The High Life in Harar
The ancient Ethiopian city of Harar is home to over a hundred mosques, listed as a
World Heritage site, and was once the residence of famed French poet, Arthur Rimbaud.
But is the fortified historic town and it's colourful markets that truly bring Harar alive.
Harar is a seriously fascinating place.
Far-flung on the Eastern Highlands of Ethiopia, this ancient Islamic city stands at a significant crossroads between the Arabian Peninsula and the entire Horn of Africa. Home to over a hundred mosques, listed as a World Heritage site, and once the residence of the famed French poet, Arthur Rimbaud, Harar’s unhurried pace seems at odds with the image of it once being a major commercial trade route. That is, until the jugol—the fortified historic centre—bustles with produce hawkers and colourful shoppers. As the thinning sunlight streams through clouds of dust kicked up by the foot traffic, Harar’s streets come alive for a brief moment before returning to the eerie desolation of its nighttime vibe.
Amidst these ancient crumbling walls, the familiar sights of Northern Ethiopia and its Christian inhabitants are replaced. Here, camels take donkeys' place, traditional costume shows Somali and Arab influence, and almost everyone is gently intoxicated by qat (pronounced ‘chat’).
During my midnight taxi ride between Sekota and Awash, the qat-chewing evidence in this region became glaringly evident.
In the black of night, from the stretches of empty highway, a fluorescent-lit sidewalk suddenly appeared, and every cramped body in the taxi enthusiastically spilled out into the street. It must have been 2 am. The commercial buzz was near frenzy, as hawkers shoved bundles of bushes in shoppers' faces. It looked like a midnight market for zoo feed. Everyone came back to the car with bushels of qat leaves, including the driver, who was furiously chewing the stuff and passing it to the other guys in the front seats. The driver continued to eat leaves from a branch in his lap as he barrelled down the highway at illegal speeds.
But it was not until wandering the baked streets of Harar and witnessing locals clinging to slivers of shade with a bundle of leaves and a water bottle in their lap, that I came to understand just normal and how much a part of the Harari culture qat truly is.
Despite the often puzzling scenes I witnessed in this world-class wonder of a place, there was one undeniable quality that was as palpable as the scorching sun on my exposed flesh: Harar was SLOW.
Perhaps, it was the intoxicating effect of qat combined with the debilitating heat or the fact that Harar seemed a world away from everywhere else, but it was without a doubt a city that moved at a snail’s pace. Only once the sunset’s soft, yellow light replaced the stark contrasts of daylight, people began to fill the streets to buy and sell goods.
The winding cobblestone lanes of the jugal (old fort) filled to capacity with hawkers of firewood, vegetables, and used electronics. Each alleyway served a different purpose—tailors sat at their old machines outside of storefronts, baked bread filled the fort’s arched gate with its aroma, and women and children sat in the middle of piles of colourful produce, their faces marked by exhaustion.
I finally decided to try a qat leaf when it was offered to me by a vendor. The taste was sweet and immediately dried my tongue. However, I didn’t find it pleasant enough to down an entire bag or make it my new pastime.
Though I didn’t get high, wandering through Harar’s streets for a few days left me feeling
just as intoxicated by its unique and mysterious beauty. Harar certainly has a different
kind of high life for everyone.
