A Day in Tigray

After breakfast, Daniel, our driver picks us up to drive us over to the offices of REST. We spend the bulk of the morning getting a presentation from REST on how they work. Scott’s seen the presentation before, but it holds some interest for Dan and I. Overall, I think both of us see opportunities for improvement in the way they look at and present information, but they have clearly thought through their implementation processes. There are probably a dozen men from REST (no women) to the three of us.

A woman does come in to take orders for coffee. I’m able to avoid coffee by ordering tea, which comes in a small cup (think espresso) with a sedimentary layer of sugar. I think the idea is that you stir up as much sugar as you want. It works pretty well and the tea isn’t sickly sweet.
I notice that a few of the men in the room have a scar on their forehead in the shape of a cross. It actually seems inaccurate to call it a scar. It looks consistent the with forehead creases, but in a distinctive cross shape. In fact, the first time I saw it I thought of it as an interesting character line. Seeing it again convinced me that it was not genetic. Similarly, I notice that some of men have a pair of vertical scars on each side of their face between the eyes and ears. Finally, Tekla, the head of REST is missing half a finger. This I was already told by Scott was lost to a bullet in battle. Later that afternoon I asked Scott about the scars, but he didn’t know anything.

I haven’t sorted out who’s who at this stage, but I soon learn the players we’ll be seeing a lot of. Ketachoo is the head of water programs. Salomon and Yasoo work for him. After we share some of the videos from our borninseptember.org website we head out to lunch. First we head across the street to a juice bar. Scott and I arrive first and there’s a boy sitting there who seems to recognize Scott. Frankly, it’s a bit hard to tell since Scott seems to greet everyone with enthusiasm. Scott has shared his foolproof method for warding off beggars. The idea is simple. When the beggar asks for 1 birr, you say to them “give me 10 birr.” This, of course, raises the stakes and, presumably, they fold. Scott decides to give a real life demonstration on the boy at the juice bar. It goes slightly awry when Scott launches his 10 birr raise, prior to the boy offering the 1 birr ante. Ultimately, it leaves us mostly with a slightly confused boy.

We walk over to the restaurant which Scott has told has great tibs. Other than the avocado juice, it appears this will be our first foray into Ethiopian food. The restaurant is large and covered with a thatched roof. There’s a small stage and it’s not too hard to imagine it converting for music and dancing. There’s a window (no glass) with raw meat hanging from hooks. The butcher stands on the other side and I infer that the restaurant has a just-in-time butchering strategy. It’s atmospheric. Scott and Dan order the tibs. I decide to shake it up by ordering a different cooked meat, but alas its not available. I get tibs as well. The tibs come in a clay pot with charcoal underneath. It’s somewhat similar to the sizzling fajitas in Addis. It’s also served with injera – large (like 18 inch circles), thin (say, ¼ inch), spongy bread. It’s pretty good, but not spectacular.

After lunch we head back to the hotel to rest. At first we plan to walk, but when we see an auto-rickshaw it’s too tempting to pass-up. I’m familiar with these from my trips to India, but I’ve never actually been in one. In essence, it’s a three wheeled motorcycle with a body around it. A reasonable capacity is two passengers, but I swear I’ve seen as many as eight ride. The three of us squeeze into the back seat. It’s decorated with beads which seems to but us in a goofy mood and we spent a good portion of the ride snapping pictures of ourselves. We arrive at the bottom of the hill and our driver – no more that twenty years old – decides to take us all the way to the hotel. Halfway up the hill we are certain that it won’t make it. We offer to get out, but our driver downshifts and we creep our way up regaining speed along the way. With a triumphant shout we summit.

It’s nap time.

I wake Scott from the nap so we can head back to the office. He’s not happy and declares that the nap has done more harm than good. Dan is also not happy. The hotel situated immediately above a children’s amusement park playing loud music on about a seventy second loop. Dan swears the tune has been forcibly burned into his memory, but his efforts to hum it come up short. We spend a few hours finishing the mornings discussion and wrap up around six.
From the hotel we’d seen an Ethiopian Orthodox church. Dan and I are determined to get our tourism in so the three of us take a walk over. We walk down the main street past a pool hall which appears to be no more than about 3 feet bigger than the table on each side. We get to the church and it is a has a nice stone pattern, but it’s nothing spectacular. About fifty feet away is minaret of similar construction. There aren’t many people around, but the few who are have pressed themselves up against the wall which, on occasion, they kiss.


We stroll out the other side of the church compound onto a dusty road. We stop a few times to talk to children – most of whom seem to speak at least some English. We come across two boys playing soccer with a tennis ball. The three of us jump-in playing keep away for a few minutes. Then we stroll back up the hill to the hotel. We have dinner at a small restaurant near the hotel. Scott and Dan order pizzas – a questionable call in my book. Again my first choice is unavailable, but I get some very good roast vegetables instead. We grab a half-bottle of wine off the wine table next to ours. Ultimately we drink four of these. We head back up to the hotel. We have two channels on the TV – one is Ethiopia TV and the other is Dubai Sports. We get caught up on some Olympics and I head to bed early. Scott has graciously offered me the bedroom which also allows him to stay up watching TV.

Overnight in Tigray

As you might imagine, it’s not a really solid night of sleep. There’s the issue of being eight hours off my rhythm. There’s the fact that the bed has a footboard forcing me to sleep on the diagonal. Most of all there’s the issue that every single dog in Makale is barking. For hours. Barking. I hadn’t really noticed many dogs during the day, but at night they seem quite numerous. When I first wake up, I see that it’s light out and check my phone to see what time it is. The phone says 2 AM which surprises me until I head over to the window and see that the light is from spotlights highlighting the Kastel. I return to bed getting sleep in short, shallow doses. At five AM the church starts broadcasting prayers over loudspeakers. It is exactly what I imagine happens in Muslim countries at about this hour. In fact, at first I assume it's a mosque, but I'm corrected later. At any rate, it's too loud to ignore so I surrender.


After about thirty minutes, the speeches from the church turn into music which actually blends nicely with the birds chirping in the trees outside my window and the soft, (natural) early morning light. From the hotel one can see most of the city and the mountains in the distance. The whole effect is quite nice. Out the window I can see Scott sitting on the veranda working on his computer connected by satellite to the internet. I decide to take a shower.

