Crossing the Dream Valley

Dejen and the ‘Abay’ Gorge

"Abay mado … fila’w sir

yalèw bèré, na na gèbèré"

– Anonymous

So goes a timeless classic folk song. It is a warming song honoring farmers, whom Ethiopian society has an admiration-despisal perception towards. This hook grossly translates to…

"Beyond the Nile

underneath the reeds,

is a bull in sight,

farmer hurry and look."

Translating the original language, Amharigna, to English is challenging as these two languages have almost no common root. Ignoring the funny outcome of this attempt, I want to emphasize one word I recently learned. 'Fila,' from my brief research, is a name for the group of tall, herbaceous, rhizomatous plants known as Cattail or Bulrush. It is a perennial plant of the Typha genus with an affinity for water that grows around water bodies like ponds, lakes, and rivers. I once saw these plants around the fringes of the Aledeghi Wildlife Reserve in Awash, Ethiopia. Maybe another time in the Nile Delta down in Cairo. Where we are headed is my third encounter spot with the mighty Nile river, apart from the start and end. But let's save those stories for another time. I referred to the lyric because I am reminded of it when I think of this trip. I am revisiting a small town just past some unique landscapes forged by the Nile that have resulted in majestic gorges.

The 'Abay' gorge (2022)

This area is very familiar to my family and I. The ethnic region of Gojjam is where my mother's side originates. I have patched up memories of us always making an annual pilgrimage during the Divine Mercy Sunday weekend to visit my great-grandmother. She was a pillar of fortitude for the family, a broad tree we all sheltered. The good old days were when she also came to visit us in the city. She used to bring me dozens of eggs and her special 'Shiro' powder (a spicy chickpea flour blend used to make a savory and creamy stew). I was amazed by her strength and dedication. It comes from considerate love and affection that I would like to honor by acknowledging in this writing. She is a widow now. Her light is visibly getting dimmer and dimmer as Alzheimer's and heartbreak take a toll on her frail and aging mind & body. Her soul will always live on in our hearts as we dread the day she leaves this planet.

*My great-grandmother passed away shortly after this writing. May her soul rest in peace.

I know this windy route very well, partly because it is straightforward. There are no ins and outs, surprise turns, or junctions on the way. There are, however, breathtaking sights along this road that slithers like a serpent through the terrain. It starts from the elevated hilltops of Entoto, where the founding father of Addis Ababa (Emperor Menilik II) settled. He must have first glanced at a vast bowl-shaped land from this vantage point with visions of building a new capital. I can understand why. These lands were luscious and had dense forest coverage until millions fled here and called it home. I am headed the opposite way for my exploration. Despite making this trip so many times, I am always curious to see where the scenery takes my mind. I have had some special revelations on these hypnotic drives.

The windy road to Dejen (2022)

And so we made our way out of home early in the morning. The definition of "early" has been gradually taken less and less seriously. It used to be around the crack of dawn, but now it allows for a quick breakfast and maybe a quick errand. We drove north to the city's fringes before its pathetically lethargic congestion (which can be confused for activity) began. It was free of traffic for the most part, and the road started to present a challenge. As I mentioned, Addis Ababa is bowl-shaped. The wall has some steep slopes not yet remedied by thoughtful design. I can't think of any infrastructure designed and built with enough practical consideration. We started the ascent, and the world around us must have tilted a few degrees more. After a few windy turns left-right, we made it to the summit area of the Entoto mountains. This area is an example of Afro-Alpine that would've been prevalent hadn't makeshift urbanization destroyed most of this paradise. The air is suddenly cooler; the abundant coniferous trees are the cause and proof of that.

Beyond the hilltops that rest around 2,900 meters above sea level, the terrain becomes more gentle. There's an immediate shift in climate and living standards, though urban living is still spreading its clutch in all directions. We quickly reached a town called Sululta, which is what a calm Swiss village would look like if it were in Africa and left undeveloped for so long. The human touch is nothing but an imitation of the west gone wrong. It is peaceful and tranquil. Mountain greenery as far as the eye can see. There's a trend turning the town into an area where wealthy folks buy property to escape city chaos while maintaining proximity. I can only hope this does more good than harm here.

