We were in the Omo Valley in 2011. An amazing place with many different tribes still living a traditional life. We were back to revisit old friends and explore some new ones.
The Surma live to the west of the Omo River. Off the beaten track. Which is why we went. We camped in a Surma village in order to integrate with the community, at least to the extent possible in a few days. The Surma men are proud warriors, tall and striking in their bottle green blankets. They are fearful warriors, traditional stick fighting causing many injuries and deaths each year. And that’s just amongst their own tribe. Cattle are a man’s most prized asset. The shepherds stay with their cattle on the grazing lands and drink their blood for sustenance The Surma women stretch their lips over enormous lip plates, a sign of beauty. Both men and women wear ear plates and beautify their bodies with patterns of scars. Things have changed here though. Gebre, our guide, was here in 2011. Then people walked around naked, now they have bottle green blankets. And the ‘photo for birr’ phenomenon has reached here too. A controversial transaction for photos that only seems to exist in Ethiopia. But a relatively untouched tribe which hopefully will maintain their traditional ways for some time to come. The chances for them are better this side of the river than what is happening to the east.
The Nyangatom are the undisputed kings of the Omo Valley. The fiercest and most respected warriors. Even fiercer than the Surma who they have pushed up out of the valley and into the hills. But very relaxed about visitors, welcoming us to their village. The women dress in goatskins, piles of colourful necklaces sitting atop their shoulders. No lip plates or ear plates here but some similar scarification. A tribe I would like to spend more time with.
Revisiting the Dasenach was a mixed experience. Instead of the feathers through the lips and the most extravagant head paraphernalia they could conjure up for the tourists, this was real life. Ladies sat around bare chested and in traditional beads. The men were off with the cattle. People were mixed too. From a confrontational lady who disagreed with our photo arrangement to a marriage proposal from a neighbouring villager. David is going to represent Adan in negotiations with my Dad, how many cattle and Kalashnikovs do you think I am worth?!
Me and my fiance!
Our favourite tribe from 2011 was undoubtedly the Hammer. A beautiful people. Dignified warriors stand tall in their striped loin cloths, carrying their stools. (All tribes have a version of the low, wooden stool which doubles up as a pillow. Sounds very uncomfortable to me!) The women wear goatskins, beads and cowrie shells, their hair braided and covered in ochre. Around their necks are heavy collars, signifying their marital status.
Just as last time, we were fortunate enough to be in town for a Hammer bull jumping ceremony. This takes place at a sacred river and marks a boy’s initiation into manhood. Smaller this time, times are hard before the rains come. The pre-jump celebrations involve the women dancing round in circles, bells jangling in a cacophony of sound. Horns are blown, inviting the men to whip them. Backs bleeding, it is a brutal ritual to witness. But they genuinely ask for it. Bulls are lined up in a row for the man to run over. A run up, leap and a wobbly run there and back. Prowess shown, he becomes a man.
It is always a risk revisiting fond memories and this was no exception. Six years have brought changes. Western clothing was creeping in in 2011. Now it is much more dominant, some villages almost entirely wearing western dress. At least in part… a t-shirt under a goatskin or with the striped loin cloth. Rose-tinted memories not quite lived up to I’ll be honest. But an amazing coincidence (coming next blog) rescued things. I don’t like the changes but what endures of traditional Hammer ways still makes this my favourite tribe.
Progress can’t be stopped. It is hard to deny others’ aspirations for a ‘better’ future coming from our privileged lifestyles. But their culture is changing and that surely can’t be a good thing. The Ethiopian government is embarrassed about the ‘primitive’ lifestyles of its tribes and is encouraging them to ‘develop’. This seems a little short-sighted considering the tourist dollars that flood into this region precisely because the tribes still live a traditional way of life. And they’re happy too. Their material aspirations stop, for now at least, at a t-shirt. But how long will that last? Nakura, a Surma girl, asked me to swap t-shirts with her. She took quite a liking to my pink top. But as tempting as having a genuine Surma blanket was, I couldn’t be responsible for introducing western clothing into her tribe. Development will inevitably come. But is it progress?