The Tekeze River Gorge

Five Americans on three motorcycles stared at the road ahead, twisting down into Africa’s deepest canyon until it zigzagged out of sight. We couldn’t see Ethiopia’s Tekeze River at the bottom. With a deep breath, we left the plateau to coast downhill for miles, using only our brakes. The surrounding forest showed no sign of human habitation. A baboon loped off among the trees. At every switchback the temperature rose. By the time we reached the bridge we were sweltering. Only fear of parasites kept us from jumping into the river to cool off.

Eventually we stopped at a village high on the opposite side. The milder air felt glorious. The villagers sold us soft drinks. On the return trip, we vowed, we would cross the river in the cool of the evening.

A week later we came back through the village, only to find a heavy log blocking the road. “You can’t go now. It is almost dark,” an English-speaker told us. “Bad men live in that forest. They will cut your throats and take your money.” To travel earlier is too hot, we insisted. Under protest, the villagers moved the barrier and we started down.

At first all was calm. Then half a dozen ragged Ethiopian men with guns appeared in front of us. Suddenly the villagers’ warnings seemed more real. Was I afraid? I think I mostly felt numb. With no options, we prepared to hand over our belongings and hope the best for our throats.

One of the men addressed us in English. They were policemen, he told us. The forest held bad men, who would cut night travelers’ throats and take their money. We should stay at the police encampment until daylight. Unsure if this was true or a hoax, this time we didn’t argue. The police showed us where to spread our sleeping bags. They sat up all night singing. Sleepless but safe, in the morning we thanked them for breakfast and rode on.

Why do some memories of drama feel adventurous from a distance, while others turn my stomach even in retrospect? Maybe the numbness brought detachment. Maybe rehashing with my travel companions made the difference. I don’t know. From a 55-year distance, this is a memory that makes me smile.

Images: Mike Wallach, “Road Trip to Axum,” November, 2012. My experience on that road long predates the construction of the controversial Tekeze hydroelectric dam.