Ethiopia Daasanach

The sun beat down hard and teased the power we would feel at full strength later in the day. I was already sweating.

As I got closer to the huts, I recognized a friendly face. It was Aron, my guide and interpreter, and now, a friend. Moments later, just outside his hut, was our connection to the tribe, enjoying the morning as we were, waiting to have his morning coffee.

Regardless of the difference in details, this was a routine I could relate closely to.

It was a reminder just how similar the rhythms we all follow can be.

We chatted outside his hut for a few moments, when he invited Aron and I to join him and his family inside for a breakfast coffee.

This simple gesture felt immense. I treasured it and accepted.

The huts are circular with no separations inside. A rising dome of wood and metal sheets, sturdy but easy to break down to satisfy the tribe's nomadic lifestyle. Aron and I entered in through an open panel of metal and I was overcome with sensation.

The fire smoldered in the corner, under a large bowl of coffee, on its way to boiling. Light broke through small openings all over the ceiling, allowing enough light to enter, but darkness to dominante. 

It was hot. I felt that immediately.

I was welcomed by his family - mother, wife, sister, and children. I felt that immediately.

I must have stayed for an hour, sharing stories and coffee, making photos and memories, until I moved the metal sheet from the door to exit, and was blinded by the light pouring in, shocking me back to the reality of the day.

I was drenched in sweat. I was soaked through with the experience.

But above all, I was thankful.

It was the morning of our departure and it seemed the entire tribe was awake to see us off. I had everything packed, except my cameras.

Never pack the cameras.

The previous day I had tried to arrange to be taken by boat across the river, but now, with only an hour before our departure, it seemed unlikely.

Then suddenly, I was being ushered to the banks of the river, camera in hand.

I could tell you about the mud that was like quicksand as I tried to get into the boat.

I could tell you about the boat itself, a dugout that I could fit my hips into, but in the event of a capsized boat, I would not have been able to exit.

I could tell you about the crocodiles

I could tell you about the current.

I could tell you about the effort it took to stay upright in the boat, and what it would have cost had we tipped.

I will tell you about the man, perhaps 15 years younger than me, who took me across the river in my final moments with the tribe. I will tell you about his strength and determination to keep us upright, his knowledge and trust in his abilities and his boat. I will tell you about the lack of verbal communication and the endless unspoken conversations we had on that trip across the river.

I will tell you this shared experience is one of the most impactful moments I've had as a photographer, and as a human being.

M. Thurk