Having enjoyed the luxurious Hawassa lifestyle, and put off the inevitable as long as possible, I realised it was time to experience the Adola life; thus my first experience of the pleasures of travelling long distance by bus in Ethiopia.  I had already done the journey there and back with the driver from VSO to drop off my stuff the Thursday before the Meskel long weekend in Hawassa, but that had been in a 4WD.  I knew the route and this meant that I was at least partially prepared for the 40km stretch of road that had not yet been covered in the wonders of tarmac.

Todd, my host in Hawassa, kindly accompanied me to the Hawassa bus terminal, we debated travel by Bajaj (the local name for a TukTuk), but opted instead for the 30 minute walk, there having been a dearth of these fine vehicles.  We arrived around 6.30am and were pointed in the right direction for the Adola bus by several kindly locals.  Having heard that these vehicles frequently depart early, I eagerly clambered aboard, only to find that I was the sole passenger.  By this point Todd was off having a coffee somewhere.  After a short period waiting, and realising that no other passenger had yet boarded, I made enquiries as to when the bus would leave and was told “eight”.  Now herein lies a problem.  In Ethiopia they mark time slightly differently and start their day at what we foreigners would call 6 o’clock.  This they refer to as 12 o’clock.  When 8 o’clock foreigner time came and went with only one additional passenger I started to get a little nervous.  I began to wonder if they had meant Ethiopian time, where 8 o’clock would be 2 in the afternoon. My thoughts turned enviously to Todd enjoying a coffee and some fine breakfast somewhere.  At about 9.30am foreigner time my anxiety grew.  I had been on the bus 3 hours by this point and was just deciding that I would get off, stretch my legs and buy a bottle of water, when the driver jumped on board and slowly, but definitely, the bus began to creep towards the exit to the terminal.  I really wish I had bought a bottle of water.

The road wasn’t in the best condition, but was sealed, the bus with its contingent of 6 passengers picked up speed and wound its way around the various animals that share the road.  The driver seemed quite keen to avoid these, but was less tolerant of human obstacles and on a few occasions during the journey seem to actually drive directly towards people on the road, blowing the bus’ horn furiously.  They managed to scatter out of his way at the last minute.

About 40 to 50 Km south of Hawassa there is a left turn for the road to Adola, here the condition of the road improved – unsurprisingly since it has only just been sealed in the last couple of years.  This was obviously of great delight to the bus driver who quite happily increased the bus’ speed.  Now this was all very well, except the route to Adola is over some mountains and this meant that the road tends to wind back and forth as it climbs.  How fortunate I was to be sat near the front of the bus with such a fantastic view of the moment the driver took a corner too fast, braking and ending up on the other side of the road stopping just short of a theme park ride down to the valley below.  There were no seatbelts on the bus, but then again, they probably wouldn’t have helped.

It was with some relief that we stopped a short while later in the town of Bore.  This seems to be the stopping place of all buses heading down the road and trucks too.  It’s about half-way between Hawassa and Adola and by this point 2 ½ hours into the journey (+ the 3 hours waiting) I was feeling thirsty and a little peckish.  Something was said to me in Amharic and another person kindly translated this to English – it was lunch time.

The small restaurant had no menu.  My lack of Amharic lead to the ordering of “tibs” (fried meat) with “dabbo” (bread). The only things whose names I could remember.  It eventually arrived along with a wonderful bottle of water, but I only had time to eat about half of it before it was time to get back on the bus for the last stretch.  Half of my lunch left behind, but clutching the water I returned to what, until recently, I considered a rather uncomfortable seat – I have since learned that I had been travelling in relative luxury.

A short time later we arrived at the incomplete section of the road and the journey changed from relatively smooth to bone-rattling discomfort.  At least the driver slowed down a little.  Although this stretch of road covered about 1/5 of the route it took up nearly 1/3 of the journey time.  When they finish that section, the journey should be fairly straightforward; apart from the swerving to avoid livestock and the odd Bajaj.

Somehow we made it to Adola and seeing the college fly past I cried “Woraj”, which eventually filtered through to the driver who ground to a halt about half a mile down the road.  Grabbing my belongings I stepped down, ready to begin my new life.