The bathroom is reasonably large, but all of the porcelain has mineral stains. The bathroom is attached to our room (and exclusively our room), but it is situated at the end of hallway. The wall connecting to the hallway has a large window that’s been frosted from its bottom (about three feet above the floor) to about six feet above the floor. I’m not terribly concerned about privacy given that noone else is up and I’m not convinced there’s anyone else staying at the hotel. Nonetheless, I can’t help but think that other design decisions could have been made. Another interesting architectural detail is that the shower curtain rod is actually a piece of rebar that has been bent to shape with the ends embedded in the wall.

I find water that’s warm enough and climb into the tub. Unfortunately the positioning of the showerhead and the tight circumference of the shower curtain conspire to make movement – such as one might make in a shower – difficult. I end up taking my shower seated on floor of the tub. This too is a bit of tight fit, but at least I can remain stationary and make the showerhead do the moving.

We’re heading out to two villages today so I put on one of my long-sleeve, deet-sprayed, linen shirts. I join Scott and have the same breakfast as the previous day, swapping in papaya juice. Scott’s been on the satellite dish for awhile and he’s carefully monitoring his bandwidth. The previous day he let me download about 20 emails (without attachments) and accused me of consuming 6MB. I’ve decided to stay away.

On the road

Dan shows up around 6:30. He is no more fond of the dog’s lullaby than he was of the carousel melody. We’re all a bit tired, but excited to be getting out into the rural areas. At 7:00 Daniel shows up. We pile into one Highlander with our REST peers following in another. We head straight towards the mountain that I could see from the hotel. Scott thinks we may be headed towards the “really beautiful drive. Just when he becomes certain that we are, we hang a left and drive past a cement plant. Curiously enough Dan has a private equity fund that invests is currently invested in garbage carting and cement. It’s all about the glamour with Dan.

A lengthy conversation ensues about how cement and concrete are made. This is actually more than an academic conversation because cement is the biggest expense in a hand dug well. Dan gives us a good overview of how they’re made, explains that due to shipping costs it’s a very local business, and, therefore, rationalizes why prices vary widely from one country to another. Scott and I take this all in except for one detail. Scott cannot for the life of him understand the difference between cement and concrete. Dan makes several efforts to straighten this out for Scott, but is ultimately flummoxed by the fact that it’s not that hard to understand so there’s not that many ways to explain it. I take a different tack. I tell Scott that cement is like Campari and concrete is like a Campari & Soda. This explanation has three benefits. First, it’s actually true. Second, it mocks Scott for failing to understand the concept of cement as an ingredient of concrete. And third, it re-mocks Scott for his drink order at dinner in Addis.
Armed with this knowledge and Dan’s supply of twenty Powerbars, we are on our way to visit two villages that have recently had charity:water wells built.

We're expecting about a three hour drive. This is our first foray into the countryside, so it's pretty interesting for Dan and me. It's also interesting for Scott because he hasn't been to Ethiopia during rainy season. I didn't really have a clear expectation of what I'd see, but I know that it doesn't match what we are seeing. It is lush and beautiful. We climb up the side of mountains, over a pass and down the other side. The roads are packed dirt, but they aren't nearly as bumpy as I would have expected. I remember being on the roads in India and having a sense that death was always imminent. I have no such sense here. There simply isn't the same population and vehicle density. There are many times that we don't see any other vehicles on the road.


At one point we come across two trucks stuck in some mud in the road. But one of them is able to backup and we're on our way without much delay.

One thing I notice is that although everything is green there don't appear to be many crops. We see some corn, but it mostly looks like grass. For now, I'm assuming that the grass is in fact a crop. We see some corn, but it doesn't look to good. We also see lots of cacti. As we drive through towns there are always young children - usually girls - selling cactus by the side of the road. We pass by a lot of goats frequently usually being walked by children. In the countryside, the homes are actually pretty attractive. They are all made of stone, which is very plentiful, and they have grass on the roof. They also tend to be round and frequently have a stone fence around them. It also seems to be common to have cacti growing within the fences. I assume that's to assure that noone pilfers the fruit. On the whole it's very scenic and we enjoy the ride.

Visiting a completed well

After a few hours we turn off the main road onto another dirt road. This road is more of what I expected. It's got lots of ruts, bumps and puddles. There's nothing that looks set to flummox us, but it's slower, jouncier going. Eventually we come to small collection of buildings. Some tone houses on the right and cinder block health center on the left. We're greeted by some other people from REST. We have to walk from here to the first village. We apply suntan lotion and bug repellent. Then we start to walk.

We're walking over hilly terrain on a mostly clear path. We haven't gone far when we walk by an older woman hunched over carrying a bundle of sticks. It's a small reminder that very little in the lives of these people is easy. Ketachoo has told us that this will be a one our walk and Scott has told us that we should add about 50% to Ketachoo's estimate. After an hour, I notice that one of our guides comes up form the back and runs ahead. I take that to mean that we're getting close.

We come around the bend and I can see people gathered in the distance. We're next to a stream bed and I'm toward the front of the group. As they see us the crowd starts to clap and sing. They start to move towards us, but our guides direct us up the hillside away from the most direct route along the stream. On the hillside above the crowd they direct us to sit on some large boulders. The crowd starts coming up the hillside and there are a lot of them. They are led by four women carrying broad bowls with popcorn. Then as they get close they start throwing the popcorn up in the air so it showers down on us. Scott told us this would happen, so I'm not caught totally unaware. He's also told we'd get some lolling - a high pitched "la la la la" sound that the women make with their mouths slightly open. We've been released to walk down the hill now and there are people all around us and they're clapping and they're singing and they're throwing popcorn and they're lolling. I want to take off my sunglasses so the people can see my eyes, but I'm crying so I don't do it yet. I'm hoping the tears are blending with my sweat so they're not noticeable. Perhaps, they'll think that white people sweat from their eyes.

