Ripcord Adventure Journal 1.2 Second Edition

The tribes that time forgot
Shane Dallas
spacious clearing. It was a village of the Arbore tribe. Once out of
the vehicle, I encountered a practice that elicits much debate
amongst those who visit the Omo Valley – namely the payment of a
fee to take photographs. The problems of this practice quickly
became evident. Upon our arrival, the Arbore people rushed from
their huts to form a long line near the vehicle hoping to be chosen,
and paid, to be photographed. It felt incredibly forced, and though I
am unsure where this practice emanated from, obediently lining in
an orderly fashion was inconsistent with every other activity I
witnessed in the Omo Valley. This appeared imposed from outside.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
I lowered my head, undecided if I wanted to participate in this
awkward spectacle, but there was no retreat, for the Arbore would
aggressively pursue those with cameras to photograph them. They
would grab your arm or camera and verbally badger for a picture;
this whirlwind of activity and attention was almost overwhelming. I
wandered far away from the scene with one Arbore woman in order
to distance myself from the selection line, which on further
reflection, looked more and more like a circus with paid performers.
By having her with me, it seemed to keep the others away, but that
only lasted until she dawdled away after the photo shoot, for the
chaos descended on me again.
After a difficult photography session, I returned to the vehicle – and
upon closing the door found myself inside a serene silent shelter
from the buffeting verbal tempest outside. My first tribe visit
proved to be a confronting experience. In 2010, the payment
amounts were small, one or two Birr (approximately 15 cents at the
time), whereas a larger amount (at least 250 birr) is payable as a
village admission fee. However, these prices have increased many
times over since then.
While still musing on the most responsible method to approach
photography in the Omo Valley, we proceeded to the small town of
Turmi. Our plans to arrive in the late afternoon were thwarted by
the road conditions. Shortly after Tsegay had changed a tyre due to
a puncture, he lent out the window, and muttered something under
his breath before stopping to attend to the second puncture in the
space of half an hour. With little phone coverage and almost no
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