March 24, 2017 23:29
By Bill Wiatrak
I KNOW ALL THE SCAMS. I see them coming a mile away and am often amused
that people fall for them in their travels. There’s a million of them, but they’re all
centered around separating a tourist from his money. I’d been taken years ago in
Thailand in a gemstone con and have made a point since then to distrust most any
stranger I meet. There’ve been a dozen attempts to trick me over the years, with
most going south for the scammers.
I’d had an amazing first day in the Ethiopian capital of Addis Ababa. I was sitting
with some locals in a corrugated metal shack in the back of a ramshackle shop where
women were making injera, a flatbread that’s a local staple. We were drinking
coffee and talking about how it is to live in Ethiopia, deep in our ninth bag of chat,
a mild stimulant leaf that is slowly chewed on the side of your mouth with a handful
of peanuts. As we sipped down the last drop of coffee and tossed away the empty
stalks, a bill was placed in front of me. It was for nearly $100. A hundred American
dollars for some Ethiopian coffee and a few bags of leaves? It couldn’t have cost
more than $10 to buy something like this in a poverty-stricken country. I had to
laugh; I’d never seen the scam coming.
I had just arrived in Addis Ababa and did what I normally do when I don’t want to
embark on a lot of research: look on Trip Advisor and see what all the tourists like
the most. It was the Red Terror Martyrs’ Memorial Museum. Catchy name; sounded
fun. I decided I would go to the Red Martyrs Museum and then walk from there to
some of the other sights.
The Martyrs’ museum was very dimly lit and mostly a collection of enlarged photos,
guns, and clothing from the Russian-backed military coup in the 1970s that wiped
out over half a million people. It was a little difficult to navigate because of bad or
no translations on many exhibits, but the pictures told their own tales of the hundreds
of victims, starving children, dead animals and other atrocities that occurred following
the deposition of Emperor Haile Selassie in 1974. The most photographed room
contains a couple of walls of glass cases filled with human skulls and other skeleton
parts. Why human beings are so fascinated with seeing dead people is beyond me,
but I was snapping away with everyone else.
![Shutterstock 225074779 hoe1ms](https://i1.wp.com/res.cloudinary.com/sagacity/image/upload/c_crop,h_1769,w_3144,x_0,y_0/c_limit,dpr_auto,f_auto,fl_lossy,q_80,w_1080/shutterstock_225074779_hoe1ms.jpg?zoom=1.1024999499320984&w=900&ssl=1)
A statue of Menelik II astride his horse in Addis Ababa. IMAGE:
I decided to make my way to the Mausoleum of Menelik II, now also a museum, and
started to cross the road when I was approached by two 20-something men commenting
about my cowboy hat and asking where my horse was. As a Texan, I get that a lot, so I
always point behind them, they look, and then I laugh as the joke is on them. They
continued talking to me and didn’t seem threatening or like they wanted anything, so
I just went with it. I was told that it was a holiday and that they weren’t busy with
school so they’d walk with me. We talked about Ethiopia, music, drugs, Bob Marley…
the normal stuff 20-year-olds like to converse about. They spoke pretty good English,
so I let them do some camera intros for my video series. We arrived at the museum,
took off our shoes, and entered what looked to be a church.
It was a church—the Ta’eka Negest (Resting Place of Kings) Ba’eta Le Mariam Monastery
to be exact. Women clothed in white with scarves lined the halls burning incense and
chanting. There was almost a Buddhist feel to it, or possibly Turkish with carpets piled
the floor, and the smell of smoke and myrrh surrounded us. We entered the main chapel
with its ceiling paintings featuring camels and men with umbrellas. I was asked if I’d
like to see the underground tombs. Of course I would!