We reach the bottom of the hill and are seated on a rough wooden bench. I'm under control now, so I take off my glasses. Everyone is looking at us with an intense, but somewhat blank stare. The best I can make of it is that they are trying to understand us. For some of them we are probably the first white people they've seen. We are sitting next to the well which has a nice stone wall around it and a ribbon across the entrance. The men are all to the right of the well as we face it. Along a pathway just above the well sit the village priests under colorful umbrellas. All the women and many girls are sitting on the left, slightly below the well along the stream bed. They are all clearly wearing their best clothes.

The village leader gives a speech as Ketachoo translates. The essence is "thank you for helping us build this well; we've also invested a lot of work; please help the neighboring community because they need clean water too." This is a good sign, because it's important for the community to feel ownership of the well. So the accounting of all the effort they invested and the sense that it is their well is reassuring. We generally say that a hand-dug well should cost about $4,000 and serve about 400 people. This well is serving about a 1,000 people and cost less than $3,500. That means it's costing less than $3.50 per person to provide clean and safe drinking water, potentially forever.

I have been chosen to cut the ribbon. They give me a normal scissors, but I hold it with two hands hands like the huge scissors I've used at other ribbon cuttings. I cut on both sides of the bow and then I enter to pump the well. Now the well's been in operation for a few month, so the pump is already primed. It only takes a few pumps to get water out. My memory of pumps is the heavy cast iron one's found at picnic grounds when I was a kid. This is not one of those. It's an Afridev pump. They are designed to be easy to maintain and repair. I'd guess it's made of aluminum. At any rate, it's very easy to pump. I get a little silly and pump behind my back and then try with my foot to no avail. I then take the obligatory drink of water from the pump. It's cool and good.

My overwhelming sense is that I'm an imposter. It's not just because I'm cutting the ribbon on a well that was started before I'd done anything with charity:water. It's more because it takes so little of what we have, yet it's such a big deal to these people. I'm not articulating it well. I'll finish this in the next post and try to have a better explanation then.

Cutting the Ribbon (Video)

Visiting a completed well (Part 2)

After cutting the ribbon and getting several shots of the clean water we sat down for more speeches and food. The popcorn which had previously been used for throwing was now being used for eating. Ketachoo gave a speech reinforcing the need for the community to care for the well. I was then chosen to speak for us. I gave a brief speech that went something like this.

"Thank you for your hospitality. We have traveled a long way and we're very happy to be here to see the beautiful well that you have built. We have given a small amount of what we have to make this well possible. You have given all that you have so this is your well. I know that will take advantage of this opportunity and you will take good care of this well. We will go back to America to raise more money so that other communities may also have clean and safe drinking water."

Ketachoo translated and I managed to get through the whole thing without crying. Dan and Scott then gave their speeches. Then we ate. The first course is a large, round, thick bread that is smeared with raw honey. The honey is not only raw - so its not translucent - but it also has bits of honeycomb in it. Dan has been wary of the local food, but he's pleased with this dish. They then poured cooked chicken and eggs over the several layers of injera in a table made into a basket. I also enjoy this. It also reassures me that the Ethiopian food that I've been enjoying in the states is authentic. We are also offered some suwa to drink. Dan and Scott decline the suwa is a fermented drink similar in appearance to swamp water. It is no more appealing because the name sounds like "sewer". My first sip suggests that the homonym is appropriate. My second sip confirms my first. I set it aside.



Finally, we are offered some coffee. I've been watching this process throughout the proceedings. The local health care worker has been preparing this for the entire time we've been here. She's been working over a small stove with charcoal. First she roasted the coffee beans. Then she put them into the coffee pot and heated the water. That was then added to the coffee pot. If she ground or mashed the beans in any way, then I missed it. The coffee was left to steep for a while with a piece of gauzy fabric in the spout. Finally, the coffee was poured, with the gauze still in place to catch the beans. I take a sip of the coffee. Perhaps, it is benefiting from the comparison to suwa, but I actually like it. I would actually drink it voluntarily.

We are then given gifts. Scott, Dan and I each get a pail of honey. Collectively we get several baskets and a pot. The woman health care worker and regional director for REST each get a chicken. The site manager gets a goat. The village leader then apologizes that they could not give us more, but tells us that they only had a few days of advance notice. We have another village to visit, so it's time for us to move on.

So here's the gist of the way I'm feeling. Just as these people are appreciative of the well that will now improve their lives, I'm appreciative of all the things I have. I appreciate my family, my house and my stuff. I don't feel guilty, but I definitely feel fortunate. I also appreciate how little of what I have it takes to make such a big difference here. I appreciate that I have the opportunity to work with charity:water to keep making that kind of difference.

Visiting the second completed well

The walk to the second village starts on a path similar to the one we walked in on but we're soon walking through fields. Ketachoo has told us that this will be a 40 minute walk, so we're expecting an hour. I ask Ketachoo about the plants we're seeing. The stuff that looks like grass is indeed teff. We've also seen a lot of what looks like a corn plant that hasn't grown very much. It turns out that is sorghum. I've heard of sorghum before, but I don't really have any idea of what it is or how its used.

Our crowd is a little bigger now. The site manager from the last village is also responsible for this well so he is walking with us. The health care worker also supports this village. They are walking hand-in-hand, so it looks like this was a good gig for him for more than one reason. The village leader is also the same man for this village so he is with us as well. There is also a man who appears to be the deputy mayor carrying a notebook which I assume has the village accounts. Finally, there is an old man who led us into the last village. He is carrying a horn which he blows repeatedly as we approach the next village.



The gathering in the second village is much smaller. I assume that this is because we have already received our gifts in the first village and because it is later in the day so people need to be working. I don't know whether it's the food, the walking or the suwa, but my stomach isn't felling it's best. This ceremony follows rough the same trajectory. The mayor gives his speech, Ketachoo gives his speech, we give our speeches. I add a bit about how I have three daughters and I want for them the same thing that they want for their children - to live long, healthy, happy lives. I pass on the suwa this time. We eat very little of the bread with honey. When they bring the chicken and eggs we try to decline but we're advised that it would be rude not to eat at least a little. So we do. The coffee is very good again.

