In Ethiopia with a Mule by Dervla Murphy Read Free Book Online

plain, bounded to east and west by low mountains. I walked ahead, leading Jock, and Christopher followed a little way behind, displaying remarkable stamina for a ten-year-old. Already I could see that he would never admit to being tired, so an early lunch seemed advisable and we stopped near the edge of the plateau, where a solitary, gnarled tree provided meagre shade. Here too was the first settlement we had seen – a few round, thatched huts ( tukuls ) clumsily constructed of stakes and mud. Several locals at once gathered around us and one young man asked if we were Italian or American; on being told that we were British and Irish he and his companions looked blank. These people must be quite used to seeing faranjs at Makalle, but beneath their formal courtesy I sensed – or imagined – a mixture of hostility, suspicion and contempt.
    From the edge of the plateau we took a short cut down a steep, narrow path which wound around a mountain covered in low green scrub. This path was so rough that I urged Jock to go ahead and choose his own way, since my stumbling progress was making things more difficult for him, and on rejoining the main track he stood meekly waiting for me to catch up. All day his behaviour was angelic, apart from one slight aberration when he suddenly lay down beside a shallow river and attempted to roll in the fine sand; but the moment I tugged at the halter – exclaiming ‘Jock!’ in a horrified tone – he scrambled to his feet and consoled himself with a long drink. This docility was especially encouraging because I had by then removed the bit, which was obviously causing him great discomfort. At our next rest-halt I experimented further by letting him graze loose, and as a reward for my increasing trust he didn’t withdraw even a step when I went to catch him.
    During the afternoon we were sometimes accompanied by groups of men and boys, driving mule or donkey caravans towards their invisible settlements in the folds of the hills. Everyone stared at us with astonishment and amusement– the amusement being caused by Jock’s eccentric load. Amidst surroundings innocent of the garishness that now disfigures many European landscapes my simple possessions look horribly ostentatious – a canary-yellow nylon flea-bag, a vivid green plastic bucket and a white and red plastic water-bottle. No wonder the locals are amused, as they stride along in their off-white shammas behind sober-hued, professionally-balanced loads of hides and salt-blocks.
    There is a disconcerting lack of spontaneity in the highlanders’ reactions to a faranj . No doubt it is illogical to deduce hostility from restraint, yet one misses the friendly, unrepressed interest aroused in Asia by wandering foreigners.
    All afternoon our track switchbacked through easy hills – some scrub-covered , some barren – and despite this region’s appearance of infertility the many herds of wide-horned cattle and small, fat-tailed sheep seemed in excellent condition.
    As the sun declined pale colours softened the hills, and then came the quiet glory of the highland sunset. Without clouds there are no spectacular effects, but this evening broad bands of pastel light merged dreamily into one another above the royal blue solidness of a long, level escarpment some hundred yards west of our track.
    When we heard the distant roar of the palace jeep I led Jock on to some ploughland and murmured soothingly in his ear; but as the noise came closer he began to tremble, and much to his disapproval I hastily replaced the bit, lest he should try to bolt. However, he managed to retain his self-control and quietly followed me back to the track after the vehicle had pulled up nearby.
    To our surprise it was not the jeep, but the Mercedes – and Leilt Aida was sitting in front with a picnic-basket. As Christopher and I gulped cups of steaming tea she and the driver discussed what seemed to them a Problem – where I would sleep tonight. We had walked only