Under the skin of four torn countries by Johan Bergqvist

Stockholm 24 December 2006: Arriving from Dar es Salaam, Addis Ababa was a fresh experience. Hooked up at Hotel Yilma, things started out perfectly. The first evening, thick smoke from a thousand fires filled the air of Addis Ababa. In the light of the yellow sunset, the roofs of the urban settlements were glowing and oozing. Before long the dogs started to bark and the sounds of an African giant followed me to bed. It was a comfortable yet noisy friend in the tent in the front-yard of the hotel, but nonetheless a welcomed and warm-hearted one. How else should an African road trip begin but in a kick-start?

Ethiopia should be well known to the world. Millions of reports have been written from the country and the foreign presence is clearly visible. The UN Mission for Ethiopia and Eritrea, all other UN agencies, international NGOs and an increasing number of tourists are all here. But they seem scared. Scared and reluctant to do the right thing – talk to people, meet them in back-street coffee shops, at the huge Merkato or anywhere else. The Ethiopians are curious and would always like to know: “where are you go?”, “who are your country?” or simply “what is your name?”. The young students are prone to test their language skills anytime and they should be encouraged. Young girls and boys are doing their homework on a stone on the hillside, on a plastic chair at the front porch of a small shop or in the yellow flow of a streetlight, neatly writing their essays or science assignments. The message has reached through: knowledge is a ticket to a prosperous future. Everywhere where we travelled, young scholars were reading and writing, asking for a pen when we were driving by. If we had given away a thousand, ten thousand would still have been left with none.

Cape2cape’s Head of Mission, Jarle Auset, and his memorable Land Rover “Betsy” proved to be a superb duo to travel with. Our northbound trip to the highlands of the Roof of Africa gave more than we hoped for. The lush, intensely beautiful hills and gorges, the clear waters and the massive mountain tops had a way of constantly surprising us to new oohs and aahs around each and every corner. The bush camps left us exhausted, but in high spirit. Villagers crowded around the car when we stopped, got in my face with questions and curious eyes as I was about to put up the tent. They were happy to have their picture taken and as happy to show us their homes and even treat us their traditional food, injera, or a cup of coffee. The salted coffee we had in the village of Titira was quite awful, but still, in some strange way, enjoyable at that particular moment.

The car and the tent stirred up some excitement, but in the end the people we met were happy to safely guard us at night. Jarle and I could easily agree that even if the Hilton has five stars, it was hard to compete with the thousands stars that were glowing over our own heads. As night falls and the cows, goats and sheep have been pushed, beaten and hit back to their homes, silence comes as neatly as a summer breeze to soothe tired travellers. What more can one ask for? Again, the horrific pictures of Ethiopia that any newcomer to the country has in his or her brain feel utterly untrue and unjust.

* * *

But the dogs of war never seem to get enough. Ethiopia has certainly had its share of fighting. Almost everyone I talked to was against the government’s will to start a war against the Union of Islamic Courts in Somalia.

Tomas, a doctor with his own clinic in a small town north of Addis Ababa, didn’t like the idea of going to war, and expressed a tiredness of conflict that many Ethiopians share. He would prefer the government to put the money where the people ask him to, instead of in the mean war machine.

“They don’t know the heartbeat of their people. They don’t know how the poor really live. They are good at writing papers – they have education on paper – but our reality, they don’t know”, Tomas said.

But the Ethiopian Prime Minister, Meles Zenawi, seems to think war is a good idea, though, which is pushing the country in a dangerous direction. The agenda is clear: the border conflict with Eritrea could be fought in Somalia.

“We will fight the Eritreans to the last Somali”, he said at a press conference as the parliament passed a declaration that made the PM able to declare war in the beginning of December.

He stated that the country already had been attacked by Somalia, and that he did not need to wait for clearance from the UN or any country in the world to fight. The Somali unofficial government has simultaneously declared holy jihad on Ethiopia and Ethiopian troops are moving in, even though the government says otherwise.

According to unofficial UN sources, only the rains stopped a full attack already in early December.

“When the rains dry up, the heat is on”, was the clear message.

