Ethiopia- Trip of a Lifetime

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would experience Ethiopia and photograph the tribes of the Omo Valley.

I had just finished my latest photography class with instructor Bryan Peterson, as usual, thrilled with his teaching. I wanted more. His 2023 workshop schedule had just been released, and it included Ethiopia. I was in!

My first experience with the joy of meeting people on this trip happened before I even arrived. On my flight to Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia, I met two African women returning home after many years away. One was a nurse in San Antonio, Texas, thrilled to be visiting her mother for Christmas. The other had been living in Amsterdam for six years and “could not wait to feel the African sun on her face.” I could feel their joy at going home. My other seat-mate was a Ukrainian man who told me all about his experience with the war and how an Irish family had taken in him and his wife and daughter to practice English and work. His parents remained in Ukraine, his mother a doctor and his father an airplane mechanic. He spoke of how they used to have excellent medical care and free quality higher education for good students and that he wouldn’t have believed they’d have to leave their whole life behind a year ago. We spoke for hours, watching the map on our flight screens go by as he pointed out geography to illustrate his tales.

I spent my first two days in the capital of Ethiopia, Addis Ababa, a huge eye-opener,  surrounded by new things to learn, see and taste. You can read more in my story, “Addis and the Largest Open Air Market in Africa.” After those first days, with my brain and camera full; it was time to meet my photography group.

Day 1: We met up at the airport for a flight to Arba Minch. Domestic flights in Ethiopia are an adventure. We flew in prop planes with rust marks and deteriorating interiors that landed and taxied into regular parking lots. Okay. What was I going to do at that point? I just got on, assumed everything would be fine, and enjoyed the view.

Meeting the group was one of the best parts of the trip. We were an international crew, men and women from Germany, Mexico, Bahrain, Poland, Portugal, Holland, and the USA. And, of course, Bryan Peterson, our workshop leader, brilliant photographer, and teller of a million terrible Dad jokes. We had the best time together! I learned so many things from these well-traveled people (I was a source of much comedy, being the rookie to third-world travel – doing things like brushing my teeth with tap water and trying to explain to vendors that I couldn’t spend more because my husband’s hair would fall out). We shared stories and perspectives and international medicine as most of us got sick at one point or another. We cheered over great images, made suggestions, shared compositions, and had impromptu lessons from Bryan. Before a flight where some had to leave the group, we played “Wooly Bully” in the airport parking lot (it had become a bit of a theme) and sang and danced before our final group photo. Our guide, Milli, said people were watching from inside the airport; they had never seen a group of foreigners do something like that. When we went through security, a group of soldiers were singing Wooly Bully under their breath. I consider these people dear friends and plan to travel with some of them again soon. What a rich, unexpected blessing.

After one night in Arba Minch at the beautiful Haile Resort (see my story “Fishing in a Lake with Crocs and Hippos”), we hopped into three SUVs and started our 12-day adventure.

Day 2: First stop, a Dirashe village. Our first experience asking complete strangers if they would let us take their photo. We communicated, sometimes with gestures, composed shots, and paid model fees. I was nervous. I think we all were. It was also our first experience being surrounded by adorable, enthusiastic kids.

The kids swarmed us everywhere, clamoring for photos, laughing at Bryan’s antics, and sometimes touching my hair. I brought pens to give them; others included balloons and even candy. The candy was a bummer because it would get tossed out the window of the first car (to avoid a scrum at the car window), and being in the second car, we could see kids fight each other over it.

Mostly they were just adorable, enthusiastic, bouncy kids. They would call to us: “You! You! You!” “Photo!” “Photo!” “Hello, photo!” Some would pluck at our arms. It could get pretty overwhelming.  The kids were a highlight of the trip.

We stopped at Doketu village, where a Konso tribe market was taking place. There were great portrait subjects ranging from a boy with a bunch of moringa on his head to men making sandals out of old tires and, my favorite, older women in front of a bright red wall. A young man (maybe drunk?) kept trying to push them away and make them go back to work. They argued with him because they were making money modeling for us. Finally, Bryan had to pull him away and pay him to “rent” the wall and allow us to take photos.

