In the country's north lies the Danakil Depression, a surreal landscape showcasing the operatic rendition of nature, red and orange and yellow in tooth and claw
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Until arriving in Ethiopia I hadn’t even heard of the Danakil Depression, let alone foster any desire to go there. Emerging from a complicated and violent history, the northern parts of the country were tense until recently because of the shared border with Eritrea, a breakaway country sundered from the coastal edge. Hunger and famine marked the 1980s, while a refugee crisis still bubbles internally. Ethnic tensions continue to thwart lasting peace.*****
The vista changed gradually, perceptibly. From rocky outcrops surrounding us, to fungi-like gravelly mounds underfoot, to the slow coloration. Ahead, Michael pointed to some worn-out structures an Italian company had set up when they tried to mine potash in the 1920s. The ground below bubbled and belched in places like a dissatisfied pressure cooker, leaving sediments that form crusts like egg shells. It smelt like a laboratory, pungent with the signature notes of chemical decomposition and gutter water. As the morning and the walk wore on, the landscape began to colour itself in, turning dark brown, then maroon, then vermilion, saffron, yellow, green. Fifty shades of incredible; a thousand kinds of memorable. When we intermittently regained our powers of speech we could do little besides congratulate ourselves for getting here and nature for doing a damn fine job. What special brand of black magic conjures up these striking colours at earth’s end? Lying at the junction of three drifting tectonic plates, in an active volcanic region, it comes down to a cocktail of sea salt, volcanic magma, sulphur and water reacting together. The magma heats the ground water which, as it rises, absorbs various minerals; when the water evaporates, these crusty deposits and hallucinogenic formations remain. It is in this primal geological laboratory of the depression, that scientists have discovered remains of our earliest human ancestors, helping piece together the story of evolution. The Danakil Depression goes across Ethiopia, Eritrea and Djibouti, as part of the East African Rift Valley. As the tectonic plates incrementally continue to pull apart, it will eventually, millions of years from now, be submerged in the Red Sea. No wonder then that from time to time Michael warned us about the fragile ground beneath our feet; this was after all a terrain constantly in the process of making and remaking itself. Once sated on the Technicolour show, we returned to the vehicle with the faces of people who had won the tourism lottery.*****
The next stop was the salt mountains: Wizened mushroom-like mineral protrusions emerging from the earth. A thin, wiry man with a gun crouched on the rocks on his haunches in a traditionally-patterned lungi-like skirt, scanning the world around him. “The local people help protect the area,” Michael said. “It also lets them feel involved. That’s how tourism should be, right?” Later we stopped at acidic pools, which at first glance did not appear especially fatal. People stuck their hands into the warm water, and emerged unscathed. This was not true for the avian life in the area though. “Birds come to take a sip of water, thinking this is an oasis in the desert, but then it kills them,” said Michael. As we walked around the shallow pond, he took us towards a small rocky alcove, where dozens of birds lay stiff and catatonic, dead from their misadventures. He called it the bird cemetery. As the sun rose overhead, we drove through the salt pans, the fierce white light bouncing off the ground. The tour itinerary had claimed we would spot members of the Afar tribes mining salt around here and camel caravans transporting the goods, but no one seemed visible today aside from tourists. “Ramadan has just begun, that’s why,” explained Michael.(This story appears in the 30 August, 2019 issue of Forbes India. To visit our Archives, click here.)