* * *

Meanwhile, cape2cape was taking it slow on the lakeside in Bahar Dar. Lake Tana hosts a number of old monasteries, with delicate murals, ancient crucifixes and bibles. The peace is complete and the monks don’t seem too preoccupied with a possible war. A possible presence of God keeps them silently studying their books, written in the old language ge’ez. This is one of many holy places in Ethiopia. Aksum, Gonder and not the least Lalibela are all important places in the ancient Christian history. The surreal hollows of the rock churches in Lalibela are exceptional and the old rites of the monks, nuns and priests are carried out just like over 1 000 years ago. It is a crying shame that Europeans don’t learn more about this in school. Our knowledge of African history, and our own history’s links to it, is appalling. During the colonial times, several important African sites, like Lalibela or Great Zimbabwe, was said to be created by early European travellers or Persians. “It can’t be African”, was the common belief. Shame on us all! If there would have been more understanding of the African cultures, more acknowledgment of it, maybe the views of countries like Ethiopia, Eritrea and Somalia would not be so grim today.

The colours, the smiles, the scents from flowers, food and the earth itself surround you always in Ethiopia. Some food is not always excellent – but which country serves only excellent food? Some smells are not nice, but that is natural. All are not smiling, but that would be too much to ask. Sure, one should not oversee that there are problems. Seven million people in Ethiopia are in need of food aid – in a year of good harvest. 75 percent of the population of about 70 million lives six hours or more from an all weather road. 90 percent of the women have been mutilated and about as many think it is okay for a man to beat her if she goes out without telling her husband or makes food that’s not good. That is a sad, sad story. Hopefully, the coming generations end this, thanks to better education. The few men we have talked to about marriage and love tend to think that their future wife should be well educated and earn her own money, they should not have too many children and the marriage should be based on love, instead of being a staged. I find that encouraging.

* * *

Ethiopia also has a strong Muslim population. They too have a long and interesting history to fall back on. The city of Harar is one of the highlights of this history. We arrived in Harar on December 2nd, after driving on excellent roads from Addis Ababa. The rains that shouldn’t fall did once more disturb us (and the war), as did the fog in the mountains. But we arrived safely in what has been described as the fourth most important Muslim city. It was created around 1520 as a commercial centre for trade between Arabs and Africans. It soon became a city-state where no Christians were allowed. The ones who tried were brutally killed. The old, walled city is only one square kilometre, but holds 87 mosques and several tombs after important Imams. Muslims who cannot afford the trip to Mecca goes to Harar instead, we were told.

Harar is, like Lalibela, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, but the tourists are yet to come. During our visit in the old town, we did not see any other foreigners. Instead we mingled with the local elders at one of the coffee bars at the central square. The macchiato was perfect and sweet. The Italians did a lot of harm to Ethiopia, but they surely planted a great coffee culture in the country of origin for coffee. There are advanced espresso machines in almost every tiny village.

In Harar, Jarle’s book project almost got us in jail. Two poor youngsters ended up behind bars instead. They were supposed to be our interpreters, but a few observant men took us for bad guys and thought the young girls we were to interview were about to be used for sexual purposes. One of the guys had been under investigation for fixing guests up with “bar ladies” for some time and this incident was one too many. Stern police officers asked us what it was all about, and let us goes after some time. We felt we were ready with religion and odd encounters with authorities and wanted to head east into the unknown.

In the eastern part of the country, in provinces like Ogaden, the Somali people lives. If – or when – there is a war with Somalia, this province could be a problem for the government. It has already been a problem, with oppositional groups disturbing peace and quiet. The government’s human rights record in this area is not up to standards, according to several human rights groups. In the conflict with Somalia, the Somalis in Ethiopia might turn their weapons on their own countrymen. Where we were heading, towards the independent (but non-recognised) country Somaliland, we were told none of the warlords would go. The war was to be fought in Baidoa and Mogadishu, not in Somaliland. But then again – who were we to know?

* * *

Heading east toward Somaliland, the hills died out in a vast plain. The green hills were all behind us and straight roads of semi-desert lay ahead. What would it be like, behind the horizon? Somalia is often painted out as one of the most hostile, unsafe and scary places on Earth (the US poor performance and involvement in the war in the early 1990s is probably one reason). We were heading straight for it. Was our perception of the country just a result of an ignorant urge to push Western agendas and the same kind of media reports that give Ethiopia such a bad rumour? Or was it the plain truth and we were heading for disaster and painful death? The latest “intelligence” from local and official sources made us at ease and it was with great confidence we reached the border crossing at Tug Wajaale, Somaliland.

