Two buses and a seven hour ride to the Arba tribal area. Three young, local travelers made the same connection and showed us to our bus across the dusty yard. pj 036 Time for us to use the flooded toilets and snag a little packet of cookies for lunch. One of the others went off to snag some chat returning on a motorbike with a bush under his arm just as the bus was pulling out. For the next three hours they got tipsy chewing leaves. We watched mile after mile of small farms go by between lake and mountain.pj 035 The next morning another bus  and a 4500 ft. climb up to the mountains, farms and forests of the Dorze tribal area. This time we were helped by Chenga, a man with great English, traveling with his mother and two daughters. pj 047As buses enter unpoliced areas they pick up locals and we all get sardined. An old rather ripe smelling women kneeled next to me using my leg as an arm rest. pj 043 In time she was leaning hard into me, her arm slipping into my inner thigh. I asked her through Chegan whether she was now my 2nd wife. She said I would need a lot of money for that.pj 042 We were let out 8 km from Hayzo, a tribal village where we hoped to spend the night. We were told a bus to Hayzo would arrive in 20 minutes. We had a coffee at a shack, floor covered with coffee grounds, then waited back at the bus yard. 80 minutes later we gave up and negotiated for 2 boys to take us on their motor bikes. The ride went by much too quickly, 50mph on a rolling, rough gravel road. Hayzo is a little tribal village surrounded by small farm plots and forest along a ridge, and looking down 4500ft to a rift valley lake. All along the ridge are Dorze huts,  20-30ft high woven, upturned baskets.  pj 062 We were led to a hut in a family compound where we would be the only forengi that night in the village. The patriarch was a youngish man with massive dreadlocks. He said dreadlocks were first used, not by Ras Tafarians, but in Dorze to signify the lion hunter chiefs. He is from that line. We settled in and looked for water to wash up. Erica mistook a bottle of clear local hooch for water and proceeded to douse herself with it. Whoops! No one noticed. We then walked the lanes out through the fields. pj 052pj 058We soon were surrounded by scores of children shouting “you, you” and, of course asking for money. That night was all deep quietness until horn-bills woke us at first light. I stumbled out of the hut and up a small hill at the edge of the village to watch the farmers cross themselves and bow three times then off to their fields. The sun was fat and orange, rising above the Rift valley. A chill went down my spine. There on the sun’s surface was a black spot. I followed it for a few minutes to make sure it was a sun spot and then it became too bright to follow. I tried to get some farmers to look at it but they put me off as just another crazy ferengi and they had fields to tend to. Later I confirmed it’s the size of 10 earths. I wonder how many people have seen a sun spot with their naked eye? WOW!