The guide rolled back one of the carpets and pulled up a trap door. No one would have
ever guessed that there was something below. At the bottom of the stairs were three
giant marble tombs: those of Menelik II, his wife and his daughter. Menelik, who
reigned from 1889 until his death in 1913, is considered to be the father of Ethiopia
—the equivalent of our George Washington, if not greater. He modernized the country,
united various tribes throughout the nation which had previously warred with each
other, successfully defended Ethiopia’s independence in a war with Italy, and is widely
regarded to have restored the ancient kingdom’s power. Even George didn’t do that.
When my new friends walked back up the stairs, I thought they were heading out for a
smoke break—but when I walked outside the church, they were nowhere to be found.
Maybe they were scammers and had seen my small wad of bills that I purposely kept
in a different place than my wallet. Maybe there was a family emergency. As I looked
around, I heard a strange grunting found behind me. I looked to see a giant tortoise,
as big as a Galapagos turtle, making his way across the lawn. The source of the noise
was two more of the creatures locked in conjugal embrace. The male was on top and
was obviously enjoying himself. The female maybe not so much. She had her head
inside the shell, perhaps embarrassed about the public display. I counted half a dozen
more of the giant tortoises and, figuring my friends had left, moved on.
![Shutterstock 428548720 rzkglm](https://i1.wp.com/res.cloudinary.com/sagacity/image/upload/c_crop,h_2266,w_3405,x_0,y_0/c_limit,dpr_auto,f_auto,fl_lossy,q_80,w_1080/shutterstock_428548720_rzkglm.jpg?zoom=1.1024999499320984&w=900&ssl=1)
The National Museum of Ethiopia IMAGE: DMITRY CHULOV /
I started walking toward what I thought was the famed Holy Trinity Cathedral and
ended up in a few back alleyways full of Ethiopian Orthodox devotees. Eventually I
had enough of the rocky paths and I hailed a taxi to take me to the National Museum
of Ethiopia, the current resting place of Lucy, the world’s oldest and most famous
and humanoid skeleton. As I walked toward the entrance, my friends suddenly
reappeared. By their account I had exited through the back of the church and missed
them completely. The museum was three levels of dusty glass cabinets with some
interesting clothing and furniture of former rulers, some ceramics and mediocre art work.
Lucy was found on the lower level, inside a glass display case housing bones considerably
smaller than any modern-day person. The tiny Australopithecus skeleton is often
considered the missing link—evidence to support that humans evolved from apes.
It was quite a leap of faith in my opinion, and a little disappointing compared to
seeing a T. Rex or mastodon skeleton.
After we left, my friends handed me a Coke they’d bought for me. Rule No. 1: Never
take a drink from a stranger that has been opened or you haven’t seen prepared.
There was clearly a broken seal and two inches of soft drink missing. I didn’t want to
wake up the next day with no money and a missing kidney, so I passed.
They insisted, however, on showing me the old train station which hadn’t worked in
years and some weed-covered statues. The sidewalk was full of deals being made on
skinny religious candles and bright red umbrellas. I was visiting during the Ethiopian
Orthodox Holy Lent fast, which lasts 55 days; this means many Ethiopians eat strictly
vegan meals, and not until 3 p.m. It’s enough of a lifestyle during the lead-up to Easter
that most restaurant menus have a fasting or non-fasting section to choose from.
We ended up at a little ramshackle spot where my friends ordered two meals: one fasting
version, the other with lamb. It turns out one was Christian and two weeks into his fast.
The other was, in his words, a part-time Muslim who only drank beer when everyone
else was having one. It was every man for himself as we scooped up the meat and
vegetables with the hunks of spongy, sour injera. There are no forks, spoons or
napkins—injera does it all.
Injera, which is only made by women, is a big deal here—and not just because it
functions as every eating utensil. It’s also consumed at each meal, including
breakfast. No one seems to ever tire of it and, as far as I know, there’s no one else
in the world that eats it other than Ethiopians and Eritreans. It’s made of an
incredibly nutritious grass called teff, which is grown only in this part of the world
and was one of the first plants to be domesticated, around 6,000 years ago. As the
women continued to work, some Cokes appeared, some coffee, some bottled water
and the real reason we had stopped, some bags of chat.