The border officials were high on chat (khat), chewing away like camels, seated on the floor. Their teeth were all green and slobs of green saliva stained their clothes. Chat is legal in the region and has become Ethiopia’s second largest export commodity after coffee. The culture of sitting on the floor in the afternoon and chew your head into space has devastating effects on the countries, though. And it is certainly a special feeling to walk into a customs office and meet an official wasted on drugs. Chat makes the chewer drowsy and distanced after some time of consuming. It devastates the lives of the users and their families. It doesn’t make people violent, but it is quite annoying to constantly be met by high men. There have been discussions about making it illegal, but that would probably stir up problems. The businessmen from Saudi Arabia and UAE that are investing strongly in Djibouti have banned it from the airport, the new port and the free zone, which is a step in the right direction. But is it enough? I doubt it.

A normal chat session starts in the afternoon. This is more obvious in Djibouti, where the fresh chat arrives around noon from the airport (15 tonnes daily!) and is distributed in great haste all over the city. In Hargeysa (Somaliland), Djibouti and many other places, there are small stands where vendors arrive in time for distribution and an afternoon of good business. The daily siesta in Djibouti and Eritrea starts at around 2 p.m. and goes on until late afternoon. Could it be a coincidence?

* * *

We later learnt that we were the first tourist ever to go to Somaliland by car. We were also unaccompanied by military or police escorts, which made the officials slightly nervous. Normally, foreigners are not allowed to travel on their own. Three years ago some foreigners were killed and since then there is a kind of law that foreigners have to be escorted.

“It is for your own safety. If something happens to you the rest of the world will know it. We cannot allow that as we are trying to get recognition for our country”, said several officials.

Other reasons could be that they are afraid of spies – who knows?

Abdel Ashid, Member of Parliament, met us at the customs office in Somaliland’s capital Hargeysa.

”You have to excuse us for this trouble. But you have to understand that this country is only 15 years old. We are still a young boy trying to learn how to walk.”

I found this statement quite beautiful and it made me feel more welcome and understanding. Who are we to judge problems in a young state? Who are to expect perfect service in a country who is struggling to get recognition?

Hargeysa was totally destroyed during the wars. In the last 15 years the city has been rebuilt and they have done an extraordinary job. There are nice areas of villas and three-story buildings, simpler areas for markets and living, newly built schools in perfect condition and a good influx of goods. But the countryside is poor and inhospitable. Arid desert land covers a huge bit of the country. A large portion of the population has moved to the cities, abandoning their old life as nomadic pastoralists. Simple globe-shaped huts covered in fabric and plastics – the usual nomadic houses – were seen in the countryside, but people and cattle were scarce.

We lived like kings in Maan-Soor hotel – for free. I stayed in a kind of bungalow and Jarle slept in the car (what else?). The food was excellent, the coffee was good, and the ice-cream was superb.

Hence, the picture of Somaliland had been crushed to pieces. The unknown tend to equal dangerous and strange. When the unknown is a place in Africa it is even worse. And when it is a part of Somalia it is the worst one could think or. Sure, I had my thoughts about Somaliland and hesitated for a long time before I decided to embark on the adventure. My image of the region was not all that positive, and I am thankful that I took the chance of exploring Somaliland and bring a better image back home.

I think that many people – reporters and maybe even diplomatic representatives – want to transmit a darker picture than the true one. In a way it becomes cooler to have been there. A reporter who has been to Somalia is a real tough guy, and as a tough guy, how could you give the world stories of a friendly, generous, smiling and well-functioning place? Threats, famine, diseases and chaos are a better bet to get the story published. What else than the confirming story sells?

* * *

Our aim was to go north to Djibouti. We were warned of floods in the streams that we had to cross to get to sea-level, but we never got that far. The police in Boorame abruptly took that idea away from us. Since we didn’t have any escort the police wouldn’t let us continue and we turned back to Ethiopia to make a 1 000 kilometres detour to Djibouti. Such is life.

* * *

However, I am not so sure the detour was so bad after all. Coming from Ethiopia to Djibouti is a fascinating drive. Hundreds of trucks accompany you on the road. Djibouti is Ethiopia’s port and the road is like a main blood-vessel for Ethiopia. And it is good money for Djibouti as well. Arab investors are coming in big time to the strategically placed country and port. A new port is being built as is a quarantine for camels and other livestock that are being exported from Africa to the Arabic Peninsula. A kind of economic free zone is being established in Djibouti and the money is flowing in at a constantly faster rate.

