To leave one must first arrive...

'To leave one must first arrive

To arrive one first has to die

Flap those wings and cry:

What dost seeks is nigh'

...so says the peregrinating philosopher...mulching on 'Khat' leaves in the Ethiopian Highlands. But first I must apologise for a digression:

Khat also known as qat, qaat, quat, gat, jaad, chat, chad, is a flowering plant native to tropical East Africa and the Arabian Peninsula. Khat contains the alkaloid called cathinone, an amphetamine-like stimulant which is said to cause excitement, loss of appetite and euphoria.

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Allow me to whisper something in your ear: 'Khat is good'. There is an alaborate ceremony for its consumption. You lay upon the sand a cloth to sit upon cross-legged and in a circle. The Khat leaves arrive, preferably fresh and not older than two days, and you strip the stems and proceed to thrust them into your mouth...chewing vigorously - like a goat.  Like a bunch of stupid goats you sit there mulching and ruminating until the base of your mouth goes numb, until your tongue has lost all power of brain dependent movement - so what you utter in that Khat induced haze has nothing to do with what you wanted to say. But nevermind, your listeners too have lost the power of hearing and seem to have vanished out of your field of view - you remember what it is you wanted to say. But don't worry your train of thoughts will get lost again. So what was it you wanted to say? Oh yes. Here we go:

The best bit about Addis Ababa is getting out. But first you must get in. As the aeroplane sat on the tarmac I caught a glimpse of the terminal building from the spy-hole of the plane: industrial chic. That was my first impression. Long before the designers of Canary Wharf underground station unveiled their version of industrial chic; a similar, albeit unintentional design experiment had already taken place in Addis Ababa. It was King Menelik who had ordered the construction of a new fangled city. A capital city befitting a modern capital age. Like Albert Speer before him, and his right hand man; Alfred Ilg, plans were drawn to construct a metropolis to wow the visiting delegates. Oh no matter if half the population is on the brink of starvation; this is theatre – this is make-believe - wool over the eyes diplomacy. I have visited many capital cities and the following maxim generally holds true: The more pretentious the capital city the greater the poverty

Oh yes, a seething GutterStink of BuZZingHuman frailty and weakness. I longed for the Ethiopian highlands. But, like most capital cities, I had to arrive before I could leave. Arriving in Africa is like being born again. Recast from the womb that begot you. Instinct tells you to suck from the teat of the familiar. So I latch onto a group of touring Westerners who, after a while of friendly banter, start wondering who I am. So there is nothing to do but head off on my own and find a hotel: preferably a nice safe looking hotel - not too expensive, neatly laid towels, soap and toiletry packs, complimentary tea and coffee sachets, and cable TV with frosty picture. No that's not my style at all. I was joking! I look out of the dust covered window of my grimey hovel of a room that cost me the better part of a fiver for board and breakfast. A couple of syringes greet me in the toilet bowl: Beggar women with band of straggling kids shuffles along outside the window. Same old story. Poverty can be such a cliche. I close the curtains and lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling. It has cracks in it. I imagine they are ancient waterways now dried, rivuletting through parched and scrawny bush. 'Afar' – that is where it all began. In fact it is from Addis Ababa that humans migrated around the world. I am merely coming back...albeit after a gap of a million years or so. I sigh. It's a long dusty trailing sigh pregnant with history and the burden of knowledge. Do I want to do this? Yes! Fuck it I'm off. I’m not hanging about this forlorn shithole - Adios Addis! I’m heading for Harar...Where a man, a famous enigmatic poet once said: 'I is somebody else'. 'I is somebody else' I repeat to myself. But first I must cross the crazy-hazy street traffic with the horns. The city is full of skyscrapers from the 60’s and early 70's – where are the modern glasstop furnished buildings of the promised SpaceAge? It's as if the Ethiopian economic miracle took a break in 1975...and never returned. Probably chewing Khat leaves somewhere.

But this is spurious history. Ethiopia has been home to a sophisticated civilization for millennia. It is home to the oldest Christian, Jewish and Islamic populations outside the Middle East. In fact Islam in Ethiopia dates back to its founding in AD 615, when a group of Mussalmans were consulled by Mohammed to escape persecution in Mecca and travel to modern day Ethiopia. Also Bilal, the first ever muezzin (the person who calls the faithful to prayer) and one of Mohammeds foremost companions, was from Ethiopia. Ethiopia also has its own written language – something that is decidedly rare in the African continent. Its people are tall, high-boned, beautifully crafted specimens of humanity and proud too. But there is much history to be proud. Let's take coffee for example. It was in Ethiopia that coffee, according to legend, was discovered. It is a wonderful fable, probably apocryphal, and I will share it with you:

Once upon a time, circa AD 500 there lived a goat herder by the name of Kaldi. While tending his flock he discovered that his goats were brazen and friskier then usual when they grazed near a certain bush with red berries. He tasted the berries and found that they enlivened and lifted his spirits. So with pocketfulls of berries he ran home to tell his wife of his wonderful discovery:

‘They are heaven sent’ she solemnly declared ‘You must take them to the Monks in the monastery’

So off he went to the monastery where Kaldi presented the berries to the chief Monk, a mousy looking creature with short cropped chin whiskers and covetous eyes, and related to him the story of their miraculous discovery

‘Devils work!’ exclaimed the Monk in indigantion and hurled the berries into the flickering fire

A few moments later the Monastery was filled with the heavenly aroma of roasting beans. The beans were raked from the fire and placed in an ewer with hot water to preserve their aroma. That night the monks sat up till late drinking and savouring the rich fragrant brew and from that day onwards vowed that they would drink it daily to keep themselves awake during their nightly devotions. Coffee then spread to Yemen thence Arabia and finally the rest of the world - Coffea Arabica was born. The governor of Mecca, Beg, saw some people drinking coffee in a mosque as they prepared a night-long prayer vigil. Furious he drove them from the mosque and ordered all coffee houses to be closed. A heated debate ensued, with coffee being condemned as an unhealthy brew by two unscrupulous Persian doctors, the Hakimani brothers. The doctors wanted it banned, for it was a popular cure among the melancholic bipolar patients who other-wise would have paid the doctors to cure them.

The picture of Arabic coffee houses as dens of iniquity and frivolity was exaggerated by religious zealots. In reality the Middle East was the forerunner of the European Café society and the coffee houses of London which became famous London clubs. They were enlightened dens; meeting places for intellectuals where news, gossip and revolutionary ideas mingled in their own heady brew over the hot water soaked beans of coffea arabica. This is exactly the sort of place I am sitting as I type this. Enlightened Revolutionary - yep that's me.

And now we have Starbucks and Nescafe...coffee for phillistines. Coffee for idiots!

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