Overlandin' to Somalia

That's right. It's not a type-o. You read correctly. Somalia (although maybe i should say Somaliland)! This is not an analogy of some hypothetical Herculean task, it is merely an account of one traveller's (namely me) journey from Harar, Ethiopia to Hargiesa, Somaliland via public transport. Oh sure... you coooouuuld fly it, but where's the fun in that?

It's an early start. I turn on the lights which seems to rudely interrupt a social gathering of kitten-sized cockroaches who then looked at me in disgust before scurrying away (actually size of cockroach may have been embellished for dramatic effect). Apparently i wasn't invited to their party even though they were using my budget hotel room as their club house. There's no water, as is a common occurrence in Harar, so i have a quick water bottle shower and pop in some chewing gum. After all, who am i trying to impress? It's a sunny morning, as is often the case in this part of the world with the current global axial tilt. I find a place for some eggs and coffee before heading to the dirt lot referred to as a “bus station”. Bus and taxi touts shout the names of any number of cities, most of which i had never heard of. But eventually, i found transport heading in my direction.There is no direct transport from Harar to Hargeisa, Somaliland. Instead, there's a hop-scotch multi-leg approach to even get to the border. First stop is the rag-tag town of Jijiga. These are largely unchartered waters. While Harar is a secondary tier destination on the tourist trail, Jijiga is so far off the radar, it might as well be Mars. Mini-buses and taxis leave whenever full, so i paid my 40 Birr ($2.30) and crammed into the 15 person mini-bus with 25 other people.

The drive, for the most part, is pretty enough. Although i'd hardly use the

words stunning or superb (like the over-zealous LP writer). The roads are good, but may not be for the faint of belly. The driver bobs and weaves his way along the winding road, dodging (or at times aiming for) a myriad of camels, donkeys and villagers who are under the impression the road is merely a convenient pedestrian thoroughfare. Although if the incessant honking of the driver is any indication, he disagrees. Possibly the prettiest part of the drive is of 14 km stretch of canyon. As the car passes through the Dakhata Valley (or Valley of Marvels) gentle stone giants overlook your passage. Eventually,

after about 2 hours (assuming there are no punctures, break-downs or camelcides), you arrive into the town of Jijiga. The bus station is a crazy one. The sights, sounds and smell overwhelm you as you step out of the bus. It doesn't take long to find transport to my next destination, Wajaale, the tiny village straddling the border between Ethiopia and Somaliland. Few foreigners make it this way, so a big white man is certainly the novelty, never mind a goatee-sporting, pony-tail-sproating, earring-wearing oddity which is me. But the curiosity is innocent, although mildly annoying as once the bus has filled, it takes a while to disperse the crowd of onlookers who, lacking any real entertainment, are forced to gawk at the back-pack toting freakshow.

It's about another 2 hours to the border. As you reach the bus station-type-area in Wajaale, there is a bit of a sense of “OK... now what?” But fear not, the border is about 500 along the main road. If you want, kids with wheelbarrows

will facilitate your crossing for 10 Birr ($0.57), so i dismiss any personal objections to child labour laws, and pick out the least scrawny looking one. Just before crossing the roped off road (super high tech security in these parts) Ethiopian immigration is a small white building on the left. The officer does his best to look like he's done this before, snapping photos and taking fingerprints. Once done, Ethiopian customs may ask to see in you bag. It's 100m or so along no-man's land until a similar procedure in Somaliland. Duck under the even less high-tech rope and head for the brightly painted building on the right. Once done, prepare for a fight with drivers, in the car-park behind immigration, who are likely the only dishonest people in the country. 1 place for the ride in a shared taxi to Hargeisa should not cost more than 120 Birr ($7). They'll tell you you are too fat and need 2 places or your bag is too big and needs to be paid for to offset the delicate arrow-dynamics of his 197? “shitmobile”. Stand your ground.

Somaliland is hardly the most developed county on Earth, a fact made immediately apparent by the roads (or lack there of). The bucket of bolts called a taxi does it's best to negotiate the mildly-worn dirt path through the desert in a general direction of Hargeisa, the Somaliland capital. Eventually, the desert is bisected by one of the only sealed roads in the country. It's smoother sailing from there. The driver stops at what is likely his cousin's mini-restaurant for a quick bite, before continuing onwards. A couple security checks may along the way were shocked at the white dude wedged into his half-a-seat space. They demand my passport and turn to some random page pretending to know what they are doing or looking for. But if staring at my Turkish visa, upside down, for 2 minutes might show, the guard likely can't even read. Other than that the checks are quick enough, unless you opt for the additional strip search at a bargain price.

Soon enough Hargeisa is in sight, although it's not much of a site. The driver didn't drop me off anywhere of note, nor had any intention of bringing me anywhere i wanted to go (without more money). Luckily, Hargeisa only really has 1 street (Independence Road) so you are never too far from anything of importance. While the driver told me my hotel was 10km away, a local dude was nice enough to show me the way, which in reality was only a couple hundred metres away. It was a long day. As i took a much needed shower, the accumulated dust of the day washed away. I was refreshed and ready for the next challenge, dinner.