The flight from Narobi, Kenya to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia takes less than two hours. By land it took us five full days and involved a Puegeot station wagon, three buses, two minivans and a cattle truck we rode on top of and slept inside of. We were rained on, sleep deprived, caked in dust and nearly beaten to death by some of the worst roads we've seen in Africa.

We had a vague idea of what awaited us as we departed Nairobi in a steady drizzle. As our Puegeot driver with a massive partially healed head wound spirited us out of the Kenyan capital, we knew we were about to endure the most trying journey of our trip. We knew it would be hard. The details, though, would prove astounding.

"There is no organized public transport."
After the Puegeot went as far as it could, a minivan took us the remaining distance to the Kenyan frontier town of Isiolo. This is where the pavement runs out, still two days travel from the border. From here there is no organized public transport save for the trucks that carry cheap cattle south from Ethiopia. They charge about 13 US dollars to ride in the back of the truck for the epic run to the border.

Notice I said the trucks carry animals south. This proved to be one of the few unexpected pieces of good news. Once they drop the poor girls off at the Nairobi slaughterhouse, they head back north empty... except for some electronics for rich Ethiopians and paying human cargo. If you're coming south, you share the truck with twenty-two head of cattle.

"Our wakeup came about ten minutes before five."
Getting on these cattle trucks isn't quite like going to the Greyhound station and picking up a ticket. Since they leave Isiolo mostly in the middle of the night, you must hire a "truck watcher" before you go to bed. This is a local kid who'll sit up all

The View from Inside Our Cattle Truck

night watching for trucks, talk to the driver and find out if there's space for you. If there's a spot available he'll come wake you up and hustle you onboard. After telling the excited kid to shut up when he came calling at three, our next and final wakeup was about ten minutes before five.

We found spaces in the back, settled in and were quickly joined by three more white faces. Quite a surprise, since so few travelers make this journey, to have five on the same truck. And four of them Americans, at that.

"We were quickly bruised and very dirty."
Besides the other travelers, our fellow passengers numbered about ten... some Kenyans, some Ethiopians... including one woman who scream-talked with an amazing similarity to a chicken. Heading out of Isiolo we got a quick taste of what our next two days would be like. When we hit giant holes in the abysmal dirt road, everything in the truck... people, luggage, televisions and spare tires... would go flying into the air and waves of dust would billow into the partially tarp-covered truck bed. We were quickly bruised and very dirty... saved only by the infrequent stops for a drink, a pee and some Ramadan prayers.

Every sunrise and sunset we had to stop for everybody to get off and figure out which way Mecca was so they could pray for about fifteen minutes. Once, when it was obvious they were facing Moscow rather than Mecca, I considered and quickly dismissed the idea of offering to use my GPS to help them figure it out.

Well into that first day the inevitble happened. The truck stopped and before long we realized a front wheel was being removed. We'd blown a tire. I was relieved to see we were carrying a spare tire, though it was in only marginally better condition than the one mangled under the truck. We were not, however, carrying a spare wheel. We would wait about two hours as the blown tire was removed from the wheel and the spare mounted. At home this is accomplished with large powered machines. In remote Kenya, it's done with a crowbar.

"We're way, way past Muppet Bus here."
The misery, punctuated by brief stops for prayers, peeing and tire punctures, went on for about twelve hours until we stopped in the small oasis town

Flat Tire on Africa's Longest Road

of Marasabit, halfway to the Ethiopian border. I said to Matt it all reminded me of the Muppett Bus again. He said "We're way, way past Muppet Bus here."

Now, theoretically these trucks stop for the night here. But ever since the government wiped out the bandit problem, the trucks no longer travel in convoys and schedules have been thrown to the wind. Despite frequent questions, we were never told exactly where we'd be sleeping that night. Turns out it was because we would not be sleeping that night.

"A path worn by the occasional trucks."
After nearly an hour in Marasabit, we took to the road again. And by the way, if Isiolo is where the pavement runs out, Marasabit is where the road runs out. From here on it's basically a path worn by the occasional trucks. We followed this path as the sun set and continued into the night... Matt and me riding on top of the tarp, hanging on for dear life and watching for shooting stars in the post sunset desert coolness that's somewhere between welcome relief and uncomfortable chill. At around ten we stopped for what at first appeared to be another of our occasional stops. An hour later we realized people were going to sleep. I picked a Sony Wega widescreen flat panel television box to sleep against.

This time wakeup came just before four am. The chicken-talker woman was among the first to reboard the truck. What a wonderful way to face the new day of punishment. Once again we plowed down the "road" into the darkness. But to our surprise the late night driving from the day before had left us only about seven more hours driving. We arrived in the border town... dazed, sore and stunningly dirty... in mid-morning.

The border crossing was uneventful and, fortunately, we'd missed the only bus to the Ethiopian interior. We'd have to spend the night here in the border town.

"Covering their heads in blankets to avoid the deadly draft."
The two-day journey on to Addis Ababa was reasonably pain free... except for the Ethiopian Window Phobia. It seems most Ethiopians have a mortifying fear of moving air. As such, all buses on all Ethiopian roads must have their windows sealed tightly as soon as the vehicle begins moving. Any attempt to open a window is generally answered with panicked shouting... with people covering their heads in blankets to avoid the deadly draft.

Aftermath of the Cattle Truck Drama

Now imagine this... a glass-enclosed bus with sixty hot humans under the equatorial sun with no air moving in or out. It quickly gets unbelievably steamy and nearly unbearable for me. Matt seems to tolerate it better than I can.

But with some luck I managed to stay near some rare progressively minded Ethiopians who preferred to have their windows open. We arrived in Addis Ababa in the late afternoon having had a reasonable amount of fresh air on our journey into the city.

It's surprisingly crisp here in Addis. Lows overnight are near freezing at times, and the daytime is never opressively hot. I was surprised to learn this is the third highest capital city in the world... after La Paz, Bolivia and Quito, Ecuador. Not terribly attractive but pleasant enough, it'll be an okay place to hang out as we arrange visas and figure out where we're headed from here.