That does not mean the country is rich. The country is arid and only ten percent of the country is good for agriculture. The rest is semi-desert and more or less empty. The level of poverty is huge and water and food shortages are a part of normal life. Almost a fifth of the country’s citizens were hit by the drought earlier this year, but, as one man said: “No-one died from lack of food.” The people are generous and tend to help countrymen in need.

Strangely enough, many don’t eat fish. There are lots of fish in the Gulf of Aden, but many think fish come from the devil and do not eat it. The large Yemenite community do eat fish, and they prepare it with great skill. We had a biting at one of the restaurants in down-town Djibouti. We had to pick the fish we wanted from a large fridge. It was cleaned, slit open and covered in a red spicy paste. The chef then lowered it into a furnace, where it was grilled for a while. It came up from the heat and was presented to us on large plates. We enjoyed it with thin, pancake shaped bread, topped with crushed nuts and honey. It was marvellous – one of the nicest dishes during our trip.

* * *

The bush camps have been highlights of the Road Trip. The first night in Djibouti was no exception, when we camped in the wilderness. In the Ethiopian bush we were surrounded within minutes after stopping. In this desert area, we were alone all night. We had the stars; we had the sounds of the night. That was all. That was enough. The peaceful night served as a kind of relief for the soul. The drive had gone from the lush mountains to this desert land in a short time. Then the desert turned into hills of volcanic mass and red rocks, striped by white salt by our side, whirlwinds stirring up sand – then just desert. That's where we camped.

* * *

The ocean met us in a moist Djibouti Town. The distinct European colonial buildings give the city a kind of romantic touch. Painted in bright pastel colours – often the colours of Djibouti’s flag (green, white and blue) – and with exquisite archways and window panes, their architecture gives the city a special atmosphere. A bit of renovation and it would be a pearl of the Red Sea. Recent rains have made the city centre kind of smelly and full of mosquitoes, though, but one can clearly see that the city has great potential.

American and French soldiers are crowding the streets (the two countries have army bases here). The Americans are fighting the war against terrorism in Africa from Djibouti. And several Arab countries are investing heavily here. The prices are stupidly high as a consequence. Our adventurous new friend, Ali Liaquat, is probably right when he says that it is outside the city that the country has its charm.

Ali is a Pakistani who used to serve in the French Foreign Legion. He is now, at 45, retired since 15 years and has started an adventure tourism agency in Djibouti. He drives rebuilt army trucks through Africa and organises a 15 kilometres, one hole golf tournament in the Djibouti desert. He is quite a character…

In the fringes of the city centre, the settlements of the less fortunate are sprawling. We visited the Balbale Hospital in the outskirts of the city, where the Italian couple Carlo and Miriam work. We met them at a dinner at the Swedish consulate (where we also camped) and their stories were very interesting. The hospital is built and run partly with Italian money and is very good. The doctors treat all kinds of diseases, 3 000 babies are delivered there every year and a large group of young babies are treated for malnutrition. The famine that struck the country after the drought earlier this year was tough on the country. Almost 150 000 of the country’s 720 000 inhabitants did not have enough food or water. Still, more than 50 percent of the children are suffering from malnutrition. They get good help at Balbale Hospital. It was a good visit, even though it always is tough to meet malnourished children.

Miriam is doing a study on female mutilation, which is very common in Djibouti. In some groups, the girls are circumcised when they are 40 days old. The young children are placed on a table and are brutally mutilated with a knife or a razorblade. It is against the law, but no one has been brought to court yet.

“It is normal to be circumcised. It is, in a way, dirty not to be circumcised. How do you change such a custom?” Miriam said.

Last year a conference was held in Djibouti on female mutilation. The president presented the so called Djibouti Declaration, where the country has signed up to abolish it. But it will probably take a long time before the tradition is broken.

Female mutilation also increases the risks for death at childbirth and it affects newly born children. They are usually lighter and more sensitive to diseases. Miriam’s warm-hearted love and caring for the children at the hospital was very encouraging.

Carlo is a surgeon who also shows great devotion to his job. He is sharp, but relaxed and is very proud of the local staff.

“They feel this is their hospital, where they treat their people and friends. That’s why the service is so good here”, he said.

* * *

Jarle’s book project, that almost got us into jail in Ethiopia, has given us a great opportunity to see daily life of people. In Somaliland, we met one boy and one girl who took us to their homes and told us about their daily concerns. It is stunning how alike their thoughts are to young children in countries like Sweden and Norway. Religion tends to have a slightly deeper meaning here, though. The boy I interviewed in Hargeysa, Sakariye, prays five times every day as a Muslim should. But he wishes for more friends and a good job, his hero is footballer Christiano Ronaldo and he gets shy as we speak about love – just as any boy his age anywhere in the world would be.

