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Monkey Tales
By Rev. Roy Howard
"Stop the truck!" I shouted at Mikael our driver. Four
of us were squeezed into the back seat of a Toyota truck. We had left Tepi
that afternoon traveling three long hours on a terribly bumpy road through
a dense Ethiopian forest. The town of Mettu, our destination, was at least
two more hours away.
Tepi is located on the edge of an equatorial rainforest that includes southwestern
Ethiopia, southern Sudan and northern Kenya. The town is a bustling commercial
area complete with an airstrip that is actually the community soccer field.
When a plane flies over, a few men will move the makeshift soccer goals to
clear a path for safe landing. Two dirt roads form an intersection at the
center of town; one leads to Mettu, the other deeper into the forest toward
the border. Goats and sheep meander slowly on the road along with the people
on their way to market. Occasionally a truck loaded with people crammed shoulder
to shoulder comes rumbling down the road throwing up great clouds of dust.
People and livestock run quickly to the roadside ditches scrambling out
of the way.
In this country, the driver has the right-of-way; there are no speed limits,
no sidewalks, no "caution children at play" signs. If you hear a truck coming
you better get out of the road fast! (A week after this particular trip
we learned that our 22 year old driver Mikael, who drove with typical Ethiopian
recklessness, had struck down and killed a goat and a 12 year-old girl in
two separate accidents. In the latter accident, he was almost beaten to death
by a mob before being rescued by military police.)
But mostly there are no vehicles on the roads, only people walking, balancing
baskets on their heads or on the backs of mules. The vast majority of people
walk everywhere. On market days, Wednesday and Saturday, whole families will
travel 15-20 miles on foot with their livestock. Those who live deep in the
forest will travel two days; if they are lucky and have a few extra coins,
they'll catch a ride on the back of a truck already jammed full of people,
goods and livestock.
While staying in Tepi we experienced a particularly Ethiopian version of
the now universal conservation-versus-development struggle. During the war
with Eritrea, which lasted nearly thirty years and officially ended when
Eritrea was recognized as an independent nation, the Ethiopian government
(at that time fiercely Marxist) practiced a policy of resettling people from
the war-torn northern deserts to the coffee-rich forests and highlands of
the south. The majority of these settlers are from the Tigray province,
belonging to the same tribal family as the ruling government. They have no
skills or experience in forest management or the cultivation of food. Desert
living is much different than life in the rainforest. Nevertheless, the possibility
for agricultural development in a peaceful environment which serve the government's
needs, has pushed the policy forward.
The government originally saw this land rich in lumber, coffee, pineapples
and bananas as cash crops to fund the continuing war. Now it is used to fund
restoration. These strangers from the north with no agricultural skills or
knowledge of the southern tribes, have been given money and land to build
a new life. The land given is actually taken from the Majang tribe which
has lived on and cultivated this land for centuries. The northern settlers
are steadily encroaching on the rainforest, developing it and pushing the
indigenous tribes further and further into the forest. The Majang, who up
until the past five years have had no written language, have even more difficult
access to markets. The lumber upon which they depend is being shipped by
the truckload to the north where it is being used to redevelop the desert
areas. Is there any protest? I asked. The answer sounded familiar:
they have no power. These are forgotten, warrior tribes. If they protest
too loudly, they will be killed.
I spent an afternoon in the rainforest with a village of Majang people.
They have lived in this small village for centuries, often fighting fiercely
with spear and ax with anyone who would take their land. Those days are over
and their opponents now have guns. Besides, these people are new Christians
trying to leave behind the old warring ways. Still, I could tell they were
saddened by what was happening to them. They were not at peace with their
neighbors from the north who are taking their land and robbing them of their
resources.
Once more, I thought to myself, development in the name of some greater
governmental good carries with it terrible consequences for the land and
the people living on it. I didn't have a chance to visit the Tigray province
during my stay to see the restoration project. Perhaps, it was working. But
can development ever honestly be considered successful when it comes at the
high price of destroying ancient lands, violating sacred sites and moving
people from their own ground? I don't think so.
Stop the truck! Mikael thought I needed to stretch. The truck skidded
still and I jumped out, camera in hand. I stood in the middle of the road,
binoculars around my neck and a camera aimed at the Colobus monkey swinging
from the trees. The Colobus is a large monkey with long black and white fur.
The monkey's black and white face gives it a playful look. I had never seen
a wild monkey or a Baboon either. Here both are abundant running alongside
the road and swinging from tree to tree. I couldn't return to Virginia without
a photo of these creatures. I know I looked foolish standing there a typical
touristbut my hosts never said it. They simply informed me that the tiger
is the only natural predator of the monkey and that the tiger had been nearly
hunted out of Ethiopia. You can only find them on game reserves.
The Colobus Monkeys are proliferating across the region, making them a most
hated pest. Young boys are hired to sleep in huts near crops to scare away
them when the monkeys come at night. Suddenly my pleasure with these monkeys
seemed like those who love ground hogs in the Shenandoah Valley. I wonder
if my hosts thought about me the same way that farmers here think about animal
lovers? My photo taken, I squeezed back in the truck for the long trek to
Mettu.
February 1997