(This is the second installment of a travel series, documenting our journey on Saturday, April 25, 2026. Here is a link for the one.)
The distance from Dire Dawa to Harar is only about 50 kilometers, but the road climbs steadily from the hot lowlands into the cooler highlands. Our guide in Harar, Abdo had arranged a private minibus for us, as finding public transport had become difficult and was less suitable for a family. Because of the conflict in the Middle East, diesel fuel prices had risen, leading to shortages that disrupted transport across the region and drove up the fare. Long queues built up at filling stations, and many lorries stood idle along the roadside.
Eskew, our driver, sat behind the wheel, discreetly chewing khat as he drove. Many drivers in eastern Ethiopia believe khat helps them stay alert on long journeys. I was reminded of a remark I once heard: drivers in Dire Dawa cause accidents not when they chew khat, but when they do not. I do not mention this to condone the practice, but simply because that was the prevailing attitude around there.
Despite this, Eskew had a warm expression and was always ready to respond to our questions. He reassured us that the road ahead was safe, and his calm manner helped put us at ease as we made our way toward Harar.
On the way, we stopped by Lake Haramaya, which had once dried up but had recently come back to life after years of drought. The lake, which had vanished for little more than a decade, had returned—a reminder that even seemingly lost ecosystems can recover. Its remarkable revival offered hope for other Rift Valley lakes facing a similar fate, showing that their decline, too, might one day be reversed. We saw some people enjoying boat rides, while others were fishing, cooking their catch on the spot, and selling it to visitors. Around the lake, new and rather unattractive constructions had sprung up—blocky, makeshift-looking structures whose original purpose I could not determine. They had since been turned into billiard rooms.
We continued on to Harar, determined not to miss the Saturday market. The following day, Sunday, we would wander through the Jegol, the ancient walled town, but it was the Saturday market that offered the most vibrant glimpse of Harar’s daily life, with its colors, sounds, and bustle.
Once we arrived in Harar, we went straight to our guesthouse, Anisa Guesthouse, located in the heart of the old city. The minibus tried to approach as close as possible, but the narrow alleyways made it impossible to go all the way. We had to continue on foot, navigating the winding lanes with our luggage in tow. This would be our home for the next three days.
The owner welcomed us into her family home, a simple and rustic guesthouse with a traditional sitting room and a warm, homely atmosphere that felt more like staying with a family than in a hotel.
(To be continued.)
