My run in with the Ethiopian Ministry of Magic, and Marshall Law

There are two governments in Ethiopia that I experienced. The first I affectionately call "the Ministry of Magic." If you think the US government is filled with inefficient bureaucratic red tape, then you obviously haven't been to Ethiopia. Having said that, I should note that never have I dealt with people in government who work with so much friendliness and patience either, despite the excruciating inefficiency.

No sooner than we got off the plane did we land ourselves at the very end of a long line of people waiting to get visas into the country. What could be taking so long? We found out an and a half hour later. Two teams of two people each slogging through handwritten visas for a whole Boeing 767 planeful of people. Put a carbon sheet under this one, another under that one, fill out a form here, there, put a stamp there, and a sticker up here... wash, rinse, repeat... NEXT!

Just when I thought I was through, the real fun began. Customs. They confiscated my camera. Apparently HD cameras are not allowed into their country without prior authorization, even though most cameras sold nowadays in the States, both consumer and professional, are HD. Another American who was having something confiscated told me I'd be lucky to see the camera again. Oh great! Thanks for the consolation.

Before the trip began, Karla told me about registering with the Ethiopia Embassy since I would be taping there. I disregarded this, figuring since I wasn't taking professional equipment, it wouldn't be a problem, just my consumer Canon HF S100 camera. However, I think what tripped them up was that I had various attachments added onto it: lenses and an audio input device. Regardless, it was unfamiliar to them, and thus suspect.

All was not lost, thankfully. I had a backup plan. Stowed away in another bag was my second camera, so I could use that until I received my main camera back. All I needed to do was to get permission from the Ethiopian Ministry of Information, located downtown. Sounds easy enough, right?

Wrong! What ensued was a wild goose chase littered with bureaucratic red tape like I've NEVER seen in America, Canada, Europe, or even Korea before. We went to where they said the Ministry of Information was located, quickly renamed the Ministry of Magic, at the Ethiopian National Television Building. Nope, not there. If it weren't for a kind man and his son that we ran into who just happened to work there who showed us where to find it, our adventure would have been stymied right from the get go. When we got there, he even knew exactly who we needed to talk to. This was a good sign. We'd be out of here in no time now!

Not so fast. I look in the office, and I expected to find a computer at his desk, when what I found was a man hiding behind a desk with paperwork stacked on top. He told me, "type the answers to the questions listed on this form." Standard stuff: why are you here, what are you filming, where are you going, for how long, production company name, what's the budget of your production. Only, where are we gonna find a computer to type this stuff up on?

We left the Ministry of Magic in search of an internet cafe. None of this would have been possible without my trusty interpreter, Karla'a daughter Hanna, who was on board for the first part of our trip. She speaks perfect Amharic, on account of she was born in Ethiopia, and lived there a good part of her life before being adopted by Karla. After finding a computer a block away, we waited the requisite 10 minutes for their computer to boot up (thankfully this part of town had electricity today), quickly typed out the answers, making sure to only put $1000 as my budget for the film (cost of the camera), and waited another 15 minutes for them to take the file to another location to print it; no on site printer that worked apparently.

I took the form back to the Ministry of Magic. He crossed things out, reworded other things, told me to correct it and come back. This time, however, he led me down the hall to where a computer was located, and told me I could use it this time. Why couldn't I have used it the first time, too?

I took back the corrected form, and then he gave me another form to fill out by hand. It had the exact same questions to fill out that I filled out on the computer already, both times. I figured those were just practice for the real thing. I was in the big leagues now!

All through this, and man remained friendly, and explained to me he was only going to charge me the minimum fee, since I was independent and low budget. The fee was about 1500 birr, which amounts to about $140 US. I didn't enjoy paying it, but it could have been worse. He left, and returned 15 minutes later with my permission form stamped by his boss. I thought I was done, but then he told me I need to return with a photograph of me to include in "my file." Ugh!

Now to find a photographer. Luckily, there was one conveniently located two blocks away. They took me up to this professional studio to snap my photo. I looked like crap, but who cares. 25 minutes to process the photo, and I returned back to the Ministry of Magic to hand over my photo.

Armed with my permission slip, now it was finally time to go back to the airport to claim my camera. It went like this: pay them 3 birr to be able to enter the airport; enter, remove my shoes, belt, and any other "threatening" materiel, go through airport security. Enter customs. We had to show our passports; my interpreter didn't have hers, so I was on my own on this one. I went to the desk, showed them my form, thinking I was seconds away from the end of this ordeal. Nope. Go talk to somebody over there (that's all I understood). After finding him, he looked at the form, signed it. I went back to the desk. Go upstairs and make a copy. It took 15 mins to find the place and copy the sheet. Back to the desk. They slogged through pages and pages of handwritten data entries looking for my camera information, taking their time in the process. Eventually, they took my form (FINALLY!) and brought out my camera! Now I was getting somewhere! Oops... along with my camera the gave me ANOTHER form to take to someone over there. I took it over there. "Go upstairs and copy it, and leave your camera here until you get back." REALLY?! I stomped back upstairs, copied, paid, returned. FINALLY they gave me back my camera with all my forms, and I was free.

At each step of the way, I had to pay a little here, and a little there. I guess this is how they keep people employed in Ethiopia: give them a menial task, and wait until the next idiot comes along so you can charge them. When all was said and done, we had spent half of one day getting the permission forms, and then another couple hours the next day at the customs office at the airport.

This is only one example of many experiences with the Ethiopian government (Ministry of Magic) during my sojourn in their beautiful country...

Until we got into the countryside. Then it was a different ball game entirely. The Ethiopian countryside is almost like stepping back into the 1800's wild west where Marshall law ruled. There, the people who hold the guns hold the power. They won't shoot the guns unless they have to, as bullets are too expensive, but regardless, they give the bearer pull. As we neared Enessa, our guide was the Inspector General Morgus of the police force from Mertule Maryam. With his influence, doors were opened to us that would have been closed without. He was our passport through any and all obstacle out there. He took us to Esubalew's village, made sure everything went OK there, and he even invited us over to his house for the most delicious dorowat (chicken stew) that Ethiopia has to offer.

Before leaving Enessa, Esubalew wanted to set up a bank account for his mother because he wanted to give her money to purchase a house later. We needed photographs for her ID card, however, by the time we got to the photographer in Mertule Maryam, they had closed their doors for the night. Enter Inspector Morgus. He accompanied them back to the photographer, got them to take the photo, and we picked up the developed photo in the morning. Now that's what I'm talking about! The difference between how government worked in the country and the city could not be more extreme!

If only we had had Chief Inspector Morgus with us when dealing with customs...