After awhile we start our trek back to the jeeps. This is billed as a twenty minute walk, so, like clockwork, we arrive almost thirty minutes later. Apparently just before our arrival the other driver discovered that his jeep wouldn't start. The men are trying to push the jeep down the slight incline to get a running start. They aren't able to build enough speed before running out of room. They try to push the jeep uphill for another go only to discover that the jeep is now trapped on the wrong side of a muddy berm. Our jeep is brought over to pull them out. They attach the second vehicle with a thick rope. I know how this game plays out, so I keep my distance. Sure enough, the rope snaps and, fortunately, doesn't hit anyone. Another try yields the same outcome. Scott and I are sitting this one out, but Dan is more engaged. Eventually, it's decided to jump start the jeep in situe. I'm not sure this was done with jumper cables making it a dicey proposition. After about forty minutes total the jeep is started, it crests the berm and we're on our way to our hotel in Adwa.

A night in Adwa

On the way back to our hotel in Adwa, Dan is on the phone constantly. It seems that he's in the midst of an acquisition that might have hit a hiccup. As one might expect cell phone coverage keeps coming and going. Eventually, we come to a stop on a ridge where he can get good stable reception. He takes a seat on the side of the road with a beautiful rock outcropping behind him. The scenery is absolutely gorgeous. I sneak up next to Dan to get my picture taken surrepticously. He looks like he's doing a "more bars in more place ad." After about thirty minutes we get a call from Ketachoo wondering whether we're okay. We tell him we are, but he urges us to get moving because night is coming. We get moving again.

We've already passed through Adwa on our way to the villages and we've had our hotel pointed out to us as we passed by. It's unremarkable. Fortunately for us, Scott remembers that one side of the hotel is very noisy and makes for a rough night of sleep. The value of this information is diminished considerably by his inability to remember whether it is the front of the hotel or the back. We give Dan the first room, which is on the back side of the hotel. He assumes that this is an evil scheme to give him the noisy room. But actually it's a reasonably large room and we figured he might need it to do business. Scott takes the next room and I get the last one - the one with the distinctive smell of mildew. It's not to hard to figure out the cause since the carpet has a water stain emanating from the bathroom. Like every other hotel in Ehtiopia, the bathroom is elevated. Water flows down. The odd part is that the designers seem to be oblivious to this information. It seems to me that it would be easy enough to at least put a lip on the step down form the bathroom. This should keep most of the water in the bathroom where it will have a chance to drain.

We're having dinner downstairs and we find a spot near the TV. We order beers (St. George) and mineral water. I try to order a beef dish, but they don't have it. I'm getting the distinct impression that menus in Ethiopia are a list of the possible things they might have rather than an itemization of the food they do have. I opt for the fasting menu which is a combination of three dishes - lentils, pureed lentils and salad. Salad is probably not recommended, but I've been taking Immodium prophalactically. The food is good.

We get updated on the Russian invasion of Georgia. We'd seen a lengthy interview with the Georgian president on the BBC the day before. In that interview he'd said something equivalent to "you know there had to be a lot of Russian planes in the sky, because we actually managed to shoot down two planes." As tragic as the situation was, we couldn't help but laugh. It appears that a day later things we're going no better for the Georgians who had launched a cease fire - presumably because they were out of bullets. We then switch over to the olympics where we watch Russia play Egypt in team handball. While the game generally doesn't thrill me, there is joy to be had in rooting against Russia and I do so vigorously. With the score tied and very little time left the Egyptians make a stop. They move up the court, but seem to commit an infraction around mid-court turning the ball over. Unfortunately, Dubai sports doesn't explain this in English, so we're somewhat in the dark. A moment later we're completely in the dark as the power fails. It's a brief outage. Perhaps a few minutes, but it's enough for us to miss the climatic end of the game. We head up to bed.

Adwa to Axum

It turns out Scott was wrong, both sides of the hotel were noisy. It appears that there was a nightclub somewhere in the vicinity and it was kind enough to turn up the bass. I come down for breakfast. Scott has three baked eggs in a round metal dish. They look good, so I ask him how I should order them. He tells me I should order "three eggs, ka-choek, ka-choek, ka-choek." With he "ka-choek" he cups his fingers downward as if dropping an egg into a pan. I stare sceptically at him. He repeats the order and motion. I look over at the cashier to see if she'll help me out. No dice. I follow Scott's order and get the three eggs. I also agree to try a spreis which Scott bills has half coffee-half tea. The eggs are great with crisp edges and the spreis is actually pretty good. I've now had two coffee-based drinks that I've liked, but Scott is looking way high on his estimate of 22 coffees. Today we're going to visit two communities in need of water and then we'll see some wells in progress.

The first community we visit is very close to the city of Axum. In fact we are no more than a mile from the airport when we stop by the side of the road. We walk into the field of teff next to the highway. It's muddy, so we step carefully. We find their water source in the middle of the field. It is no more than a puddle. We're told that they appreciate this because in the dry season (that's about nine months of the year) they have to walk over to the airport where they dig a hole to get water. We speak with several men from the village as a few women stand off to the side. We are also joined by a government official who has scouted out spots for wells. We climb up the hill to get a view of the whole community. We're surrounded by cows, goats and one donkey trying to mount another. The view is beautiful. They point to each of the villages and tell us that they don't have clean water either.

We head back through Axum. At the edge of town our road degrades into a bumpy, muddy track. On several occasions we get a running start and muscle our way through the mud. It doesn't always feel like Daniel's in complete control, but it never feels like we're not going to make it. After awhile we arrive at our next village. We follow a stream bed down the hill to meet another village group. This conversation is similar to the last. Again it is a beautiful setting. We are in a vast, vivid green field. We have walked down a large hill and the slope continues for quite a distance before rising again in mountains.

Again the men tell us about the water situation. This is an interesting and consistent dynamic. Fetching water is the task of women and girls, but it is always the men who talk to us about it. They are the one's who tell us how far the women must walk, how they get attacked by animals and how sometime they drop their clay pots and their husbands beat them. We make a point of asking the women to tell us about their situation. Many of the women we've talked to in these situations pull a piece of cloth over their mouth as they talk. This is a sign of deference that they are taught form a young age. One older woman, she's actually my age, doesn't do this and she seems to speak with more confidence. She tells us that the fetching takes so long that many woman are late for their work with Safety Net (I'll talk about that later). That means that they don't get paid for a full day. She also says that she must leave to fetch water when it's still dark out so hyena's sometimes eat her chickens. The men laugh at this. She retorts "why do you laugh you know it's true." Finally, we ask again about the neighboring villages and find that none of them has clean and safe water either.

