Ethiopia

Off the plane at 4 am, I befriended some Germans and got a crappy room in a Addis Ababa. The next day, some Ethiopian youths befriended us, much to my dismay. Though their intentions were to clearly take us around and have the locations charge us massive amounts, the Germans thought it was good entertainment and didn't mind. We first checked out the market, which was pretty insane even by Africa standards. Then, we ended up in a "chut" house, chewing the weed of Ethiopia that everyone wastes their fortunes on. It didn't really do anything for me, and, of course, the bill was enormous by African standards ($25 per foreigner). Later that evening we danced and various Ethiopians, both male and female alike, got close enough to me for it to be awkward.

Addis is dirty, poor and surprisingly cold. Prositutes line the streets in hijabs, which I guess keeps them warm, unless they are all Muslims. Homeless and begger children are everywhere and it takes being a cold-hearted jerk to get them to go away. I decided to get away from the city and headed east.

Ethiopia opened up into endless greenery and I made it to Debre Zeit where I went for a walk around the local lakes. Some guys who claimed to be 22, but looked more like 16, befriended me and asked me about my life. I lied and said I was an English teacher and we talked about how great Ethiopia was and their faith in God. We departed on good terms; I even gave one my e-mail address. 15 minutes later, though, they were back. The frowns on their faces gave everything away. They wanted to rob me.

"Give us your money!" one said.

Normally, I run in situations like this and I'm not sure what got into me. Perhaps it was the betrayal or perhaps it was just that they were unarmed. I puffed up my chest, put on the craziest face I could and yelled:

"I will fucking KILL you!"

Two started to run away. The third picked up a large rock and so I did the same. He threw it and ran. I thought it missed me, but I have a bruise today. An Ethiopian family passed by the men (boys?) as they ran away. When the family got to me, I felt like I needed to justify the the still angry and crazy face I wore.

"They tried to rob me."
"Sorry"

I got in a series of slow-moving minibuses with a baby always plobbed in my lap. Over the course of 12 hours ameliorated by epic scenery, I finally got to Harar. Harar is a walled Muslim city in the east that was once a mighty trading center. It was bumping from Ramadan, which was nice since I'm not yet comfortable walking around the poorly lit cities of Ethiopia at night, knowing that people do, in fact, rob foreigners. I had heard about hyenas in Harar so I grabbed a local boy and asked him to take me to the feeding ground. There were dozens of massive hyenas creepily lurking in the field. The man there would put raw meat on a stick and the beasts would rip the meat from his hands, and eventually my hands. To put it dumbly - it was cool.

The next day I got a quick tour of the city from a local kid. The Muslims in Ethiopia wear the most vibrant and colorfull hijabs and abayas. Nearly every square of the city got pretty excited about my entry. They clearly don't get that many foreigners. Unfortunately, they get enough that the standard response is putting their hand out for a hand out. Literally, hundreds of people asked me for money in Harar. It got old fast.

I headed to Dire Dawa, where I just wanted to get to the airport, but was pleasantly surprised to find a mass of Christian women in white hijabs praying (like Muslims do) towards the local church. A Christian call-to-prayer blared from the church speakers. I peaked inside in the gates and saw the men. Yup, gender-segregated with men up front and women in the back. It was the most Muslim-like Christian display I had ever seen.

On the way to the airport, a couple of mentally ill started following me and eventually they were shooed away by a 16-year-old boy who wanted to be my guide. Surprisingly, a tuck-tuck drove up, two guys got out and punched the boy in the face.

"He's a thief" they said before driving away.

Weirded out, I decided to grab a tuck-tuck myself to the airport instead of walking. The boy started screaming at me wanting "his money for helping me." I tried to explain that he didn't do anything, but I eventually just ordered the driver to go. Weirdness.

Back in Addis. Ug.

Sneaking into the Dome of the Rock Mosque

"Yela, let's go," Rima said to me.
"Rima, you need to wear a hijab."
"I'll be fine."
"No you won't, go get it."