Chancho, Muke Turi, Fiche, and Gebre Guracha are among the drive-by small towns. These used to be pit stops for tea and bathroom breaks back in the day. There's less need for them now. We fly by them as if they don't exist. In all honesty, there isn't much to them; and there's almost nothing new. They're the same old "sprinkles of the Oromia region," I call them. Frantically established congregations along the opposite sides of the transnational highway roads. They're linear and align everything by the roadside. The crown jewel of my memory at these stops is a very underappreciated beverage called 'Lewz Shay.' Arabic speakers might guess this, but it translates to "Peanut Tea." And that's just what it is, a hot, rich, creamy peanut drink. It is one of the most warming and nourishing things I have ever had when done right. It's a shame that this isn't a commonplace drink in the city's cafés and coffee shops.

It was around 3,000 meters above sea level around here. Until this point, the roads are scenic and typical of the region. Grassy meadows with occasional peaks and some savannah-like landscapes make you yearn for something different. Then comes the buffer zone that transitions from green plateaus to dry gorges. There's an unforgiving overlap of high temperatures and sunny hours during these trips when we reach the Abay gorge.

The 'Abay' gorge (2022)

Gohatsion is a pleasant sight I consider unique in its appearance. What shapes a small, and somewhat isolated town, into such an anomaly? I haven't gotten to the very bottom of it. I have reason to believe it is an elevated oasis that starts to mark the boundary between green pastures and arid valleys. Happy villages where the children play outside on any given day, where goats and donkeys roam around or take on their daily tasks, paint the broader strokes of my memory. This village is the gateway, mind you, because what lies ahead is far from pretty while it lasts.

It's time to slow down gears and put your best driving expertise forward. The roads are built on mountain edges coiling against the slope. One wrong turn and one slip could spell disaster for surrounding vehicles. This road has almost folklore status and is shrouded with legends and mysteries. It is a difficult road passing a region highly susceptible to landslides. Driving accidents, and massive erosion, I might have even heard of bandit presence in the area. My grandmother once mentioned surviving a bus flip from this suspended tightrope. Highways are built on a tight, stingy budget here. Two narrow opposing lanes are the best you can get cross-country. Plenty of logistical network links pass by here, trucks, shipment container hauling vehicles, construction machinery, and all sorts of vehicles. This route is a primary transportation link between two regions and beyond the north, way past our final stop. Frustrated coaster and mini-bus drivers become fidgety after hours of tension. The only apparent option that gets you where you want to go is passing those in front of you. You must, then, risk overlapping them by switching lanes. Accelerate, decelerate, left, then back right… that's the routine. It's more of a gamble when there are a series of cliffs and blind zones.

After driving a short distance downhill, the horizons broaden. Despite its dwindling volume, the mighty Nile's early beginnings cut through the landmass. The water has diminished drastically to where it is now. It has left more land for us to navigate to cross as best we can. We soon reached the crossing bridge. It is a very iconic photo background. It is a lulling journey; some patience is required to make it through without bitter and beaten energy. There are lots of Baboons from here on, although the lower troughs have more in larger groups. Perhaps it's the time of the day. Something about this place resembles the wild western landscape. We continued towards the other side of the Nile, where the uphill road became increasingly steeper.

The 'Abay' bridge over the Blue Nile (2022)

So we prevailed again and made the crossing successfully. This side of the Abay Gorge is somewhat a mirror of the other. More goats and settlements come into view. Small churches, which seem to have withstood the test of time for so long, pop up. I am more endeared when I see the village children hustling tourists and passersby. Well, they sell the tangerines and bananas they pick. You can tell you are just about to enter Dejen once the roads become leveled. This town is the first significant stop on the remainder of this highway. However, it is where our journey ends today. I can almost feel my great-grandmother's presence as we approach the peripherals of this humble town. I associate this part of the road with the young girls with shaved heads who fetch water and other goods. Upon entering Dejen, we are welcomed by the town's most prominent church and mosque on symbolically opposite sides of the road. Following that come the trucks, buses, and hauling vehicles. We go past a few blocks and take a right. A short drive in, another left, and we arrived. Near the cliff edge, on the verge of seeing our missed relatives who scramble to receive us with royal hospitality. It never gets old.

'Afaf' Cliff, Dejen (2022)