We climb back up the hill and drive back into Axum. At the airport in Addis there is a big banner encouraging tourism. It has three photos. The first is of a woman with a colorful basket. The second is of the stelae at Axum. The third is of several young man walking across a stream - one of them holding an AK-47. I'm not sure the Ethiopian government has really nailed its tourism message yet. We stop to see the ruins in Axum. These are huge stone obelisks the largest of which has fallen. There is one stele that has been returned from Italy. It is surrounded by what may be the only metal scaffolding in Ethiopia as they try to get it to stay in place. The stelae are impressive for their size (100 feet tall, one billion tons), for being made from a single piece of stone and for being old - about 1700 years. There are several young men trying to sell tourist trinkets. Having survived the assault of hawkers at the Taj Mahal, the efforts of these guys are almost quaint.

Digging a well

There are three basic kinds of water projects that charity:water does. The most common is a hand-dug well. These usually go to a depth of about 70 feet. The hole is about six-feet in diameter. It is, as the name suggests, dug by hand. Then concrete forms are made on side and lowered into place. Some of the concrete forms are made to let water in. The space around the concrete and at the base is filled with gravel. The well is topped with a slab of concrete and a fence is built around it. A hand pump is mounted with a pipe down to the water. The water seeps into the well continuously and throughout the year. The second type is a spring protection. This is used where there's a spring already. A concrete reservoir is made for the spring to fill and gravity-fed taps are attached to the reservoir to provide access. Sometimes you can even get a shower into the deal. Both of these cost about $4,000. The third type is a shallow bore-hole. These can be 500-1,000 feet deep and require a drilling rig. They are narrow holes - less than a foot in diameter. Frequently they will have a hand-pump, but they can also have a powered pump.

The first well we visit is a hand-dug well. We travel along a good road for about 45 minutes out of Axum before turning off onto a dusty track right down the middle of a village. There are houses on both sides. We pass the grocery store with a foosball table outside. We don't go very far before the jeeps stop and we get out. We walk a little further down the road with kids all around us. Then we get to the bluff and we can see the well down below. We scramble down a steep grade trying not to slip or to run over a child.

At the bottom of the hill we cross a stream - the most active we've seen yet. There are a lot of men crowded around the pit. There is a generator running to provide power to a pump which keeps water out of the pit as it's being dug. There are three men working the well. Two are in the pit. One uses a pickaxe to break up the rock and soil. The second loads it into a bucket. The third pulls the bucket up and dumps it out. We learn that they are hired because the job requires training as you go deeper. They are hired locally and paid at most 15 birr per day ($1.75). When blasting is necessary that is done by the supervisor from REST. There are ladders made from rebar by REST. They are made in about six-foot long sections. Each one hanging on the one above it. In one sense, it's amazing how simple it is. In another it's amazing that they do this to a depth of seventy feet. Before leaving we again sit for speeches; receive our shower of popcorn; and eat bread and honey.

After climbing back up the mountain I come across a hopscotch court. I ask one of the children to teach me the game. It is a five by two box grid. There is a single stone placed in the first box. While hopping on one foot you kick the rock to the next box then hop after it. The boy does this all the way down the five boxes and back the other side. I make it one box before kicking the rock entirely too far.

We go to our next well which is a shallow borehole. When we arrive they aren't drilling. I think this is so they can give us the show that occurs when they start drilling again. Once we're situated they start the rig back up. Within a few seconds the hole starts spraying water up the full height of the rig - at least twelve feet. Ketachoo explains the whole process of drilling to me. The different bits for rock and stone; how they keep adding sections of drill; how they drive the pipe into the ground. This is all pretty low tech stuff, but it's interesting to me.

Overnight in Adigrat

Our hotel in Adigrat has a something I haven’t seen in our previous hotels – tourists. There appears to be a group of about a dozen staying in the hotel. At least some of whom speak French. We check into our rooms. This one appears to be standard fare until I enter the bathroom. As I open the door it slams into something. That something it turns out is the sink. The door is at about 45°. I slide into the bathroom sideways , stepping into the shower stall because there is nowhere else to step. I then close the door to behold the toilet nestled into a small alcove facing the sink. More accurately, abutting the sink. I slide horizontally past the sink and take a seat. I can to rest my chin on the sink while seated. In fact, it’s so close that it seems a shame not to, so I do. I then go to wash my hands. As I bend over, I am reminded that the door is too close to allow that. As I slide back into the shower stall so I can open the door, I can’t help but wonder why they didn’t design the door to swing out. It would have solved a lot of problems.

I go looking for my companions so we can head to dinner. I finally find Scott up on the roof. The top floor of the hotel has glass doors leading out onto the roof. The glass part of the doors is shattered on the floor. I step through the opening. Scott’s got a good satellite signal and since we’re winding down our trip he decides to splurge on some bandwidth to see the trailer for the Born in September campaign. He starts the trailer and then flips back and forth to assess the load progress of the trailer and then to check how close he is to his bandwidth limit. It becomes very clear, that he will reach his limit well before the video loads, but he keeps hoping. When he gets to within a Gig, he stops the trailer and concedes. I head over to dinner while Scott wraps up his email.

Dinner is in a restaurant out the back of the hotel. It is run by the same people who ran our first restaurant in Mekele and it has roughly the same setup including the butcher’s window. The food is again good, but unremarkable. After dinner it’s back to my room to read and sleep. Once, again, however, we are situated across the street from a nightclub that, generously, shares the music from inside through a speaker in front. I don’t know when the music stops, but its off when I get up the next morning around 5:30. We walk down the street and around the corner to a small café. I have a spreis and three eggs (“ka-choek”). We get into the SUV’s and we’re off to look at some irrigation projects. charity:water doesn’t do irrigation projects, but it’s of interest nonetheless.

Dell's Dam

After a short drive we pull off the main road and take a short drive down a bumpy path. On the side of the road we can see irrigation canals made from concrete. We get out of the trucks at a dam with a big “Dell” logo on it complete with the angled “E”. The dam has concrete pillars. Sheets of corrugated steel get slid between the steel during the dry season to catch water, which is then diverted into the aqueduct. The aqueduct is only about a foot wide and a foot deep. It’s a basic, but cool system.