We spent the night at Kanta Lodge, which was lovely, except I planned to shower after dinner and was quite surprised when there was no water. It gets turned off from early evening until morning. No showering or flushing. Huh.

Day 3: This morning was my favorite village visit. We were accompanied by a local Konso guide who educated us on village life as we walked through; what a treat. See my stories “Chained” and “The Konso Way.” We went to the Key Afer market and visited the Arbore tribe.

The Arbore tribe lives in grass and stick huts on a vast open plain. As we pulled up, naked kids ran alongside waving. They have a mixed economy of animal husbandry and flood-retreat cultivation (in jeopardy from damming) and raise sorghum and maize. They are beautiful people with glowing skin and lovely smiles, wearing brightly colored beads. See my stories “The Proposal” and “He Does Not See” about our Arbore visit. I was touched by groups of smiling girlfriends, a woman posing in front of her home, and the warmth of our welcome.

We checked into the Buska Lodge in Turmi, where we stayed for three nights while visiting the Arbore, Dassanech, Hamar, and Karo tribes. The grounds were lovely, with planters and small retaining walls crafted from empty wine bottles and concrete shaped by water bottles cut in half. We had occasional wifi in the dining room (we immediately planted our faces in our phones!), and breakfast included plates of honey and peanut butter to dip Ethiopian bread in. Ethiopian bread is delicious!

New experiences here included the power being on for only three hours a day. We scrambled to stack and balance our chargers all over the one power strip in our rooms to take advantage. Fire hazard? Most likely. Probably less dangerous than the solar hot water tanks mounted in the shower and PLUGGED IN in the shower. Our door locks were padlocks. Another new one for me.

The staff was delightful, and on our final day at Buska, they gathered to sing and wave us along our way.

Day 4: This was our most adventurous day of all. We started with a visit to the Dassanech tribe. We reached them via dugout canoes steered by local boys with long poles. Seeing us try to gingerly walk the length of the canoe and carefully, carefully squeeze ourselves and our gear into these logs was hilarious. What fun! The visit to the tribe was upbeat and low-stress. Women danced, grandmas babysat, and groups of kids posed with their woosha (dog). The Dassanech live in low-rounded huts with very short, small door openings for protection. Their land is like a desert and quite hot. They practice pastoralism and agriculture along with fishing. The girls, like so many tribes, must undergo female circumcision to marry. This brings honor to their fathers. The girls are called “men” or “wild animals” if they have not undergone the mutilation. Sigh. The price of a bride is 20 cows and 30 smaller animals.

Next, we went to a Hamar bull jumping festival, a jaw-dropping experience in every way. See my story “Bull Jumping Rite of Passage” for all the details about the singing, jumping, whipping, celebrating extravaganza.

Day 5: We started our day in Dimeka at a Hamar tribe market. I had the best time with a Hamar woman here. She had a contagious grin and sparkling eyes and thought putting beaded baskets on my head and posing for pictures with me was hilarious. What happiness to see Hamar women playful, smiling, and laughing instead of being whipped. My time goofing around with her is one of my favorite memories. Then we drove waaayyy out to see the Karo tribe.

The roads in Ethiopia are rutted, rocky, and often poorly paved or unpaved. Our car suffered three flat tires during the trip. Both of the other cars also had flats, and one had a cracked oil pan. Mulay, our driver, protector, and friend, would get out of the car to check the tires frequently. When he’d find another flat, he’d quietly whisper, “shit.” If he had cell service, he could call the other cars to help, but sometimes we had to wait for them to notice we were missing and find us. On the nights we had flats, Mulay would drop us off wherever we were sleeping and have to continue on to buy yet another tire even though he’d been driving all day. He never complained; he just worried about us being safe.

