Click on a label to read posts from that part of the world.
The Death Of A Good Travel Companion
I first met "Dake," as everyone called him, on my first visit to Harar in eastern Ethiopia as I was searching for a way to get to Somaliland, the breakaway northern region of Somalia. Everyone told me to meet with Dake. He was a Somali who had made Harar his home and had many contacts on both sides of the border. Within days I was riding through the desert with a couple of his relatives on my way to Somaliland. It was one of the best adventures of my life.
From that point our working relationship grew. Dake was an expert on Somali and Harari culture. He even wrote a book titled "Harar: A Cultural Guide." My signed edition sits next to me as I write.
We meet lots of people on our travels. Most of them soon fade into the past, remembered only in old photographs and journal entries. Others last through a few emails and postcards before they, too, become memories. Only a few become lasting friends.
That was easy with Dake. He had an open, relaxed manner and was always quick with a joke. His deep interest in Harar's history and architecture was infectious. Once he woke me up at five in the morning so we could photograph the town's winding medieval alleys as the sun rose. I didn't mind, even when his insistence on getting "one more shot" kept me from my morning coffee for far longer than I liked.
Dake had been an outsider to Harar once himself, so he sympathized with my efforts to adjust to the local culture. He was always ready to help out with advice at a moment's notice and saved me from more than one cultural blunder. Having an insider who knows what it's like to be an outsider is invaluable when studying a new place.
We also explored Ethiopia's Somali region. Dake had big hopes of developing the region's tourism potential as a way to expand his own tourism business while helping his people.
When we weren't working at documenting eastern Ethiopia's heritage, we spent many relaxed hours at birtchas or spinning tales in local cafes. Friendships can be fleeting when you're traveling, but Dake and I became good friends and kept up a regular correspondence when I was back in Europe.
When you make a real friendship on the road, treasure it. Keep in contact and head on back to see them. I wish I had made it back to Harar at least one more time while he was still alive. As the list of my friends who have died relentlessly lengthens, I find myself more appreciative of those I still have, and more determined to pack as much life into the years left to me before my own inevitable end.
Authors note: my pay for this post will be donated to Glimmer of Hope, an NGO working to help Ethiopia's children. Dake had a son about the same age as mine so I think he'd appreciate it.