The small motor boat, it's engine purring, as it glides across the mirrored waters of the lake, with little effort. Amara at it's helm, as he maneuvers the boat around the large wooded islands. Occasionally passing wicker boats laden with fire wood, destine for the mainland, if they can stay afloat long enough to reach the shore.
I'm taking little notice of my surroundings, I have to be honest. Instead chatting with my white companions on board. Making the most of westernchitter -chatter, I've been longing for, for so long now. Our conversations darting backwards and forwards between, where we've been, what we've done, who we've met and what we'd recommend. Making up for weeks of lost chatter, my mouths working overtime and I'm giving the others little chance to contribute to the one sided conversation. They seem happy to listen, for the most part. Maybe understanding what prolonged amounts of African isolation can do to ones mind.
The boat slows, as it drifts into the small makeshift jetty, a pile of stones jutting from the bank. We make our way through a wooded area, up a winding dirt path. Stopping at an opening in a dry stone wall. The top of the opening covered in a thatched roof, marking the entry to the first monastery.
As we step inside the compound, a large round, structure, with thatched roof and mud walls stands before us. "The monastery was built in the 14th century, but the paintings were done during the 16th century" Amara explains.
We pay the entrance fee and step through the high curtained doorway, and into a cool passageway, between the mud building at the square building it's protecting inside. Like the church inGondar , the outside of the monastery is elaborately painted in cartoon scenes, some depicting stories from the bible and others, I can't recognise. We're told only the monk is aloud to enter the building, where the ark of the covenant resides. "Hey, hang on a minute" I call out "I was told it's inAksum, and as there's only meant to be one of them, who's lying?"
The rest of the party give a little laugh, and facial experiences that say "do you really need to ask that question?", knowing full well, the whole things one big tourist trap. "Well, well" Amara begins to explain "This isn't the actual Ark, it's just a replica. All the monasteries have replica's in them. The real one's inAksum of course."
As we walk around the building, snapping pictures and trying to understand what some of the pictures mean. Amara, trying to explain, but making even less scenes of them, I come across a picture that puzzles me. "Amara" I call out "these were painted during the 16th century, right?"
"Yes, that's correct." He replies.
"Well, I didn't realise they had guns like this, in the 16th century" I say, pointing to a picture of three men aiming their riffles at another.
"Well, well, some of the pictures were painted at later dates, you know." The rest of the group giving that look again.
It turns out that most of the 16th century pictures have been painted over. Some of them are so new, that they haven't even been finished yet. Amara explaining that wealthy business men commission pictures to be painted of either themselves or scenes of their choosing, giving large sums of money to the church in the process.
"How on one hand can you sell the monasteries as a tourist attraction, taking Birr70 for each visit, telling the tourist the paintings are genuine 16th century artwork and on the other allowing new paintings to be commissioned over the top of the originals?" I ask the others, as we leave, disappointed by what we've seen.
The fact of the mater is, like most religious installations across the world, the church has become interested in only one thing. Money. If they can make money, from both the tourist and the business man, then that's what they'll do. In most countries in Africa where religion is very important, the church is above the government. Or like Ethiopia, it's one in the same. It's no longer about religion, it's about make a buck here and there (or everywhere) and who's going to argue with the church?
After visiting our second and final monastery, which is much the same as the first and again most of the paintings being much newer than the 16th century, Amara choosing not to lie this time, we head back to the mainland, after viewing the source of the Blue Nile.
"So how much did you pay then, if you don't mind me asking?" asks ... from Denmark, as we near the jetty. He's both youthful and grown up for his 23 years. A little pale and skinny after 5 months of traveling through the Middle East, where he met his girlfriend, Wei from Thailand.
"Birr150" I reply "how about you?"
He gives a small laugh, that's more surprise than jesting, before answering "Birr75".
"What the fuck?" I exclaim "I was told everyone was paying Birr150. Amara even showed me the receipt you lot paid."
"We've not paid yet" ... explains.
"I've been fucking conned again" I shout through gritted teeth, as the boat pulls into the jetty. Storming from the bank still fuming. I stand at the top staring back at the others as they pay.
"Hey, have you paid yet?" shouts one of the boat men.
"I've paid fucking double, so don't you dare ask me for more money" I say. My teeth still gritted. I have two options. One I can have it out with Amara here and now, possibly loose my temper and do something we both regret. Or I can fume on it some more and get more wound up. I choose the latter and walk away as the boat men laugh at me being conned.
"You've paid double" I hear one of them laugh out. I choose to carry on walking.
Craig, one of the passengers on the boat, a similar height and build to myself, also with receding hair, comes running up to me, with one of the boat men. "Man you OK. You seem pretty pissed off?" he asks.
"I just hate being conned. It's always the white man that they think they can fucking con every time. It just pisses me off" I exclaim.
The boat man explains that the price the others were given, was less than the usual price because they were in a group, but I should still have only paidBirr100. So Amara had still conned me.
By this point, Amara had scarpered, so I said to the boat man "Tell Amara to meet me at Bahir Dar hotel by 6pm, or I'll make sure he doesn't get another sale again"
That evening I have it out with him once he arrives at the hotel. The manage is present, but seems to be taking Amara's side for most of the debate.
"The amount of money you white people earn each year, you should be able to accept being conned once in a while" is one of Amara's comeback lines.
Trying to keep my cool, at such a blatant raciest remark, I reply "Don't you dare say that. I may earn more money than you, but that gives you know right to con me, you hear."
At the end of our heated conversation, Amara unwilling to admit he's conned me and therefore even less unwilling to return my money. The manager just says 'Walk away, just walk away", so I do.
Him and Amara have a chat. The manager comes back a little while later to explain that he's been barred from the hotel. I thank the manager, although a little surprised he's done this, knowing that him and Amara are good friends.
That evening, myself, Craig and Matt another English guy, with scruffy long hair, and and impressive suntan, that makes mine look pale in comparison, head out to some local bars to drink away my anger. Throughout most of the evening we're propositioned by hookers and on one occasion, I'm asked for money by another punter, which is the first time in ten months I'm asked this while on an evening out. We get truly plastered and eventually head home when none of us can hold a conversation anymore.
My last few days in Bahir Dar, are spent recovering from a monster hangover, with Craig and Wei, visiting juice bars and coffee shops, or just lazing around doing very little. I discover that Amara isaload back in Bahir Dar Hotel when the manager believes I left town. I choose to ignore him.
Did you know...
Every child in Ethiopia gets free primary and secondary education, as well as university being completely free. Well, except for accommodation. Although only 20% of children at primary school age attend school. And figures for secondary and university are even more alarming.
Happy feet
Sharon