A different kind of recycling

Fantastic though The British Museum is, I think there's a reasonable argument for re-naming it "The (Partly) British Museum", given that a fair amount of it is the loot of imperialism. 

Making a bee-line straight for the Africa section, I was slightly shocked, if in no way surprised, to find that the 'Africa' section lumps the entire continent together, as though every cultural meme in the world's second-largest continent was just a variation of an easy to digest African whole. In short, it reproduces the stereotypical way in which Africa has been so often depicted for decades. The approach that leads even well-educated people to talk about this place, containing minimum 1,250 languages, as though it was just one country. I should point out that there are several wings devoted to Egypt.

This leads to a feeling that there's no real narrative holding the exhibits together. The swords are together, the clothes, the hats, the sculptures, all together. They're all grouped aesthetically rather than by culture, so if you want to learn much about history, you aren't going to get a great deal out of it. Judging by the number of cameras everywhere, I'd say the layout works well for those wanting to get as many interesting shots as possible.

Regardless, the exhibit does have a power of it's own. For better or for worse, one of the most eye-catching exhibits draws on one of the strongest African stereotypes, war. The AK-47 in particular. I've been aware of artists and craftsmen melting down old guns to either re-purpose or to send an artistic message - see this excellent blog post from Nico on a project in Liberia.

The body made from sight leaves, beak from bayonets, feathers from recoil springs.

The message, I suppose is one of defiance. That of a form of beauty being born from a machine designed specifically for killing and asserting power over others. It is a brutal kind of beauty, the bird looking rather skeletal. Or maybe it isn't beauty at all, maybe it's a mockery. Whatever it might be, the fact that men and children have likely looked down one of those sight leaves before firing on someone is rather haunting. A dark joke if nothing else but in the west most humour involving Africa is quite dark.

Right at the front, though, is a more stark and surely a more powerful message. The 'Throne of Weapons' is a stand-in for the message delivered by the entire exhibit. Everything played up to simplified stereotypes. It would be disingenuous of me to argue too strongly against these, though. In many cases, African presidents are held up by that massive threat of force, and are de facto presidents for life. 

I suspect that, in a hopeful gesture, they've deliberately made the throne uncomfortable looking, and perhaps slightly unstable. The sad reality is that from north to south, it has for a long time paid well in Africa to rule your people at the barrel of a gun, being in no way specific about any countries.

As an aside, I often wonder whether there is a significant relationship between countries having the word 'Democratic' in their name and being ruled by dictators. Democratic Republic of the Congo, Democratic People's Republic of Korea. Etcetera.

Simplified though it may be, to some extent the museum has to manage people's expectations, and most come to this place to look at mummies, sarcophaguses and that kind of thing. I just wish they strove more to challenge people's perceptions rather than to reinforce the simplified way of thinking that leads many to fear or mistrust Africa. Promoting a drastically simplified notion of African-ness encourages this ignorance.
A subtle appreciation of African cultures isn't going to do a whole lot to solve poverty, other perhaps than to bring more tourists to the place, but it will broaden minds. And Ethiopia has a lot of exceptional things for tourists. A big glass of fresh mango & avocado juice for $1 being a good starting point.

Some more photos from the Africa exhibit. I can't remember what they're of.

Food, culture and other stuff

Six months and I've scarcely learned any Amharic beyond simple pleasantries. Fair, it's a tough language and I work almost entirely with English speakers, so if I can order food and a couple of beers then I'm getting along alright ("hulet biya afellegalu"). Surprisingly, in between occasional games of Petanque and some cheap classes, I've improved my French a great deal more. At least they speak it in more than one country, he said, trying not to sound disdainful. 

Typical of a lapsed fat kid, I have learned quite a lot about food and some of the most enjoyable food you can find in Dire Dawa is on the street. It's a mix of traditional Ethiopian, middle-eastern, and one dish which seems to be cobbled together simply to get the best taste from the cheapest ingredients. My phrasing belies the fact that this - enkulal ba dinich/አንኩላል ባ  ድኒች  - tastes incredible. 

Enkulal ba dinich

Literally 'eggs with potato', this slightly odd combination of eggs, potato, lentils, kidney beans, chillies, onions, a little oil and lime juice is really delicious. Served with crusty bread and sweet spiced tea, you'll damn well have your carbs on board for 10 birr/$0.50 for a big plate of it.

It's pretty humble stuff, but these little street-stalls provide a nice place for locals to catch up and relax as they come back to life in the evenings, having sweltered through another 37-degree afternoon. Something about eating the way locals do adds to the self-congratulatory sense of authenticity. You may be able to get a really nice steak with vegetables for $3.50, but sitting in an air-conditioned hotel does sometimes feel a little hollow. The air conditioning helps, obviously, but on the street you'll quickly forget about the heat which in the evenings is generally quite pleasant. It's hard to reconcile the weirdly artificial feeling of sitting in an air-conditioned lobby eating steak when just outside the gates are children barefoot in rags living on the street, where often the closest thing they have to parents is the older girls who maintain some kind of order. 

