrounding Addis we were advised not to cycle. Being on a time constraint, the bandwagon could wait no longer and previous pedal power days were became petrol power days. A predeparture safety briefing from captain Tallis before leaving Addis: ‘We do not know what to expect on the roads. We may see nothing, we may see the protests. Do not take photographs. These people maybe angry, and we do not want to provoke them. Should we enter into a challenging situation, keep all windows closed… Enjoy the trip. Good luck.’ And with that he left us and returned to his vehicle. We were travelling in convoy - the dinner truck, the landcrusier and the minibus. Nervous laughter followed him to his vehicle, none of us quite sure how serious he was with is Good Luck. The other instructions we knew were strict, and out of respect of the safety of our companions I think we were all motivated to follow them. Toilet stops were few and far between. A smooth highway for the first 2 hours gave way to intermittently broken tar, passing through rural villages and towns. As the highway transformed, so did the serenity. Groups of young people jogging up the street, sticks in hand, chanting their purpose - held in time by the director at the front. The groups were smiling and didn’t appear threatening. They were chanting about ‘being trapped in a prison’ (rough translation by our local fixer), and heading in the opposite direction. They were heading to Addis to campaign for the release of ‘jailed “politicians”’ (The Guardian, Prime Minister Steps Down article). It is a blessing we were moving in the opposite direction. The young adults were in need of vehicles to make the trip. The loads of big lorries had been replaced by protestors, perched in the back of what I can only describe as topless shipping containers. One such vehicle, void of passengers and cargo, was commandeered in motion. I watched a young man in flip flops place on foot on a moving, wheel the other on the wheel behind, reach up and manage to clamber into the back. Many others were following suit. Ziway was a hot spot. So bizarre to see the town I had known as a base, and a sanctuary, alive with political movement. The atmosphere was electric. One minute jubilant smiles and chants, the next 5 men dressed in blue camos, carrying sticks and guns were running down the road ahead of us. Ziway is a university town, perhaps the reason it seemed just a catalytic place. The protestors had asked to board a truck heading towards Addis, the driver had refused. We drove past the result - a lorry on it’s side, having been pulled over by the passionate public. One offender was being beaten with a stick by one of the blue representatives of authority. Comprehension was dawning as to the volatitly of the situation, the reason we didn’t cycle, and also the justice system. The authority can simply chase you and wave a stick, no opportunity for being read your rights, a lawyer, a court hearing…instant punishment. I would take a stick over the gun anyway. Lack of success with the now upturned truck, attention was on the lorry transporting our bikes. Exactly the sort of vehicle they were commandeering. Bodies began to scale the sides. Affram, our fixer, a look of concern on his face called off the minibus to stop. He bravely got out and called the unpredictable protestors off. The effort was a success, but there was soon a phone call from Tallis (on the truck in front) telling him if it happens again not to get out - the bikes are sacrificable, his life is not! So now we are sitting, in our safe haven national park bush camp. An Ostrich exploring our tents. Listening to the jubilations travelling back from Addis. They had achieved their objective. We would not find out for another 24hours that the Prime Minister of Ethiopia had in fact resigned that day, in response to the protests. Such is life in a controlled country. No internet access, no common language with the locals. It took a Facebook message from my friend in England over 24 hours later ‘Pretty historic being there when the PM steps down.’ for true comprehension to dawn.