In Ethiopia with a Mule Read Online Free PDF Page B

a black off-foreleg, a white saucer-sized spot on the withers, a large chestnut patch on the near flank and a few white stripes on his belly. But the most important – and surprising – thing is his endearing expression. It had never occurred to me that one could be on more than civil terms with a mule, yet I can foresee myself becoming fond of this creature, for whom I willingly paid 105 dollars (fifteen guineas). The owner was an affable character, who considerately admitted that his animal had never seen a motor vehicle until today, and would therefore be inclined to ballet-dance on main roads.
    I immediately named my new comrade ‘Jock’, in honour of a friend of mine who is noted for his kind dependability and capacity for overworking every day of the year – qualities which one hopes will be encouraged in Jock II by this talisman of a mutual name. I trust the friend in question will appreciate the compliment of having a mule named after him. As compliments go it is perhaps a trifle opaque at first sight.
    Watering Jock in the stable-yard proved to be a little difficult; he had never before drunk from anything save a stream and was shy of both tank and bucket. When he had at last followed the example of a palace mule, I led him into a stable and left him settling down to a feed of barley. The buying of accessories was postponed till tomorrow, as Leilt Aida had arranged to take us to the Leul’s road-building camp for a picnic lunch.
     
    The age when arrogant, energetic highland princes were the de facto rulers of their provinces has passed, but one can see traces of it in Ras Mangasha’s career as Governor-General of Tigre. His position is a curious one. Officially he is a senior civil servant in a centralised bureaucracy; actually he remains the hereditary prince of the Tigreans – a people to whom bureaucrats mean nothing and feudal lords everything. This vigorous great-grandson of Yohannes IV has shown a traditional independence in organising his latest project. Instead of submitting his scheme to the relevant procrastinating ministry in Addis he designed the road himself (though without academic training as an engineer), appealed to the peasants to help him, took off his shirt – literally – and got on with it. The peasants are now willingly contributing unpaid labour, though if an unknownofficial from Addis requested this sort of co-operation he would get a stony stare from these same people. The work has been in progress for only fifteen days, yet ten miles of road have been completed; and it must give Ras Mangasha considerable satisfaction personally to lead the peasants in this communal effort as his forefathers led their forefathers in battle.
    At 11 a.m. we left Makalle in a battered chauffeur-driven Mercedes and followed the main road towards Addis for an hour and a quarter, seeing no traffic except large mule and camel caravans on their way to the Danakil Desert to fetch salt. When we turned off the main road to begin our nine-mile climb the new track rounded many well engineered hairpin bends and near the summit of the range’s highest mountain we stopped at a tiny caravan – Ras Mangasha’s temporary home. Today’s work-party was visible at the end of the road, and soon the Leul came slithering expertly down a cliff to greet us – stocky, self-confident and dark-skinned, with bright, enthusiastic eyes and work-roughened hands. He has none of his wife’s calm depth and his conversation at once reveals a certain naïvety of approach to this complex transition period in Ethiopian history; but one feels that he genuinely loves his people and that they love him.
    We sat on a boulder, and were served with injara, wat, talla and tej while watching a giant bulldozer edging its way along a precipice, pushing over the verge tons of rock already loosened by the herculean endeavours of ill-equipped peasants. It was thrilling to see and hear these colossal chunks of mountain go rolling and rumbling