The Perilous Beauty of Bus Rides in Northern Ethiopia

by Galen Humber (Canada)

I didn't expect to find Ethiopia

Our bus departed from Addis Ababa for Mekele while it was still dark out. Thirteen hours later, the sun had set, and we were again plummeting through the darkness, holding on as the bus careened along the windy road. That was when the incident took place. But before we get to that, I must tell you: Ethiopia is a stunningly beautiful country, both geographically and historically. For hours at a time, I was unable to tear my eyes from the window as the scenes rolled past, continuing to change and becoming ever more majestic. Racing along, hills formed and gave way to ridges, then to valleys, and finally to huge mountains. It was soon clear to me the obstacle the Italians faced in their 1895 and 1935 invasions: the towering range of mountains which, with no roads, would have been largely unsurpassable except on foot or horseback. Up, down, around, winding and winding, hanging on for dear life we go as inertia attempts to fling us from our seats. Never in my life have I seen such incredible views, never have I seen anything this awesome and incredibly huge and majestically beautiful (yes, I’ve been to Banff). Looking back, I can see the winding road we have just come up. We’re still climbing. Now as we approach the sky, we’re enveloped by a thick fog that threatens to extinguish us. At points there is only about 30 feet of visibility ahead of the bus. Suddenly a herd of cows materializes in the weak beam emitted by the headlights. The road is completely blocked. The driver hits the breaks but it’s too late; there’s simply too much momentum. The bus fishtails, leans precariously and slides. Right before we crash through the line of animals, I see a boy standing in front of the bus before he disappears below the windshield. There is a crash and a thump. Swerving, the bus slows, and then the driver revs the engine and speeds off into the night. I’m ready to rush out to the aid of the boy, when the sickening realization hits me: we’re not stopping. From what I understand, if you hit someone in Ethiopia, you are at fault regardless of what happened, no questions asked. It’s a ridiculous piece of legislation that essentially necessitates a policy of hit and run, while some boy is left to bleed to death, alone in the darkness. We continue to the next town where we stop, and the driver informs a police officer. After some discussion the officer boards the bus with his assault rifle and begins addressing everyone in Amharic. These are the moments when I really wish I spoke the language. What the hell is going on? We’re forced to get off the bus and find accommodation for the night, while the police take the bus to the scene of the incident; apparently they don’t have their own mode of transportation. I’ve been putting the pieces of the puzzle together over the past few hours and, so far, I’ve concluded the following. The reason the driver didn’t stop is that the villagers would have probably killed him if he did. He ran for his own safety, and for the safety of the passengers. The boy survived and is being transferred to a hospital for X-rays. This must be a relief for the driver, because if the boy had died the driver would be spending the next 15 years behind bars. As it is, he’s been placed under arrest while the police collect evidence. The elders of the village will meet to decide his fate. Now we need to wait for another driver from Mekele to come and take us the rest of the way. While we’re waiting some girls from the bus prepare a coffee ceremony outside their room, inviting everyone around. They pass me a cup. The sweet thick liquid pours down my throat. It’s been an eventful first day.