Harrar--A visit to
the Arabian
Nights
Your trip to the 7th-century world of Harrar takes
you first to Dire Dawa: your first sight on landing-the great trains of patient
plodding camels, wending their way as they have done since time immemorial. In
and around Dire Dawa, the colourful Galla and Somali markets invite you to
spend a few hours (and a surprisingly few Ethiopian dollars!) on picturesque
souvenirs while, for the young-in-imagination, there is a special fascination
in the long railway line that, in preflight days, brought prosperity to the
area, snaking its way from Addis Ababa to Djibouti.A smooth 34-mile (55 km) drive takes you onwards through rolling, fertile hills, to Harrar, nestling 5,600 feet (1,850 metres) up on a hillside, gleaming like a pearl. At first glance you may well believe you have been transported in space as well as time. The high stone walls of the city, pierced with 5 gates and topped by 25 towers, the flat-roofed houses, the exquisite mosque, all give the impression of having wandered into a city from the Arabian Nights.
And the impression deepens as you pass through the gates into the world of Harrar: narrow souks, lined on each side with small shops. The market-places thronged with fine-featured Hararis. The atmosphere of leisurely bustle and friendly bargaining.
Shopping is, of course, the great attraction in Harrar, as it has been for centuries. But there is also the fascination of simply wandering its narrow streets, visiting the house where the 19th-century poet, Rimbaud, lived, catching, through open doorways, tantalising glimpses of the courtyards within, and ever and again, returning to the market place to watch the kaleidoscope of life go by: the handsome country people bringing their wares to market, selecting their own purchases, pausing to exchange gossip about a village that may lie many hundreds of miles away.
When at last you reluctantly leave Harrar, another unique experience awaits you: the feeding of the wild hyenas by the only man in the world who has ever succeeded in coaxing these timid creatures to take food from a human being. Possessor of a secret handed down through the generations, and now a firm tradition, he seats himself each evening on a piece of open ground, calling his timid friends from the hills. As his calls grow more urgent, the first furry shapes appear in the headlights of your car-darting forward, retreating again, until, at last, the most daring dashes, forward and seizes the tempting piece of meat from their provider's very mouth.
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