We walk along the aqueduct and up at a field where a man (and an ox) is plowing a field. Two young children are sitting on a rock nearby. The boy, about three has snot smeared between his nose and mouth. There are a dozen flies on his face, mostly, it would seem, feeding on the mucus. Most of the things I’d seen so far had reminded me of how fortunate we are. This was the first real “Africa” moment. It was very sad.

Going to School

After the dam we head off to the main event of the trip – Abenea. This is a school that Scott had visited several months earlier. It will be the focus of the Born In September campaign. On September 7th they drilled this site and broadcasted daily updates. As the pattern goes, we turn off the main road onto a bumpy dirt track. We soon pass through a military base. The base consists of a few military trucks, a barracks, and a guard post made of rocks in a pile.



The countryside is absolutely beautiful. Our track climbs up the side of hills, crests, then climbs down the other side. At one point Scott climbs out his window and sits on the windowsill. I do the same and it’s great. We’re not going very fast, but it’s fast enough to get a nice breeze. We continue past another school which Scott had also visited on a prior trip. We pass by a health clinic. Everyone waves as we go by and children coming running across fields to wave and shout.
Scott is wondering whether REST will really be able to get a rig over this road during the rainy season, but I’m sure they’ve thought through that. After six miles we reach the site in a large plain surrounded by mountains. Just before the school is the biggest mud patch we’ve seen. It raises Scott’s anxiety about getting the rig in. We stop before the mud puddle and finish the walk on foot. We walk over to a corner of the school lot. There is a rock there that’s been placed there and painted to mark the spot where they will be drilling. We discuss why they chose this particular site. This will be a shallow borehole several hundred feet deep, so I think the site is more a matter of creating convenient access than of finding the easiest access to water. Scott also raises the issue of getting the drilling in through the road and they assure him that it won’t be a problem.

We then go to look at the school. They are on break for the rainy season, so there’s no kids there. The school itself is a series of long narrow buildings inside a rock wall. They are building some two additional classrooms outside the wall. We take a look at the latrine and it’s predictably disappointing – two pairs of squat holes. As part of our water project we will be building two latrine blocks with eight bench toilets each.

We peer into the classrooms and they are nothing special. In fact, they are pretty much nothing. They have dirt floors and no desks. One classroom does have desks which hold two or three children each. The most interesting aspect to me is that all of the exterior walls are painted with instructional information. The walls are, in essence, their textbooks. They have the alphabet, maps of the world, animals, etc. Most of it is in English. What strikes me is the range from things my five year-old is learning to the periodic table of elements. There are a couple that really strike me. The first is a diagram of the female reproductive system which accented the broad range of topics they teach. The second was a table showing how to pluralize words in English. One of the word pairs was “louse” and “lice” a reminder that these children probably face that issue with greater frequency. Finally, I like the two diagrams showing how to wire electric lights in series and in parallel. It seemed an ambitious subject in an area that has no electric service.

As walk back to the school we see dozens of people clustered around the mud hole in the track. The women are carrying rocks and the men are placing them into the mud hole. It seems that they have already started preparing for the rig to make it through. On the way out to the main road we sit up on the roof of the truck. We’re sitting way up and we climb up the edge of the hills giving the feeling of flying. It makes me feel like a kid. It was perfect.

Lunch at Gheralta Lodge

Ketachoo has asked Scott whether he wants to stop by a new lodge on our way back to Mekele. Scott’s not so enthused because he wants to get back to the office to have some conversations about how we can move forward with REST on other projects. I encourage Scott to make the stop since Ketachoo seems to really want to. Scott concedes. The drive to the lodge takes us through a Millennium Village. I’ve never heard of the project, but apparently it’s a big effort supported by the UN to solve all of the issues in one shot. The premise that individual solutions aren’t as effective as a more holistic approach. Apparently, the implementation hasn’t been executed well. A lot of people are of the opinion that the execution has been very expensive and that a certain arrogance has limited acceptance by the locals. One is clear, they bought a lot of signs – we pass about a dozen.

We arrive at the Gheralta Lodge and it is wonderful. If there is any hope of Ethiopia becoming a tourist destination it will start with places like this. The buildings are made from the local stone and it fit’s in well. However, the rooms are large, very nicely appointed with good linens and western quality bathrooms. It is simple but lovely. We hear that rooms range from $20-$40 per night depending on the season. We are all in agreement that we will stay here on our next visit. In fact, Scott books nine rooms for his stay while drilling.

We decide to stay for lunch. The lodge is owned by an Italian man who lives there part of the year. While we wait for lunch we walk around the grounds. We climb to the top of a large rock on the edge of the grounds. It has a great view of the valley and the mountains beyond. I’m sure it is lovely at sunset. Lunch is a simple buffet of pasta with tomato sauce. We decide that the owner has settled on a strategy of teaching local woman a few basic Italian recipes. The food is good and fresh. There are two other groups in the small dining room with us. It’s a nice lunch, but it does have a vaguely colonial feel.

Back to Mekele

After lunch we are treated to the beautiful drive that Scott had anticipated when we were leaving Mekele. The road from Adigrat has been paved to this point. Part of a massive construction project by a Chinese firm. We start climbing some very serious mountains. On our first days drive Scott had shared his “guess the altitude” game with us. I solidly whooped Dan in the first round. After that, knowing that he couldn’t excel, he pretended that he didn’t care. He would give flagrantly wrong answers in order to express his disinterest, but I knew it was eating him up inside. At any rate, the GPS regained our attention during this ride. The valley had been at about 5,800 feet. The highest point on our drive back to Mekele was a shade over 10,000 feet.
The road climbs up the switchbacks on one side of a ridge, come over the top, ride along the other side of the ridge and then descend on the next series. The pavement eventually gave way to packed dirt. It was bumpier, but the curves were regulating the speed more than the surface. I am, of course, completely unable to describe how beautiful it is, but I can say that it was the prettiest drive I’ve ever been on.