At the Karo tribe, a young man named Logica joined me as my interpreter. He was a lovely young man studying business. We had fun moving through the village and arranging photos. The tribe is quite small and famous for its body painting. At sunset, Bryan posed a group of warriors into a line for us to photograph. Imagine 8 of us on our bellies in the dirt taking the shot. I’m sure the tribe will be laughing about that one for years.

Day 6: We drove to Jinka, where we would spend the next two nights at the Jinka “Resort” while visiting the Mursi tribe.

Bryan warned us the Jinka Resort would be “a big step down” from our previous accommodations. Alarming and oh-so-true.

My room had a mosquito net that was so dirty untying it resulted in a dust shower landing on my bed. The bed? Half seemed normal; half was sunken, almost flat—a proper canoe. I slept with my torso on the standard part, my legs dangling in the indent. The bathroom light switch was hanging out of the wall and made a buzzing, fizzing noise when flipped on. A hole in the ceiling entered an attic, topped by the clear sky showing through the tin roof. The toilet was broken and crumbled porcelain, cracks glued back together. It did not flush, and I had a bucket to fill in the shower, then toss the water violently into the bowl, hoping it would force the contents down the trap. The window was broken, and the shower water heater was plugged into the shower wall.

So yes. Jinka was a big step down. But this “resort” is the only game in town for accommodations. And at least my room wasn’t filled with mosquitoes. Some of my companions had to have their rooms sprayed, and then the cloud of repellent was so toxic they vomited or got major headaches. One had to spend the night in a chair on her porch. Yikes.

Abushe, famous for his bright blue eyes, joined us at the “resort” to model for us. See my story: “Abushe – The Blue-Eyed Boy.” He was delightful, and I hope he’s doing well. I noticed a bright red puddle of congealing blood on the ground while photographing him. I asked if that was blood and was told it was where chickens were sacrificed for a holiday feast. Oh, wow, okay.

Day 7: We went off to visit the Mursi tribe after breakfast. This was my least favorite tribal visit as it was the most commercial and a complete crush.

In his book, The Amazing South Omo Valley, Addisalem Habtamu says, “For many Mursi tourism is the only available opportunity that has ecological (no need to look for new pasture or fight with neighbors over land), economic (tourism generates more cash than other informal economic activities), material (new materials enter the household sphere), personal (establishing relations with tourists) prospects. For some, these encounters generate positive outcomes; for others, the consequences are destructive (alcohol abuse, competition.).”

Another group visited the tribe before we arrived and were still on site, so when we got there, there was already a crush of Mursi people and a dozen or so tourists. The tribespeople were selling lip plates and little clay figurines, grabbing us for attention, etc. We never got far from the cars or into the village; it was impossible with the crowd.

We were already a bit on edge before we arrived. We had to pick up armed guards to accompany us along the way. It’s disconcerting when a stranger with a gun hops into the car and sits behind you. Apparently, the Mursi get drunk by the afternoon and killed a tourist a few years back. Geez.

Beyond the crush, I had a few lovely moments when I could step away with a model and exchange warm eye contact, a smile, and some mutual admiration for their adornments or my blond hair. In those moments of personal connection, I had a great time. I wish the whole visit had been like that.

One of my new friends, Ria, brought lipstick to hand out. That was a huge hit. Everyone, from the men to the children, happily applied it. That made for some interesting shots.

The Mursi are cattle herders and subsistence cultivators who move from one grazing location to another in a seasonal cycle. The women are quite well known for wearing lip plates as a symbol of beauty and sexual maturity. They are usually worn for special occasions or when a woman serves food to her brother or husband and his guests. These days young women can choose whether or not to cut and stretch their bottom lip, and indeed, we saw some young women who had pursued quite a bit of body scarification instead. “Traditionally, the bridal payment depended on a woman’s lip size. If she wore a large lip plate, her dowry payment or bride wealth would be 38-40 cattle plus guns. If her bottom lip were small, her family would get less than 30 head of cattle.” (From The Amazing South Omo Valley, Addisalem Habtamu).

