At 5am, we were at the bus station ready to make our way to Dilla, some 400 kilometres from Moyale, and from there go on to Hawassa. We had to stop at Hawassa because there were no direct buses from Dilla to Addis Ababa.

Without our guide, we resorted to hand gestures, saying the word Dilla, and showing our tickets to people whom we thought could help.

As we queued to enter the bus, we noticed that everyone was being searched thoroughly; the conductor would put his hand inside the bags and rummage through. We took our seats near the back of the bus, a three-seater chair with too little leg and shoulder room.

It was a warm morning and I was wearing sandals and a t-shirt. My companions were also in t-shirts. A man offered me a pair of white rubber shoes. They looked new, clean, and freshly laced. He held them out to me and gestured.

I thought he wanted to give them to me as a sign of welcome and hospitality. My friends thought he was selling them and advised me to refuse so I did. Eventually he got my message.

Ten minutes later, people began offering us jackets to wear. They also offered them to each other. Everyone on the bus was soon wearing a jacket; everyone that is except the Kenyans.

We stopped at a roadblock and filed out. Five officials in plainclothes got on top of the bus and loosened the strings around the baggage and began a thorough search. About 10 minutes later we were on our way.

On the bus, a lady offered us skirts; she wanted us to put them in our bags.

But still we did not take them.

There were several roadblocks. Then the man next to us began to take off t-shirts of the Ethiopian football team that he was wearing, 11 in all, and he handed them around. My friends bought two.

At the nth road block, I found the Kenyan lady I had met and asked her why there were so many roadblocks. She said it was because the Ethiopian government does not allow mitumba into the country (second-hand clothing) and so they search the luggage often.

The generosity with the jackets, shoes, skirts and the man wearing 11 t-shirts at the same time — all this was in an effort to skirt Customs. 

And then, I could not find my ticket. I remembered putting it in my bag, so when the conductor came to me I reached in and pulled out… nothing. My friends helped me to look for it. The other passengers noticed my predicament and said words to me that sounded sympathetic.

So I had to buy a new ticket. It cost 145 birr ($7.6) and so I handed over 200 birr ($10.5). The conductor gave me back 50 birr ($2.6). I did not want to lose any money so I asked in the best Amharic I could for the rest. “Hamsa birr?” he smiled and gave me 50 birr ($2.6).  I later found out that the word for five is hamil, and the word for 50 is hamsa. Lost in translation, I got more change than was warranted.

We got to Dilla many road blocks and many hours later. In Ethiopia, people drive slowly and on the right side of the road; in Kenya, we drive on the left.

The distance of 400 kilometres, which could have been covered in about five or six hours, took us 13 hours. Then we spent an extra hour negotiating our way from Dilla to Hawassa, some 86km away.

We got to Hawassa on December 28, 2013, which according to the Ethiopian Orthodox calendar was April 21, 2006. April 21 is the feast of St Gabriel, the deliverer of good news; there is a church of the Angel Gabriel in Hawassa.

We trudged around the city looking for a hotel or lodging, but the language difference was a real barrier to communication. One of my friends spotted a man who appeared to be in the same predicament, he had a bag and he was walking from establishment to establishment. We followed him and explained what our problem was. He spoke English, and after listening to us for a while he proposed that we join him.

We decided to go to the next town, Shashamane, to look for accommodation. A taxi cost 300 birr ($15.7). Our new-found friend told us that he used to live in Kenya, in Eastleigh, about 20 years ago; he has a Kenyan identity card.

When we got to Shashamane hotels, hostels, inns, and lodgings were fully booked. We searched and searched and found a place with four available rooms.

For the rest of the trip we took to calling the kind man who had helped us our angel Gabriel. Perhaps on his feast days he comes down and helps lost travellers.

Next Week: Malkoda and Rift Valley in Shashamane