We descend into Mekele, drive past the cement plant and back to our hotel. We drop our bags in the same rooms and walk over to the REST offices. Dan heads out with Yasoo to do some gift shopping while Scott and I have a wrap-up meeting. We’re very happy with the REST work and Scott has told me that they are one of the best partners. I want to make sure that we take advantage of their skills to improve our ability to document our water projects. We agree to give them several GPS units and digital cameras so that it’s easier for them to prove the wells. We emphasize that the more information we get, the easier it is for us to raise more money.
Afterwards Scott and I walk back to the hotel. On the way we pass a girl selling cactus fruit for 1 birr each. We each get one. She slices off each end, then makes an incision from end-to-end, then peels the skin off. We walk up the hill to the hotel with the fruit in hand. It is sweet and flavorful, but it has large seeds and they’re annoying to spit out. As soon as we’re out of sight Scott chucks his into the bushes and I follow suit.

We have dinner at a hotel near the REST offices. It is the most formal restaurant we’ve been to since Addis. There is some pretense of western food, but the prices top out at $4 for an entrée. The REST team gives us each an Ethiopian outfit consisting of white pants, a long white shirt, white sandals and a wood staff. It’s a very nice gesture. After dinner, Dan stays to have a drink with Solomon. Scott and I walk back to the hotel.

Back to Addis

Our flight is early the next morning. Daniel picks us up and drives us to the airport. As we wait for the plane to arrive we notice a large group of people standing on the edge of the tarmac. The plane lands and parks in the corner of the tarmac. People start walking out and to the door. The large group moves as one towards the plane following a pick-up truck decorated with flowers. Scott speculates that it’s a funeral. I’m skeptical, but I don’t have a better guess. Sure enough we soon see a casket emerge from the luggage hold. It is carried onto the truck as several men weep. One appears to be on the verge of fainting several times. The truck starts to drive off the tarmac and the group follows behind. It turns out that the casket holds the former mayor of Mekele.

Our flight back to Addis is uneventful and on time. Dan has about three hours before his flight. Not enough to make it worth leaving the airport, so we say goodbye to him and head out to the curb. We haven’t been able to reach Lensa so we get a cab over to her house. Scott comes out of the house a few minutes later. We’ll come back this afternoon before our flight back home.

We head over to the Sheraton. It’s a weekday, so there’s a lot more traffic than we’d had the prior Sunday. As we sit in traffic beggars and kids selling things frequently approach us. Our driver buys a box of tissues from one of them. Another boy who’s begging tells us that he used to be a “tissue boy”, so apparently selling tissues in the street is a recognized profession. We spend a relaxing afternoon at the Sheraton, just sitting around the lobby taking advantage of unlimited Internet access, reading, writing postcards and having lunch.

Going Shopping

I wanted to get some scarves for the women at home. We negotiate with a cab driver to take us to the market, wait for us and then drive us to Lensa’s. On the way over our driver made a call to a friend who could show us where to buy the best. This is normal in third world countries, and while I find it a little annoying, I understand the need to make a living off of wealthy foreigners. His friend has told our driver to meet him at a parking garage. We have all our stuff in the trunk of the taxi and we’re both a little anxious about returning to find it gone. Scott decides to bring his computer bag with him.

We head up the ramp of the driveway to the street with his friend. It is raining. Hard. Really hard. Water is streaming along the curbs several inches deep and several feet wide. We wait for a few minutes. I decide to take a picture of Scott and our driver. I don’t say it, but I view it as a small dose of insurance against our bags going missing. Finally, I suggest that Scott stay with the taxi while the friend and I get to work.



The market consists of several square blocks of buildings, each with a covered walkway around the outside. Some appear to have stores inside in addition to the stalls on the walkway. Everyone is huddled in the covered walkways. We sprint across the street, jumping over the streams on each side. We walk several blocks until we finally find the shop. It is full of scarves. The shop is small, perhaps 12 feet across in each direction, with glass cases all around. They offer me a stool and a soda. I take a seat, but decline the soda. First they show me the standard white scarves with a few stripes of color at the end. Those are not what I’m looking for and I point at a stack of the more colorful scarves. I start flipping through the stack pulling the scarves that I think the girls will like most. I’m getting one each for my wife, my three daughters and my niece who is already staying at our house in Chicago.

I casually ask how much the scarves are. The owner tells me that he can give them to me for a special price of 120. I fulfill my first negotiating obligation by saying with a hint of disbelief “nooo.” I continue my sorting for a few moments before asking how much for five. For five he can do 550. I don’t respond as I hand over the stack of rejected scarves. I offer 350 for five scarves. “Oh, no,” he says, “I have no profit margin then.” I try to make sure that I have one scarf that I think each girl will like and that they are all distinct. “Okay, these five for 500 he says as he takes them from me and starts to put them into a bag.” “440”, I say. He fulfills his obligation by telling me that I’m “a very good negotiator,” but he assures me that he can’t take less than 500. I take a step towards the door and he relents. “Okay, okay, okay. 440,” he says with a smirk.

Five scarves for about $50 is fine by me. I later resist the urge to ask Lensa for a benchmark. My philosophy of negotiating small purchases in foreign countries requires me to accept overpaying and to resist the urge to discover by how much. My guide takes me by a jewelry stand, but none of it is particularly interesting. I suggest that he have his friend drive to meet us to save time. We stand outside where the rain has let up almost completely. A few minutes later the taxi comes. I give the guide ten birr and jump into the taxi. I wonder how much the shop will pay him. I briefly wonder how I could create an incentive for the guide to get me the best price, but decide it’s not worth the effort.

Heading Home

We arrive at Lensa’s house. Her nephew is there and he speaks very good English. Lensa and her husband spent several years in the U.S. and her oldest son is old enough to know how much more pleasant it is. We watch the Olympics and drink coffee. I’ve come in well under Scott’s estimate of 22 cups. They bring out snacks including corn kernels that have been toasted. I wonder if it’s field corn since the kernels are larger and a bit tougher. It’s good.

We head to the airport and again all the children want to come. We get into the RAV and head over to the airport. We say or goodbyes and head inside. I’m looking for the right agent to see if we can snag some better seats. Unfortunately we’re quickly directed to an agent from Ethiopian airlines. It seems that Emirates relies primarily on Ethiopian Airlines agents and I’m skeptical that she’ll make much of an effort. I ask for an exit row or bulkhead seats. She tells me that she can’t do it. In fact, she runs into trouble just printing the tickets. She eventually gets help from the Emirates supervisor. There’s no line for customs so we’re soon upstairs.