Next, we went to Kako and walked the dirt road in this little town. We came upon a Sorghum mill and took portraits in that interesting setting. There were gaggles of fun, squirrely kids as usual, and I swear the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She was shy and could only stand getting her photo taken for a few moments. I captured her starting to laugh and lifting her hand before her mouth. After walking around for a bit, we stopped at a little shop to get a drink. This was our usual post-shooting ritual, with some choosing beer and others going for Coke or Fanta. Those were pretty much our options throughout the trip. The woman in the shop with her young son was amazed at a group of foreigners in Kako. I asked if I could take her photo and I love the images I got of them in her little shop, the pride shining on her face.

We ate lunch for the second day at a restaurant in Jinka. We were all careful to avoid anything uncooked, including vegetables, etc. I was also avoiding the beautiful fruit smoothies, although everyone else was doing fine with the thick, pulpy drinks. On this day I had a margarita pizza. It was a bit flavorless, the “cheese” mildly sweet. I only had one slice; it wasn’t great.

Up til now, I hadn’t gotten sick, even after ignorantly brushing my teeth with tap water, and I was feeling rather smug about my iron stomach. That was all about to change.

Day 8: We had to be packed and ready to leave at 8:30 am for the 7-hour drive across the country to Chebera Churchura National Park. When I woke up, my stomach was off.  I thought it would surely pass.

Nope. It quickly became apparent the situation was escalating. I told the group I was skipping breakfast and I’d meet them at the car. Back in my room, my poor beleaguered guts decided it was go time.

I tend to pass out when violently ill. As I spent quality time with my broken toilet, I realized I might indeed faint. I had to dive onto the floor and raise my head only to make use of my bucket. Yeeaaahhh. Not my finest hour. Soon, though, the storm had passed, and I got up to pack. Milli, our guide, gave me a big bottle of lemon water and told me to drink it. Another friend gave me some anti-nausea meds from Germany. Into the car we climbed.

I was fine, just exhausted. I think I got lucky.  Overall, it was a great day to be down for the count because we were only driving. We stopped once for lunch, and my plan was to make use of the restroom and then sleep in the car. But the restaurant we entered only had squat toilets (nope, not in my condition) and only served meat. Hard pass. I was out of there quickly.

We took photos from the car window, sang carmate Ria’s playlist over and over, passed through armed security checkpoints at a dam, got a flat tire in Chebera, and made it to the Chebera Eco Resort – a lovely property owned by our guide Milli.

Along the way, people on the street would see the first car go by, full of foreigners. So when we passed next, we were met with huge smiles and waves. It felt like being in a parade.

We spent the next three nights at Chebera Eco Lodge. It’s new, with very nice rooms and a beautiful open-air dining area. Power was on via generator for a few hours each night. We didn’t have hot water as the solar tanks hadn’t arrived yet. Milli, our guide and the resort owner had a solution for that. He built a hot springs pool a mile down the dirt road. Locals use it each morning from 6:30 to 7:30; other than that, he would take any of us down there who wanted a hot bath. Meg, a fellow photographer, had gone the first night and said it was terrific. I think Michael, another one of us went, too, but had to hurry “because the elephants are coming.” On our second afternoon, my carmate and friend Jamuna decided to go. She was shocked to see that trucks were going by as she bathed. Milli assured her no one cared. Jamuna replied, “I care!” We had a lot of fun imagining her husband’s reaction when she got home and told him she bathed in front of truckers in Ethiopia. I stuck with cold showers in my room.

Day 9: Our first stop was visiting the 107-year-old man in the village of Chebera. Bryan has photographed him many times through the years. He and his entire family are remarkably welcoming and gracious, it was a privilege to meet all of them. See my story, “The 107-Year-Old Man,” to read some of the wisdom he has shared with Bryan.