Begrudgingly, she went back to her bag. It was sort of odd that the ezhnebi was telling the Muslim Arab how to dress for the mosque. Not wanting to look like a tourist, I had put on slacks and a white button up shirt in an attempt to look a little more formal and less trashy. My beard was in full lumberjack and I was dark from months in the Jordanian sun. In my mind, I looked Muslim. After walking four blocks from the hotel, Mona looked at me and both she and Rima started laughing.

"You look like a Jew!"

I competely did. Black slacks and a white shirt? What was I thinking? I attempted to ameliorate the situation. Arabs always wear short sleaves so I rolled up them up. I unbuttoned my second button and tried to show off some chest hair. Ug, not even close. I should have worn a tight t-shirt or a blue button up. Anything but white really.

We walked into the courtyard of the Dome of the Rock mosque through the tunnel by the Western Wall. It was tourist hours. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. Tourists would be all around the mosque, but unless they were Muslim, they wouldn't be let inside. That is, except me, inshallah.

Rima and Mona started chatting to the Palestinian Authority guards by courtyard entrance.

"Can I go inside?" asked Rima.
"Not without an abaya," said the guard.

I had underestimated the strictness of the mosque for women; a hijab, as it turned out, was not even enough. A second irony today - the Palestinian Muslim would not be able to get in, but the lying infidel athiest foreigner would continue on. I went on without the ladies.

In case anyone was watching, I stopped by the ablution fountains and washed. I then went straight for the mosque. Having trouble finding the entrance, I encircled the mosque three quarters before coming to it. Fat tourists were tryign to sneak a peak inside. Moment of truth. I walked toward the entrance and was stopped.

"Where are you from?"
"Amerika, bas ana Muslim."
"Do you know the fatiha?"

I had been trying to memorize the fatiha, the first sura of the Quran and the prayer of the Muslims, for two days.

"Bismillah, a-rahmen a-raheem, ahamdoolia, uh, rab alameen, uh, a-rahmen, uh, a-raheem, uh...malik.....uh....yom...a-deen...uh....eyak..."

I wasn't sure if he was pittying me or if hearing the butchering of the fatiha was too much for him, but he cut me off.

"How do you become a Muslim?"

Softball!

"La ilaha ila Allah, Muhammad rasool Allah. (No God, but God, Muhammad is the messenger of God)"
"Welcome."

I took off my shoes, put them in a cubby hole and gazed at the stain glass interior. Most mosques are sleepy places with men mainy seeking refuge from the heat and to hang with friends than for actual worship, though that happens too. It was small and serious inside with everyone looking at me. I did not fit in, clearly. I made my way for underground cave where Muhammed ascended to heaven, Abraham attempted to sacrifice his son and the home of the Easter Bunny. I was intercepted.

"Hey, who are you?!" said a mystery man.
"Asalam alaikum."
"Where are you from? Speak the fatiha."
The same as before.
"How many times a day do Muslims pray? Did you wash? Is this your first time here? What to you know of this place?"
Five. Yes. Yes. It was a temple, then a church, then a mosque. Ooh, wrong response.
"No, no, no, you do not know of the history."
"Uh, I mean, it was where Muhammed ascended to heaven, uh...you know, on the horse"
"Do you know how to pray?"
"Yes, uh...do you want to pray with me?"
"No, you pray alone."
His angry face forced a disingenuous smile. "Welcome. Woud you like me to show you around?"
Nervously, I said yes. We walked down into the cave where he showed me the alter of ascension and some corner that had something to do with Zacharia.
"Right, Abraham and Ishmael were there." I said.
"No, Ibraheem."
"Right, Ibraheem and Ismael"
"Would you like to give money to the al-Aqsa children fund?"
"Yes, of course....inshallah"

It hit me. This guy didn't work for the mosque. He was just some dude trying to shake me down for money. I started feeling better. We exited the cave and he eventually stopped following me around. I decided to quit while I was ahead and made my escape.

How did Richard Francis Burton ever do Mecca?