Monday, September 15, 2003
First few days
Sunday 7th September 2003
It's 6.30am and I'm sitting cross-legged in the corridor of the Selam hotel, Asmara. I've been lying awake for most of the night but the muezzin call to pray was my cue to get up and write. The mournful cry of the mosque competes with the plaintive call of the crickets, both urging the faithful to attend.
My first night in Eritrea. Off the plane at last after ten hours of anticipation. Talk of Africa and subtle bonding passed the time. Stepping onto the tarmac with a high-five to Graham and a grin that touches my still-popping ears. Terje's waiting for us -- he's managed to get thois side of customs with his diplomat friend Lynn to brief us on the mechanics of smuggling in computer equipment. Lynn the diplomat will carry the bags through, problem solved.
It's a long wait to get through then we're in assorted vehicles on our way to the hotel. The hotel: clean and tidy without any fuss, a bright sign on the wall lights up a map of the world above the legend "May Peace Prevail". Our bags are piled in the middle of the lobby while Eden attempts to negotiate our rooms.
I get chatting to Lynn and her husband Charles. She works at the British Embassy while he enjoys the pleasures of Asmara. We talk about the book I've just finished: "Ciao Asmara". Neither of them managed to get past the first chapter. "Utter rubbish", says Charles. We're talking over bottles of Asmara -- née Melotti -- the "worst beer on the planet" according to the book. I can testify that that part at least is utter rubbish.
There's a problem with the rooms. There aren't enough. Some of us will have to share three to a room. Which means that they have to find an extra bed to fit in my room. There are no beds, so I come up the stairs to see a guy sitting in the corridor with hammer and screws, trying to build a bed from spare parts. Eventually he gives up and we decide that a mattress on the floor will do just fine. It's not as if I actually get to sleep anyway.
Wednesday 10th September 2003
An early night because my stomach's very dodgy, so I'm back typing for a little while. It's been a chaotic, hectic few days.
Sunday at Casa Dell' Italia for lunch. Asmara wears its Italian heritage proudly. The Italians built most of the infrastructure here. The British and Ethiopians dismantled a lot of it but they left the beautiful buildings and a taste for pizza and pasta. So we gather round some plastic tables in a pretty courtyard, new volunteers mixing with mid-term volunteers to swap experiences and advice. They're a nice bunch -- easy-going and confident which is really encouraging for the rest of us. Most of them were in the same position as us a year ago.
There's a guy there called Alex. He's a Scottish guy who's been living in Keren for the past 6 years. VSO evacuated their volunteers in '98, when the most recent conflict with Ethiopia started, but Alex stayed. He had to resign from VSO to stay and help out during the conflict, so that VSO were no longer responsible for his well-being. He joined up again as soon as VSO returned a couple of years later. He could be a great mentor for me when I get to Keren, although I get the impression he's enjoying being the sole volunteer there at the moment. I said I'd meet him at Aragai's coffee house in the town when I got there. Aragai's plays a part in "Ciao Asmara". It'll be interesting to hear the story from one of the main characters.
Afternoon and evening we trek around the city with a couple of the current volunteers -- Brendan and Adrienne. They point out the main buildings and useful shops then take us up a hill in the hope of a coffee at the "Panorama Café". It's closed, and the hill's occupied by soldiers, lounging in the sun, guns draped across their legs. They're not agressive but they don't want us to go up to the top. Brendan persists: we're new to the city and we only want to have a look at the view. After much conversation they let us past. There's a great view of the city from the top: ordered commercial and upper residential to one side, chaotic shanty town on the other. On the way down we try some "sewer". It's home brew made from fermented injera (itself made from fermented flour). Not sure I like it -- it tastes like gone-off cider. It's the stuff that's served at special occasions however, so I'd better get used to it.
It's 6.30am and I'm sitting cross-legged in the corridor of the Selam hotel, Asmara. I've been lying awake for most of the night but the muezzin call to pray was my cue to get up and write. The mournful cry of the mosque competes with the plaintive call of the crickets, both urging the faithful to attend.
My first night in Eritrea. Off the plane at last after ten hours of anticipation. Talk of Africa and subtle bonding passed the time. Stepping onto the tarmac with a high-five to Graham and a grin that touches my still-popping ears. Terje's waiting for us -- he's managed to get thois side of customs with his diplomat friend Lynn to brief us on the mechanics of smuggling in computer equipment. Lynn the diplomat will carry the bags through, problem solved.
It's a long wait to get through then we're in assorted vehicles on our way to the hotel. The hotel: clean and tidy without any fuss, a bright sign on the wall lights up a map of the world above the legend "May Peace Prevail". Our bags are piled in the middle of the lobby while Eden attempts to negotiate our rooms.
I get chatting to Lynn and her husband Charles. She works at the British Embassy while he enjoys the pleasures of Asmara. We talk about the book I've just finished: "Ciao Asmara". Neither of them managed to get past the first chapter. "Utter rubbish", says Charles. We're talking over bottles of Asmara -- née Melotti -- the "worst beer on the planet" according to the book. I can testify that that part at least is utter rubbish.
There's a problem with the rooms. There aren't enough. Some of us will have to share three to a room. Which means that they have to find an extra bed to fit in my room. There are no beds, so I come up the stairs to see a guy sitting in the corridor with hammer and screws, trying to build a bed from spare parts. Eventually he gives up and we decide that a mattress on the floor will do just fine. It's not as if I actually get to sleep anyway.
Wednesday 10th September 2003
An early night because my stomach's very dodgy, so I'm back typing for a little while. It's been a chaotic, hectic few days.
Sunday at Casa Dell' Italia for lunch. Asmara wears its Italian heritage proudly. The Italians built most of the infrastructure here. The British and Ethiopians dismantled a lot of it but they left the beautiful buildings and a taste for pizza and pasta. So we gather round some plastic tables in a pretty courtyard, new volunteers mixing with mid-term volunteers to swap experiences and advice. They're a nice bunch -- easy-going and confident which is really encouraging for the rest of us. Most of them were in the same position as us a year ago.
There's a guy there called Alex. He's a Scottish guy who's been living in Keren for the past 6 years. VSO evacuated their volunteers in '98, when the most recent conflict with Ethiopia started, but Alex stayed. He had to resign from VSO to stay and help out during the conflict, so that VSO were no longer responsible for his well-being. He joined up again as soon as VSO returned a couple of years later. He could be a great mentor for me when I get to Keren, although I get the impression he's enjoying being the sole volunteer there at the moment. I said I'd meet him at Aragai's coffee house in the town when I got there. Aragai's plays a part in "Ciao Asmara". It'll be interesting to hear the story from one of the main characters.
Afternoon and evening we trek around the city with a couple of the current volunteers -- Brendan and Adrienne. They point out the main buildings and useful shops then take us up a hill in the hope of a coffee at the "Panorama Café". It's closed, and the hill's occupied by soldiers, lounging in the sun, guns draped across their legs. They're not agressive but they don't want us to go up to the top. Brendan persists: we're new to the city and we only want to have a look at the view. After much conversation they let us past. There's a great view of the city from the top: ordered commercial and upper residential to one side, chaotic shanty town on the other. On the way down we try some "sewer". It's home brew made from fermented injera (itself made from fermented flour). Not sure I like it -- it tastes like gone-off cider. It's the stuff that's served at special occasions however, so I'd better get used to it.
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