After that, we followed our armed scout (in this area, you travel with an armed scout due to wild animals) into the village and had fun meeting and photographing locals. We met school girls who asked us to read to them in English, hordes of kids who loved having their pics taken and then looking at them on our camera screens, and a handsome young man who posed for us with a cup of coffee, while his friends laughed themselves silly in the background.

I must mention that coffee in Ethiopia is a very big deal.

According to legend, the 9th-century goatherder Kaldi in the region of Kaffa discovered the coffee plant after noticing the plant’s energizing effect on his flock. He tried chewing some of the berries himself and discovered coffee.

Coffee is vital to the economy of Ethiopia; around 60% of foreign income comes from coffee, with an estimated 15 million of the population relying on some aspect of coffee production for their livelihood.

The coffee ceremony in Ethiopia is a core cultural custom. There is a routine of serving coffee daily, mainly to get together with relatives, neighbors, or other visitors. The ceremony is typically performed by the woman of the household and is considered an honor. The coffee is brewed by roasting the green coffee beans over an open flame in a pan. This is followed by grinding the beans. The coffee grounds are then put into a vessel containing boiling water.

I saw this everywhere we went, not only at the Mercado and in restaurants and hotels but even on sidewalks or roadsides. Beans roasting over the flames (the smell was amazing!), the black pots standing ready, coffee poured into the same type of cup, often with incense burning and rushes on the floor. One restaurant served the coffee with a sprig of herb called rua, which smelled like a cross between rosemary and mint. It was delicious.

Back in Chebera, I had an experience that will stick with me. It sounds strange, but here it is. I met a local woman, probably about my age, in front of her brightly colored home. We were taking her photo, and nothing unusual was happening. Until we made eye contact. She got very animated, gesturing and smiling. I smiled back. She put her hands together and bowed as though I were an old friend she was so happy to see. I don’t know how to explain it, but we connected in some way I’ve never felt before. Strangers, but not? I don’t have any answers. When I got home, I sent her some money via Milli, and I hope he can find her and get her name. Maybe there’s a way we can stay in contact.

That night we set up to shoot star trails. We positioned our cameras at the base of a tree, set them to shoot repeatedly for the next couple of hours, and planned to get dinner. Someone noticed movement in the tree. It was a man! (It was pitch dark, so we hadn’t seen him). He was up there tending his bee hives. When we returned later and looked at our images, we found his torch had left trails of sparks that made our images extra special.

Day 10: We drove to the town of Amaya to experience the Feast of the Epiphany. There were miles of people parading in the streets, the women dressed in white, singing and marching along. They were following processions of religious leaders, sometimes covered in elaborate canopies with a red carpet rolled out ahead of them. The parade would stop, and dances would break out before moving on again. The sheer size of the celebration was amazing, and the exuberance of the people was remarkable as they worshipped and celebrated the Christian holiday.

That night, back at Chebera Eco Resort, we sat around a massive bonfire while locals from the village came to sing and dance for us. It was a lovely send-off.

Day 11: We were up early for the drive to the airport. We had to say goodbye to Mulay, our beloved driver and friend. This was where we played Wooly Bully and took our last group photo together. We were all choked up after spending so much time together. After we got home, Ria, Jamuna, and I sent Mulay some Wooly Bully T-shirts to remember us by. We stay in touch.

We flew back to Addis Ababa, and there we had to say goodbye to Mona, another dear friend, as she was on her way to Uganda to see gorillas. We also had to leave Michael, who had to get home. The rest of us flew on to Dire Dawa.

Ah yes, another tiny airport complete with monkeys running around outside. Very cool.  Our bags didn’t make it, so we waited an hour until they arrived on another plane from Addis. Yay!