In Djibouti we met 12 year old Sabrina. She is a very lively girl, who wants to become a dancer. But she is not allowed to dance and has to practice without music in her room when no one can see her. She is longing for her father, who works in Syria, and is tired of getting beaten by the teacher at school. Sometimes she has to stand on her knees with her hands on her head for three hours if she has been naughty. The rules in Djibouti are certainly harsh. It would be so interesting to see what will become of Sabrina when she grows up.

* * *

We left Djibouti and headed for Eritrea on a road that hardly exists. We cruised the shore of the Gulf of Tadjoure on our journey north. This is where the Great Rift Valley starts. Salt lakes and volcanic rock was our only company before we camped another night in Djibouti. Then the desert took over completely.

After the small city of Obock, where underground opposition groups are said to cause problems for the government, the road just ended. I asked for directions and a military man pointed to the hills. I headed off and found myself driving in a road-less barren landscape of nothing but sand and scarce thorn trees. The Read Sea was our company to the east and nothing but sand was to see in any other direction. A wind was blowing from the south and from time to time we were surrounded by clouds of sand and dust. The sun was boiling from a cloudless sky and the GPS was our only friend for directions. For hours and hours there was no sign of humans, except rare tracks from cars travelling in front of us days ago.

Suddenly a few scattered houses appeared. We were at the border post in Eritrea.

* * *

If Djibouti was the oddest of the four countries we travelled in, Eritrea was the most tranquil. Many Ethiopians that used to live in Assab in southern Eritrea have moved back to Ethiopia. Now, Assab was like a ghost town. The streets were almost empty as we drove in. There were lots of men in military clothes, but hardly any women or children. There were only men at the coffee shops, only men in the stores.

A diplomat told me that there won’t be a war again. The countries are bound to negotiate – neither of the countries has anything to gain on a new war.

“The Ethiopians can have Assab”, a person told me.
“Eritrea doesn’t want Assab?”
“Yes, but Ethiopia can rent it for 30 years or so…”

* * *

After a night in the nice Kebal International Hotel, we wanted to continue towards Massawa. But hardcore red tape made us get travel permits from the local authorities and Eritrean registration plates for the car before we were allowed to leave.

When everything finally was organised, we drove north along the coast. After passing the check point in Beylul we had the coast to ourselves. The Ethiopian highlands was packed with people and villages, this piece of land was completely empty. The desert and the barren landscape followed us constantly. Massive areas of volcanic lava made everything around us black and dark brown. Our dust road seemed like a cut from a sharp knife as it curved passed the mountains of lava. It was like driving in a movie setting from a distant Star Wars planet. Strange, but still beautiful.

Then suddenly, the lava was gone and we drove back into a sandy desert. We decided to camp at the beach. Betsy got stuck, but we managed to dig her loose and drive her to safe grounds after emptying some of the air in the tyres. The hot wind from the south brought clouds of sand into the car, the tent, my eyes and hair. It was anyhow a nice experience for a night, but I cannot understand the few Afar men and women that chose to live here permanently.

* * *

“If the Americans come, I will kill them. I will kill them!”

This stern quote comes from a guard at the check point in Thio, by the Eritrean coast. Americans are surely not highly thought of. Norwegians were good, since they funded the new school in Thio. But Swedes were a bit suspect too, since we give so much aid to Ethiopia, but not to Eritrea.
“Maybe you support Ethiopia in the war”, the man said.
Jarle come to my rescue:
“None of the Scandinavian countries like war.”
A few smiles and laughs later, he let us pass and continue to the proud city of Massawa.

The smallish town and ort was severely destroyed during the wars, but the old city centre on one of the islands is still full of charms. The architecture is a vivid mix of Ottoman, Italian, Arabic and many others. Massawa has always been a city under siege, but now the same kind of doldrum persists as in Assab. At night the streets come to more life as the older men gather outside the coffee shops and bars, playing domino. They throw the dominos to the table hastily and loudly as they are about to win. It is a serious game. But still, it is just a game.

The younger men crowd the few bars with television. During the weekends, the Eritrean national TV broadcast a number of games from the English Premiere League. Arsenal, Manchester United, Liverpool and all the others are huge here too.

