IN ERITREA NOW

Evening Star, Issue 22804, 12 November 1937, Page 11

IN ERITREA NOW

ROAD TO ADDIS ABABA From Asmara the road to Makale sets out over the barren, monotonous highlands of Eritrea, with no landmark but here and there an “ amba ” or flat-topped hill and occasionally some undulating country (writes a recent traveller in Abyssinia in an article in the ‘ Manchester Guardian ’). The road starts as a fine, smooth ribbon of asphalt, but this comes to an end in the first hour’s drive, giving place to loose stones and dust and to potholes in such numbers as I have endured in no other part of the world. (The road still remains the Italians’ main line of communication.) Every passing lorry sends out an avalanche of dust and stones. The road curves and zig-zags up—l counted 300 turns in six miles. Dusk brought us, after no more than 60 miles, to Adi Kaie, where there was an inn with unglazed windows that admitted the cold night wind. Here we laid our pneumatic mattresses on a couple of tables. Even this was better shelter than our small tent. Next morning came our first greeting from Abyssinia, from the distant peaks of the Tembien. Their precipitous slopes, deep brown orange yellow, or reddish, took on the most incredible shapes as we gradually drew nearer; here and there they were cut by deep ravines. Adigrat, the first Italian military station on Abyssinian territory, took us four hours to reach, though it was not much over 50 miles distant. A few hundred wretched mud huts surrounded the “ ghebi ” of a chief who had fled.

“ New Adigrat,” a few hundred yards, on, was then only a few weeks old, but already covered a wide and steadily-expending area, with its lorry parks, its wooden barrack buildings, the “ spacci ” (a spaccio is a canteen in which tinned fruit, wine, and various groceries are sold), and the officials’ corrugated iron “villas.” These last are easily transported and erected, and are both practical and reasonably comfortable.

The third day’s journey was to Makale, through undulating highlands at B,oooft and over. Along this stretch thousands of “ opera! ” (uniformed “ workmen ” with military equipment) were busy roadmaking. Miles of petrol stations, repair shops, and motor parks heralded Makale, which is less surprising when one remembers the two thousand hurriedly started motor transport enterprises sending over 15,000 motor lorries to and fro between and Addis Ababa. The suburb of Enda Jesus had sprung up at a crossroads here; in barely 10 weeks it had grown to a square mile and more; in another two months it had almost completely disappeared—the road had been diverted, and the crossroads, with their promise of business, existed no longer. The hundreds of mechanics and traders had picked up their wooden huts and emigrated. PEACEFUL MAKALE. Three miles on lies Makale, the town over the possession of which there was such fierce and repeated fighting. Many marks of those days remain, but all is peaceful now in the market place, where the women squat by their baskets of grain, with little straw umbrellas over their heads, and the men gossip and stare. Here there has been no change from the past; but on the other side of the stream that passes the village, in the walled Ghebi of Has Gugsa, where until a few weeks ago the mules were still in their dirty stalls, there are now two handsome motor cars, and many masons and carpenters are busy putting an entirely new face on the palace. The same wild mountains and barren and desolate plateaux surrounded us on the road to Dessie. In the hollows were thickets of “ candelabra euphorbias.” The road was cut to pieces by the heavy motor traffic, and 60 miles was the best that could be done in a day—six miles an hour for 10 hours. The young native chauffeurs were never tired of the shriek of their motor horns. In the new “ Ethiopia ” the ‘‘ autista ” or chauffeur is a much-

sought-after and a well-paid individualTho road winds and loops hundreds of times up to the pass, 10 ; 500ft above sea level, over Amba Alagi, until at last there comes a thrilling view ahead of scores of wild, black mountain ranges. Two more ups and downs, with wheels slipping in sand and loose stones and this difficult stage was ended with our arrival at the Government buildings at Mai Ten.

Roads that a few months ago were tracks led us next day over new mountains past Lake Ashangi to Quoram, a promising, military settlement, and on through the murderously hot lowlands of Kobbo, bordering the Danakil Desert. Masses of vegetation surrounded us in these hours of struggle with sand and dust and with river beds which at least can be crossed without breakdowns. Before long the road climbed, again to cooler regions, 6,000 ft and over, to Waldia, a town of tents and barracks, where we put up for the night once more in a wooden inn, which had neither windows nor furniture, but made up for this by the number of its visitors. Another day of painful struggling with loose stones as big as one’s head brought us at last to the motor parks of Dessie, where we threaded our way through swarms of Abyssinians and Italian soldiers, asses and mules, and columns of motor lorries, until we were able to enjoy a glass of chianti and good beds in the former “ ghebi ” of Ras Asfaou, now the headquarters of the district commandant.' THE ESCORT LOST. From here to Addis Ababa, by the dreaded Temaber Pass, independent journeying is forbidden for reasons of safety. We joined an officer of _ our acquaintance who was making the journey with two lorries, thus getting the advantage of the privileged treatment of army transports. Our escort awaited us before dawn to take us through this stage, which is not yet entirely safe, but we saw little of our heavily-armed protectors. So long as the track permitted we drove on in front, passing through virgin jungle in a broad highland valley. At a parting of the ways we took the wrong turn; on turning back we had lost half an hour, and spent hours thereafter trying to catch up with our escort, which had been doing its best to catch up with us. After this one of the lorries developed a puncture and we had to spend the night in the tents of the 35th company of operai. We were off before the day’s work began, but came too late to Debra Sina, the valley station before the Termaber Pass (now the Passo Mussolini). Here the road is still under construction. and along 60 miles of highland track one-way traffic is maintained alternately in each direction, eo that a column of transport must often wait two days before it can proceed.. After waiting a day and a night we were able to start. Then we set out, wedged in a procession of hundreds of lorries, going at a snail’s pace, with several military lorries as guard, up the mountain track, which in places has a gradient of two in seven. This was the route followed six months ago by Marshal Badoglio’s “ iron ” column. It is no easy passage, over the highest pass in East Africa—some 11,250 feet. Hundreds of workmen have to push the lorries round the curves; tractors tow up the weaker ones; wheels slip constantly in the loose stones, and few days pass without some lorry leaving the narrow track and crashing down the mountain side, pounding to pieces as it falls.

When at last the top was reached there were still constant new difficulties to face along this “ Imperial road ” of the time of the Negus, bo that it took 14 hours to reach Debra Birhan, on the other side of the mountain. The worst was then over. Twenty miles beyond Debra Birhan we found thousands of operai at work. They are working at an extraordinary pace, completing nearly a mile of road every day. At times their piled rifles are hundreds of yards away, and the open-air barber’s shop has constantly to move on. We went ahead now without difficulty, passing hundreds of lorries of Badoglio’s column that hod stuck fast in swamps, and a green island of eucalyptus trees in the midst of the yellow desert of Shoa. At last we reached the “ posto di blocco,” whcie strict watch is kept to see that

no one leaves Addis Ababa without permission. Our passports were examined and we went on into Addis Ababa—--1,400 kilometres, a little under 900 miles, in 12 days.