I suppose the accompanying image renders any attempt at a suspenseful blog moot. So instead I’ll shout it loud and clear from the roof tops that Christi and I (with a little help from our marvellous driver-guide Fekade) made it one of the Mursi villages in the Omo river valley. And I was able to photograph to my heart’s content. I’m guessing these Mursi people have been photographed before because as soon as they see us approach they disappear briefly and reappear wearing all manner bangles, baubles, and headdresses to make themselves appear more photogenic (which works!). And it’s not that they are excited to be photographed (at least by me), but because they expect to be paid per photo. And these guys are not stupid either. They count each time the camera clicks so they know how many photos you have taken. And they expect to be paid for each photo even if it is out of focus or their eyes are closed etc. This is a little frustrating because these men and women are quite animated until the camera is pointed at them and then they turn very serious and stare at the camera (no doubt calculating how much money they are making). In that sense, the Mursi utilize their uniqueness for commercial gain and I have no problem with that. If this money helps their culture to survive then it is a win-win situation as far as I am concerned.
Some less than charitable reports (including in such enlightened publications as the Lonely Planet) have portrayed the Mursi as aggressive and light-fingered which is grossly unfair. My only issue is that everyone wants to be photographed and I’m running out of money. Christi pays 2 Birr (about 15 cents) per photo so we need a lot of 1 Birr notes. And new ones to boot. The Mursi refuse to accept dirty or torn notes because shopkeepers will not accept them. As I photograph each person, I call out to Christi how many photos I’ve taken. Normally full length, half shot, shoulders, and portrait so each person gets 8 Birr. Eventually I take 5 shots so that we can give a 10 Birr note instead. There are also warriors, some of whom look real mean, so I photograph to avoid any trouble. Then there are the old women, and girls with extensive body scarring. The fact that these girls have to be topless to see the extent of the scarring is an added bonus!
The experience is undeniably intense and so focused am I on the photography that Christi and I learn little about the culture of the Mursi. We are standing in the middle of their village and the surrounding huts are the smallest I’ve seen so far, so maybe they spend little time inside them. The Mursi are traditionally pastoralists (herding cattle, but also cultivating crops) and animists (a belief that all plants, animals, and inanimate objects have a spiritual essence). Of course the burning question is why do the women wear the lip discs. There appears to be no definitive answer. Beauty may be one aspect, but it appears to be more of an overall sense of worthiness within their culture. The bigger the disc, the more worthy the woman particularly in her connection to the Mursi culture. It appears that fewer girls are choosing to have lip discs these days, but in those that do the lower lip is normally split at age 15 or 16 and a wooden plug inserted until the lip heals. Over the ensuing months progressively larger clay discs are inserted stretching out the lip. The circumference of the disc can be as much as 6 inches. One question that I dared not ask is how this affects eating and kissing. Even if kissing is not important part of the culture is it easy to eat with a flabby lower lip. And what about drooling? As impressed as I am with the Mursi, I don’t think the lip disc will catch on in the West. I mean how would I kiss Christi if she was wearing a lip disc? And if she took it out I feel I’d be chasing her lower lip all over her face or could you imagine having someone’s lower lip actually wriggling around inside your mouth. So gross. That disturbing image aside what a spectacular day.
On that note we leave the Mursi to count their Birr and return to Jinka. The dry weather made our journey on the gravel road through the Omo valley and Mago National Park so much easier than the bog we had to negotiate on our previous (and unsuccessful) attempt to reach the Mursi. And I must just mention in case the photos don’t really do the Omo valley justice, but the grasslands in this area are the lushest and greenest I have ever seen. Ethiopia continues to surprise and amaze me. I hope you feel the same way.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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