![Shutterstock 368594027 t4crk8](https://i0.wp.com/res.cloudinary.com/sagacity/image/upload/c_crop,h_3000,w_4500,x_0,y_0/c_limit,dpr_auto,f_auto,fl_lossy,q_80,w_1080/shutterstock_368594027_t4crk8.jpg?zoom=1.1024999499320984&w=900&ssl=1)
A plate of injera and various Ethiopian stews IMAGE: SHUTTERSTOCK
I must admit, it was pretty good for such a dive, and the cold Ethiopian beer took off
the edge. After eating, we walked to a back alleyway and then down what seemed to
be a dead-end dirt road between shacks. There, at the end of the road, was a room with
wooden stools and plastic bags concealing the corrugated metal material that made
up the walls. It was a kitchen of sorts, with three women making giant, 24-inch injeras
and stacking them in piles to sell to restaurants and individuals.
Chat, also called khat, is a mildly narcotic leaf that is chewed socially by the people that
live on the Horn of Africa. You pluck a few leaves, fold them into a small packet and
chew them on the side of your mouth with a small handful of peanuts to cut the bitterness.
It’s not terribly exciting and takes a while to feel a buzz, but after a while you sort of feel
like you’ve taken a Ritalin.
I noticed a bit of uneasiness as my hosts took turns leaving and coming back. They had
been very friendly, but suddenly seemed troubled. They started explaining how they had
been sleeping in a church because they couldn’t pay their rent and that the place where
they had been staying had all their possessions. Bottom line: They wanted a loan and
would pay me back when I returned to Addis. They wanted about $150 to fix everything.
That was never going to happen. Were they telling the truth? Who knows? I had had a
wonderful day with them, they had paid for my lunch, transport and spent hours of their
day hanging out with me. I could part with $50 and just consider it the price of my tour.
But no, they needed it all. I wasn’t budging because I wasn’t getting scammed. This was
on my terms, not theirs. And then the bill came.
I looked at the bill and had two reactions. First, shock. Second, I had to laugh. They were
running two scams on me and I’d never seen the second one coming. It was a variation of
the famous Chinese Tea House Scam—but with chat instead of tea.
![Shutterstock 531357172 usxbl7](https://i2.wp.com/res.cloudinary.com/sagacity/image/upload/c_crop,h_2511,w_3718,x_0,y_0/c_limit,dpr_auto,f_auto,fl_lossy,q_80,w_1080/shutterstock_531357172_usxbl7.jpg?zoom=1.1024999499320984&w=900&ssl=1)
An Ethiopian woman sells chat on the street.IMAGE: VLAD KARAVAEV / SHUTTERSTOCK.COM
In the Chinese tea house scam, you’re approached by two pretty Chinese girls in a
place like Tiananmen Square who are students and wish to practice English. They
engage you, entertain you, and invite you for tea. You don’t see the prices until you’ve
ordered and they have snuck out the back. Your tea ends up being as much as $100 a
cup—and you have to pay for theirs as well. There’s usually a big guy there to make
sure you settle your bill; either way, you’re outnumbered, so you pay up.
Here, there were no pretty girls, no tea, no big guy—just overpriced chat leaves. They
had ordered nine bags as well as drinks and the tab had soared to over $100! For leaves!
No one in Ethiopia spends that kind of money for anything, least of all chat. The whole
reason anyone does chat at all is that they can’t afford other types of stimulants like
alcohol, hookahs or drugs. My friends had also forgotten to mention that I’d be the
one paying as they kept ordering things. When the bill came, they seemed as surprised
as I was. They were extra-special-reserved-for-special-occasions leaves they explained.
Not those cheap ones everyone else chews. Oh … yeah; that makes sense.