Scott heads right for the Internet café while I roam around to kill some time. Most of the shops are closed, but as I roam around they start to open. It seems that most of the international traffic from Addis occurs in the evening. I check out a few shops, but there’s nothing particularly appealing. Everyone is huddled around TV’s at the cafés. Apparently the women’s 10k is imminent and Ethiopia has a shot at a medal. I head back to the Internet café and take a seat on the floor in front of the TV as the race starts.

A 10k is not a quick event. There are several commercial breaks along the way. Many of the ads are government sponsored anti-corruption ads and most of the balance involve a moderately overweight woman singing and dancing her way through a rug store. I don’t understand what they’re saying, but I suspect she may be the owner’s wife. The race is starting to sort out with the leaders starting to lap laggards. The announcer has been saying that the Ethiopian has the better final kick, so she has to be shaken before the last lap. As the final lap approaches more people crowd around the TV. The Ethiopian is holding tight in second place and in the final lap she passes and wins handily. The whole airport shouts with excitement. It’s a great Olympic moment.

The Last Leg

It turns out that our desk agent had gone the extra mile and secured us bulkhead seats. Scott is delighted. I’m indifferent – I’ve never liked the lack of storage in bulkhead seats. The flight is fine, but we’re slightly delayed getting into Dubai. It is about 2 A.M. and it is very hot and humid as we exit down the stairway. We have to take a long bus ride to the terminal and we’re starting to worry about our connection. It is a very elegant, but poorly designed airport. You enter and exit at one end of a long, straight terminal parallel to the road. Then you pass by gates on only one side for a long time. There are shops and restaurants all the way. It’s great for browsing the stores – which is perhaps the point – but it ensures long walks through a congested hall to get to the next gate. The monitors indicate that our plane is in final boarding so we run for the gate. I feel for Scott, because all the equipment makes his bag very heavy. We arrive just before they start boarding.

The flight back is not on the A380, but once inside there’s not a discernable difference. Scott and I are separated by ten rows. I’ve taken his magic sleep elixir and I get pretty good sleep. I try to call Scott’s seat without luck. I am able to send him a text message inviting him to play backgammon. We spend the last hour playing. Our last game ends on the tarmac at Kennedy just before they shut the system down. Fortunately, despite a late desperate run by Scott the final score reflects my superior skills.

We reach the gate and I return my sim card to my phone and turn it on. I’m scheduled for a Delta flight in four hours, but I know there’s an earlier one. I’ve got about an hour before that flight is scheduled to leave. The flight attendant tells everyone to sit back down, that it will take a few minutes before we’ll be deplaning coach. Surprisingly, everyone actually sits down. I seize the opportunity. I grab my bag and explain that I have a connection in an hour – I consider that to be true enough. I say goodbye to Scott as I pass by. I walk quickly down the corridor, pass through customs quickly, take the airtrain and find myself at the gate in under forty minutes.

Delta’s commuter jet terminal at Kennedy is the worst airline zoo I’ve ever seen. They have only two doors serving about a dozen jets in an extended walkway. To make matters worse, the doors are at the corner of the terminal and there is way too little seating space. I go to the counter and ask if I can standby for the Chicago flight. The agent tells me there are twenty people on standby and just three seats. She won’t add me to the list. The flight is delayed by 30 minutes, so I head upstairs to the Delta Crown Room. The agents in the lounges are generally more accommodating. I explain my situation and she seems to want to help, but in the end she tells me that she’ll get in trouble if she moves me up the list. Nonetheless, I’m on the list.

I head down to the gate as the time approaches to board. I realize that an earlier flight to Chicago has been delayed and is scheduled to leave at the same time. That means there are two planes leaving at the same time. I take some hope from the prospect that some of the standby’s might be from the earlier flight. They announce the boarding of the two Chicago flights even though the monitor only shows one of them boarding. It’s very confusing and they have to make several last calls for people. I’m standing in a knot with a few other standbys. We discuss our chances. A woman with her daughter asks if the second flight to Chicago is boarding. My peers in the hope of opening up two more seats claim to not know. I want to get home, but I can’t allow it, so I tell her it’s boarding. Justice is served when I’m called to the podium as the second to last standby.

Final Thoughts

One of the things that interested me in Ethiopia was the way that they built there houses. It seemed that almost every house had a door filled with rocks and many had a window filled with rocks. In Ethiopia one builds as one has resources. You start with a single room with a window, a front door and a side door. You fill the window and second door with rocks. When you can afford shutters you take the rocks out and install them in the window. When you can you build a second room connected by the side door. This room also has a front door and windowed filled with rocks. And so it goes. In the country I didn’t see any homes that appeared bigger than two rooms and they all seemed to preserve the ability to be re-divided.

I went to Ethiopia, in part, to find reasons not to believe. To learn that clean and safe drinking water isn’t such a big deal, that the solutions aren’t that easy or that the people aren’t taking advantage of the opportunities. In that endeavor I failed. Everyone has access to some form of water, but it is a consuming task to fetch it and a hazard to drink it. The solutions aren’t quite as simple as we’d like to imagine, but they aren’t very complex either. Finally, as I learned in the first village that we visited the people were very appreciative. They were grateful for the opportunity to come, every day, perhaps twice a day to wait in line to use a hand pump to fill a five-gallon plastic gas can with all the water their family would use that day. In that village donors provided a lifetime of water for each person for less than the price of a happy meal.

I’d like to think that the work that charity:water is doing is like the building of a house in Ethiopia. We are providing the means to build the first room that gives them the most basic shelter. It is up to them to make the most of that. To install shutters and add a room. It is implausible to us that a whole family would live in 150 square feet with no bathroom. It is implausible to us that a whole family would live on less than 10 gallons of water a day. However, for the people I met and over a billion others those implausibilities represent progress. It is implausible to me that I wouldn’t try to help.

If you feel the same way, please visit my birthday page (here) to donate or the charity:water site (here) to help.