The street stalls in Legahare, part of the Muslim district, are compelling and a great place to people watch. It's not only in the architecture that you realise that Islam is one of the main cultural bridges that brings such a vast diversity to east Africa. The architecture is a mix of French, Turkish, standard East African and Yemeni Arab. With just a short while here you'll be able to pick out several distinct languages spoken simultaneously, often within the same conversation - Amharic with it's distinct ejectives, Somali and Arabic with the deep glottals, the lively rhythm of Oromifa* and the solitary French phrase often yelled at white folks; "Bonjour! Ca-va?".

Part of it could be down to the nearby city of Harar. Supposedly the fourth holiest city in Islam, it once formed the centre of a powerful regional kingdom in it's own right, and still draws Muslim pilgrims and tourists of all kinds into the region. It's basically the only thing worth seeing for miles around, but very much worth seeing. 

Baklava/Baqlawa.

The middle-eastern influence abounds in the excellent Baklava they serve here. It's like a dessert lasagne of sorts - layers upon layers of filo pastry stuffed with crumbled peanuts and pistachios, soaked in syrup or honey. All down the Muslim district, shops like al-Hashimi sweets ply Baklava, plum cakes and excellent dates, much to the delight of the city's few dentists. I brush at least twice a day, I've heard what the dentists are like.

Fuul

A really tasty breakfast for $0.50 has to be fuul, a spicy bean stew cooked over charcoal. Again, you can find this almost anywhere and they serve it with surprisingly good soft white bread. They fry boiled fava bean mush in oil with a lot of berbere, a mix of different hot spices. When it's done, they top it with chopped chillies and red onion. See it off with some ludicrously sweet tea and you're well set until lunch. Locals are often a little taken aback on seeing a westerner eating at such a modest place. They look as though to ask why you would eat there and not have your cook make it for you at home, or to eat in the 'fancy' hotel. Well, I don't have a cook and the hotels leave that hollow feeling whilst charging three times as much, so that's that. 

Not so widely available in Dire Dawa is breakfast fetira. Fried unleavened bread that crumbles slightly. The fetira guy cooks it up over a vigorous fire in an old oil drum while you wait. Mix it up with honey and fresh yoghurt and you aren't going to miss cornflakes too much. Especially since a box costs nearly $10. Dinner fetira is all over the place though. At dinnertime they cook it with egg, onions, tomato and pepper, chopped to bits with a cleaver and in an unexpected move, usually topped with banana and ketchup. I take the banana separately, thanks. 

Suitably enough, considering that Ethiopia is perhaps most famous across the world for famine and much less so for it's food, is the fact that all of this is as nothing compared to that which Ethiopia is almost as famous for. That's the coffee. Buna seems to be what makes Ethiopians tick and in my six months here so far, I don't think I've once been more than five minutes from a cup. Again, you can go to the cafes if you want, and be served a sour, brutally strong attempt at an espresso that leaves black marks on your lips and fingers, or you can drop by one of the little stalls lining most streets and be served the smooth coffee typical of Ethiopia. The beans are roasted fresh throughout the day over charcoal, onto which the buna ladies sprinkle incense. It's served in a tiny china cup, normally filled half with sugar before you get it, so if you're not into incredibly sweet coffee, make sure you say so. The locals around you will be bemused when you ask for "tinnish sekwar/sekwar yelleu" (a little sugar/no sugar), but the coffee still tastes great. Again the spirit of authenticity, set and setting, probably propels this along a bit - often you'll be perched on a little stool of goat skin stretched across a wooden frame, whilst the air fills with the warm smell of roasting coffee and the sweet pungency of incense. The fact that the coffee you're drinking was probably grown not an hour's drive away helps too. 

The beans are roasted fresh throughout the day over charcoal, onto which the buna ladies sprinkle incense. It's served in a tiny china cup, normally filed half with sugar before you get it, so if you're not into incredibly sweet coffee, make sure you say so. The locals around you will be bemused, when you ask for "tinnish sekwar/sekwar yelleu" (a little sugar/no sugar), but the coffee still tastes great. Again the spirit of authenticity, set and setting, probably propels this along a bit - often you'll be perched on a little stool of goat skin stretched across a wooden frame. The fact that the coffee you're drinking was probably grown not an hour's drive away helps too. 

An honourable mention must go to the samosas. For 1 birr/5 cents, it's a tasty snack between lunch and dinner, usually filled with lentils or potato and a fair bit of chilli. You carry them in re-purposed old newspaper, which considering that I've eaten from Turkish, Georgian, American and British newspapers, might indicate the regard most Ethiopians have for their press. This could be down to the government's questionable policies to the media, or that mere fact that literacy is around 43%. Bombalino, ubiquitous deep-friend pastry doughnuts are also served for breakfast. They're ok, though not even a patch on fuul.

The street stalls do, of course, serve injera, dishes based on the divisive Ethiopian sour pancake. I'll skirt over this because unless you're here on a very tight budget, you're much better trying injera in a proper restaurant. It's a weird enough taste and texture for westerners without skimping and going for the cheap stuff which normally uses lots of wheat in place of the more expensive teff flour which usually leaves it drier. I'll cover injera in more depth some other time.

*Oromifa can often be quite easy to read. The phrase "Rift Valley University" written in Oromifa is "Yooniiversitii Riiftii Vaali"