We expected an hour and a half drive to Harar, planning to arrive in time to feed wild hyenas, which takes place at night. What happened, though, was we got pulled over repeatedly every few miles by armed police. They would argue with Milli or Bryan in the first van, meanwhile literally pounding on the side of our van or shining flashlights through the windows. Once, they even threw open our side door. We were told to hold up our boarding passes to show we were tourists. Apparently, this can be a smuggling road, but our local guide Bin said, “They hire these men from the country, and they have no idea what they are doing.” Excellent. At one point, they wanted to search our luggage, but Milli forcefully told them that was not their job, and we were on our way, only to get pulled over again a few miles down the road. It was unsettling and irritating. We got to Harar so late the hyena feeding was rushed. It was a bummer for some of our group as they were leaving the next afternoon, but Ria, Susanna, and I would get to do it again.

We stayed our final two nights at the ZM Hotel in Harar. Water and power 24 hours a day, and a restaurant with several safe food options. So nice. A cockroach ran around on my headboard, but at this point, that was no biggie. (The size of the spider we couldn’t capture in my room in Chebera made all other insects inconsequential).

Harar is wonderful. It is a Unesco World Heritage Center and a City of Peace because Christians and Muslims live happily side by side. It is the African Mecca, the fourth holiest city in Islam, with 82 mosques. The walls surrounding Harar Jugol, the Old City, were built in the 13th and 16th centuries.

Day 12: We wandered the ancient narrow streets of old town Harar, filled with brightly painted walls and homes along with friendly people. I loved seeing the pharmacy, the mall, and butcher shops (See my story: “Um, Shouldn’t that be Refrigerated?”). We took photos of a proud shop owner, a working mom selling tomatoes with the single happiest baby boy I’ve ever seen grinning on her lap, and an adorable little girl who promptly took her modeling fees and bought candy for her friends (See my story: “The Sweet Little Angel from Harar.”). We wrapped up the first part of our day in a square where locals feed black kites, a type of hawk, by holding chunks of raw meat out in their hands and waiting for the birds to dive down and grab them. I happily took part, putting the meat in my hand and then on my head. The thump when those birds hit the meat is impressive. I had a blast.

We had to part with Bryan, Scott, Meg, and Jamuna as they were heading to the Maasai Mara. Milli and our local guide, Bin, stayed with me, Ria, and Susanna. We had a fun afternoon shopping, getting coffee, and a highlight for me – riding around in Tuk Tuks. I’d never been in one. We laughed as we drove around in the chaos, filming on our phones. Each tuk-tuk is decorated according to the owner’s taste, and we saw everything from Mickey Mouse to “Mom” painted on the side, and even a tuk-tuk containing a chandelier of sorts with dangly black fringe. Milli said it was to dust our foreheads. We were having a ball.

We wrapped up our evening feeding wild hyenas. We held a chopstick with a piece of raw meat dangling over the edge up by our face until a wild hyena would approach and snatch the meat.

According to local folklore, the feeding of hyenas in Harar originated during a 19th-century famine when the starving hyenas began to attack livestock and humans. The people fed them in an attempt to keep them satisfied. Bin told me there is an annual ceremony, Ashura, where the hyenas are provided with porridge. He said the results are an omen – if the hyenas eat all the porridge, they are hungry and more dangerous for the coming year.

Our experience with the hyenas was fascinating. They lingered in the shadows, a large group, and you could see their glowing eyes when a flashlight shone their way. The hyena man said there are two packs; one shows up when the other leaves. There was the carcass of a large animal off in the dirt (the source of the meat, I suppose), and hyenas would approach and tug bones away. The crunch of their teeth on the large bones was LOUD. A lone dog, tail tightly tucked between its legs, would sneak in and grab some meat too. Brave pooch.

The hyenas approached the hyena man and us very tentatively. Any movement from other hyenas, any sound, and they would freeze or scramble away. A couple of fights broke out among them, dust flying as they charged each other, screeching. We were only feet away. It was intense.

The hyena man encouraged us to hold the stick in our mouths. No, thank you. (Covid, anyone?). So we held the stick close to our mouths instead. When the first hyena crowded into my legs from the side to grab the meat, I was struck by two things, how solid and powerful the animal was and how warm it was! The heat impact was immediate even though the contact was mere seconds. So interesting. These animals are the second largest predators in Africa, and it was a privilege to interact with them.

