Crossing the Dream Valley

 Dejen and the ‘Abay’ Gorge (Part 1)

"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)

Copyright © Nahom Assefa 2023

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 after I wrote this. I would like to dedicate this to her. 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)

Copyright © Kidus Assefa 2023

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.

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