* * *

In the far end of the old city, a kind family invited us for coffee. The short version of the Eritrean coffee ceremony last at least 40 minutes. The kind matron of the house, started off by putting some gum and some kind of dried sap on the hot coals. The room was filled with white, thick smoke and a heavy (but nice) scent. She roasted the still green coffee beans in a small pan and a new scent took over – the scent of fresh coffee. She crushed the roasted beans and poured it into the traditional round-bottomed pot. Then she crushed pieces of dried ginger and mixed it with the coffee. She put several spoonfuls of sugar in the small cups and poured the coffee. It tasted delicious. Coffee is important here, and it felt nice to be spontaneously invited for some by this family.

* * *

But the hot and humid Massawa had to be left behind. 110 kilometres and 2 400 meters above us, lay Asmara. I had longed to do this trip for a long time, and the expectations were surely met. A winding and thrilling road took us to the spectacular Eritrean capital of Asmara.

Our adventure in Ethiopia was filled with religion, culture and arts. We have experienced less of that in the other countries, but coming to Asmara was like driving into a museum of a film setting from the 1930’s or 1940’s.

The beautiful main street, Harnet Avenue, with palm trees on each side, runs in a straight line through the small city centre. It is surrounded by narrow streets and square blocks of Art Deco-style buildings, built by the Italians. South of the centre, the massive villas take over and to the north the galleries of the large outdoor market resides. An old orthodox church, a catholic cathedral and several impressive mosques are nicely scattered in the city. The Italians did a good job here – when it comes to architecture, that is. And the Eritreans did a good job defending it during the wars. Asmara is as good as untouched by war (except in mind) and it is said to one of the safest capitals in Africa.

In the evenings, the coffee bars and restaurants take over the sidewalks. Men in black leather jackets and women in nice outfits are showing off. The Eritreans surely displayed a great skill for people watching. Though small, Asmara must be considered a highlight of city life in the Horn of Africa.

Unfortunately, the pressure of the harsh government gives the Eritreans a hard time. Undercover police and informants lurk in the streets in search of “suspected individuals from the opposition” and leave a certain amount of unrest in the minds of many civilians. We asked a woman we met if we had to report to any tourism office that we had arrived in Asmara. The answer was simple: “They already know.”

* * *

During the trip some diplomats and others I have talked to said that there will be no war. “Who would benefit from a war?” they asked. Others said there was nothing that could prevent the fighting from starting. The Somali Islamists pushed the deadline for the ultimatum several times during December, but seemed more and more reluctant to actually take up arms. They probably knew the Ethiopian forces were better equipped and better trained. AFP and Swedish Radio reported that the so called troops in Somalia consisted of rugged bands of youngsters without any training or military skills.

In the midst of all the confusion, maybe this was the explanation for the laid back feeling of Assab, Massawa and Asmara? There were military everywhere, but they seemed quite at ease. But on the night between the 19th and 20th of December, the first serious clashes burst outside Baidoa. The reactions were non-existing among the public in Asmara and Addis. They did not get any proper information.

“There are rumours of fighting, but the government doesn’t tell us anything. And the media lies”, said one woman I spoke to.

But my days in Africa had run out. The war has to be fought without my presence (I am not all that disappointed). Now, my sources will be the international media reports back in Sweden. I might be able to fill in a blank or two, thanks to this trip.

* * *

Asmara was the last stop of my cape2cape adventure. On 20th of December, the very same day as my 29th birthday, Jarle and I headed for the airport. I was ready for take off.

It has been a trip of great experiences. It has also been a trip of great revelations. From having been, for me, a region of as good as unknown cultures, customs, climates, peoples and ideas, I now have gained a bit of knowledge about the Horn of Africa that reaches beyond the ordinary facts and figures. As I wrote in the beginning, not all I have seen have been good, not all have (probably) been correctly interpreted. But I have seen the countries and their peoples with an open, enabling me to get an impression of a rich, smiling, generous and warm-hearted part of the world – well worth exploring.

What do I bring with me for the homecoming? The scent of coffee beans being roasted, the intensity of the Ethiopian bush camps, the thousand stars hotel at the Djibouti bush camp, the simmering conflicts, the markets, the spices, the faces. How can one explain?

It is like nowhere I have been before and it was beautiful. Maybe the trip all comes down to that – 30 days and 30 nights of pure beauty.

That’s what’s under the skin of these four countries.

JOHAN BERGQVIST