Arguing in these cases rarely does any good. The best strategy is to just not have enough
money. I purposely had a pocket of “small money”—about $25 in birr—and everything
else tucked away. I pulled it out, pocketed $4 for the taxi to my hotel, and gave the
owner the rest while explaining to him that though I appreciated the fine acting on
everyone’s part, this was the last of my birr and I had no intentions of walking home.
It was apparently enough to cover expenses, but not enough to pay off the men who’d
brought me here. The scammers work with the owner, you see, and then get a large
portion of the “dumb tax” the victim has paid.
I explained to them that I had a wonderful time, and that I wasn’t mad, but their hopes
of getting the $50 from me was forever lost, because I no longer trusted them. They
followed me, insisting on their innocence. I walked back to the main square where I’d
met them and when they realized I was about to leave, that’s when they decided to
come clean. They apologized and said they had mixed feelings about scamming me,
because I had been resistant to the normal dialogue they used and seemed to be a little
more aware than most of their victims. They’d really liked being in my videos and
were sorry about everything, but that is just how they made a living.
Honesty goes a long way with me (or at least improv scamming) and I was extremely
curious to learn how all of this worked anyway, so I came up with a proposal: If they
wanted to meet for dinner, I’d buy and then give them some money in exchange for
their secrets. I felt like I was paying off an FBI informant. They reluctantly agreed.
![Shutterstock 525633502 r0zzhc](https://i0.wp.com/res.cloudinary.com/sagacity/image/upload/c_crop,h_3888,w_2592,x_0,y_0/c_limit,dpr_auto,f_auto,fl_lossy,q_80,w_1080/shutterstock_525633502_r0zzhc.jpg?zoom=1.1024999499320984&w=900&ssl=1)
“Where to go?”IMAGE: SHUTTERSTOCK
At 7 p.m., they were skulking outside my hotel. Ethiopians are very polite,
well-mannered and typically reluctant to engage in confrontations. We walked
down the street to a tourist restaurant and I could feel their nervousness increase.
A meal at such a place is very reasonable by Western standards but expensive for
locals. We sat down and ordered some beer, some local spirits and a giant plate
of injera and stews to share. After they’d had a few drinks, they spilled their guts.
I felt like a priest at confession as they explained the steps they use to build confidence
with a potential victim. The first scam involves taking the mark to a music store where
they sell bootlegged CDs for 10 times what it costs them. Okay, no big deal. That’s how
the music industry works everywhere else. Then there’s the travel agent referral, wherein
they take you to one of their friends who helps you book some things for a premium price
and then shares the proceeds. They confessed that when we’d gotten separated at the
church, they were running to borrow some birr. Otherwise they couldn’t pay for lunch
and museum entry, and then they’d never get me to the last place so they might finally
make some money.
I had asked them about chat when we had first met, so they thought I might know
their plan and just be toying with them. After all, most tourists have never heard of
it. Later, when I paid the owner, they explained that what I paid was almost exactly
the real price before they marked it up; the fact that I pulled out the right amount
made them think I was playing them, not the other way around. They shared a few
stories about other people they’d conned and how much money they usually got. On
a good day, they could usually make $100 to $150 between the two of them if the
tourist was compliant. With me, they had lost money because they paid for everything.
The whole experience was very entertaining, especially since I had come out ahead.
Hanging out with suspicious con men is like visiting a casino. You expect to lose money
and you justify it as entertainment, but this time I hadn’t lost. I was only out $20 for
the whole day and it had been chock-full of great places and fun times with my grifter
friends. They had bought lunch, paid for transport, shown me the sights and that was
worth something!
I gave them $60 for their time and true confessions and paid for our dinner. It was a
good day for me and although it wasn’t quite they’d been hoping for, we bonded in
spite of it all—no one here really lost out. And that’s as happy an ending as you can
expect in Ethiopia.
Source – https://www.houstoniamag.com/articles/2017/3/23/ethiopia-chat-scam