Day 13: Our last day together was a long day of travel and lots of airport shenanigans. A misspelling on my domestic ticket became a scene. I had been assured it was not a problem by the person who booked it. Wrong. A committee of employees formed around the computer screen, and eventually, I was told all was well. My bag was specifically marked as needing to transfer onto a connecting flight in Addis. It should be fine, right?

Once in Addis, I said a sad goodbye to my new dear friends and proceeded towards my international gate, only to find my ticket had been canceled. I waited for the ticket agent, who assured me all was well (I’m sensing a theme here) but suggested I go back to baggage and make sure my suitcase went through. It hadn’t.  Milli had rescued it, collected it, and handed it off to a manager to make sure it got to Los Angeles.  Milli was simply wonderful.  Ethiopian airlines?  Not so much.

Next, I held up the entire boarding line when the computer at the gateway again showed me not checked in or having a seat, Ethiopian Airlines strikes again.   But two flights later, I was safely home.  My bags didn’t make it.

Some final impressions.

Ethiopians are wonderful. But Ethiopia needs a lot. A lot of infrastructure, a lot of opportunity, a lot of money. It needs a government that provides for the people, not just for itself. It was beyond disturbing to see the new mega-mansion the prime minister is building for himself in Chebera with huge crews of Chinese building roads for his convenience, while at the same time, people living in the capital cannot find essential medicine. Or to hear about people trying to build schools for the tribes, only to be charged three times the cost of the school just for a permit to build.

Some say a trip like visiting the tribes is unethical, a human safari. On the contrary, done with respect, local guides, payment direct to the tribes/models, and supporting their businesses by buying their goods, this is one of the only ways the tribes earn income in changing times.

Despite their day-to-day challenges, the Ethiopians we met were overwhelmingly friendly and welcoming. We were greeted with curiosity, warm smiles, and waves. I was often asked, “What do you think of our country?” When I replied it was beautiful, people were genuinely touched. They are proud of Ethiopia.

These people live daily with unreliable supply chains, water, power, communications, and even sanitation. In the countryside, they spend their entire day gathering water in jerrycans, washing in rivers, herding livestock, cooking, and tending to the basics. But they just do it, living their lives with what they have. They aren’t pitiful as they’re portrayed in the weepy charity commercials on TV with sad music playing and babies covered in flies. I was profoundly impacted by witnessing the grace folks exhibited living in third-world conditions and how much we share in human experience despite these conditions. (See my story: “A World Away, so Much the Same.”).

It occurred to me that those who would pontificate from afar that people in third-world countries should just work harder, study harder, or pull themselves up by their bootstraps are deeply, woefully ignorant. These folks are busy all day with the basics. There isn’t enough time or energy to do extra—something to consider when contemplating immigrants or policies affecting the less privileged here at home.

I was in a perpetual state of adapting to conditions I was not used to while in Ethiopia. My well-traveled friends said this trip was about as challenging as it gets. The bottom line is we were fine. We had our needs met, our drivers and guides were terrific, and I felt very safe and well cared for with them. Despite that, it got exhausting after a couple of weeks. I remember feeling like I could relax once I landed in Frankfurt, back in a first-world country. If anything like an illness, injury, or some other emergency happened, I wouldn’t have to worry, and I didn’t have to spend any energy thinking about the basics. It was a relief.  I plan on returning to Africa. Next, I’ll travel to Kenya and Tanzania on safari with my husband, Mark. I’m glad we’re going places with a bit more infrastructure, and I’m thrilled at the prospect of sharing Africa with him. It’s a very, very special place.

I also plan on shooting with Bryan Peterson and some of my friends from the trip again. The opportunity to go places I would never go on my own and to do it with a brilliant teacher and new and old friends is such a gift. Next up? A camel festival in India.

My trip to Ethiopia is something I’ll treasure forever. People told me in advance that Africa changes you, and it’s true. It was a privilege and honor to meet these enchanting people.