Open Writing

We all have at least one dream which we remember forever and ever.

Mine came to haunt me in a luxury hotel in Africa.

Travel writers from all over the world gathered in Addis Ababa in 1969 to cover the opening of Ethiopia’s first Hilton hotel.

I was the ‘local’ lad. I only had to fly the few hundred miles from Nairobi, where I wrote a tourism column for the Daily Nation newspaper.

Those four days in Addis were distinctly odd and usual.

For a start, the hotel was only three-quarters built.

There was a splendid marble lobby. An impressive dining room. Bedrooms so luxuriously appointed as to make you feel rich.

But those taking the lift to the top floor were in for a shock.

The rooms there were open to the sky! There were no outer walls! Just bleak concrete pillars and bare concrete floors.

Those with a head for heights could look down on iron-roofed shacks and smoke rising from open fires.

A Time journalist once wrote that Ethiopia is a country valiantly trying to fight its way into the Thirteenth Century. The view from the top of the incomplete Hilton in those days illustrated what he meant.

Along with another journalist I decided to take a stroll around Addis before dinner. Out we went, through the hotel’s grand entrance, heading down the drive towards the road.

An assistant manager cam running after us.

“Where are you going?” he asked, face lined with concern.

“For a walk,” said I perkily.

The assistant manager was horrified.

“You can’t! Dogs!”

“Dogs?”

“We get packs of dogs roaming around the city. Twenty, thirty or more. They all have rabies.”

We didn’t go for a walk. We went back to the bar.

At dinner that evening we ate the tablecloth.

This tablecloth was made of dough. A waiter ladled a splodge of wat -- a spicy meat stew -- onto the ‘cloth’ in front of us. To eat it, you broke off a bit of dough and used it as a scoop. Knives and forks were not allowed.

I didn’t really get to see Addis Ababa, which is 8,000 ft. above sea level, until I flew over it the next day. We were on our way to Lalibela, a small town in the middle of nowhere, famous for its underground churches, which are carved out of rock.

Now I have never taken a giant step for mankind. I never will take a giant step for mankind. But I know what the Moon looks like.

It’s Ethiopia seen from 10,000 ft. up.

Rocky. Mountainous. Barren.

Not at all welcoming to humans.

Before we landed on Lalibela’s narrow dirt airstrip the plane banked tightly round a mountain.

A royal lion was waiting to greet us. The beast had been flown in the day before to impress the international press corps.

Also waiting in Lalibela was a round thatched hut of generous proportions, open at the sides. This had been erected to shelter Hilton’s international guests while they ate lunch.

One large building built for one short meal!

This hut was set at the bottom of a natural bowl. Thousands of villagers were gathered in the bowl.

Watching us eat was the show of the year.

I managed no more than a mouthful.

We saw the owner of the royal lion, the Emperor Haile Selassie, when he officially opened the Addis Hilton the following day.

He was preceded into the hotel’s main reception room by another lion. Fortunately, it was caged.

That night, overwhelmed by the strange sights and sounds, wilting form an abundance of rich food and Scotch whisky. I went late to bed.

I was asleep within seconds.

Immediately, I was in the grip of a ghastly nightmare.

I was looking towards the drawn curtains of the hotel bedroom. They moved in a curious fashion.

It’s the breeze -- I thought.

But I knew it wasn’t the breeze.

Suddenly, the curtains parted. A large Ethiopian stepped into the room. Very deliberately, he came towards me.

His right hand was upraised.

He was clutching a knife.

I woke up in a sweat. I shot out of bed and switched on the light.

So real was the dream that I picked up a heavy glass ashtray before inspecting the bathroom, then the bedroom, peering nervously under the bed and in the wardrobe.

I even parted the curtains, opened the sliding French window and stepped onto the eleventh floor balcony.

Of course, no one was there.

It took me a while to get back to sleep.

When I woke the next morning, I immediately remembered the dream.

All too vividly.

I went down to breakfast reliving the fear.

Three journalists were sitting at a table nearest the dining room door. I took the fourth place.

I was about to tuck into bacon and eggs when the chap sitting opposite me said,

“I’m easing up on the drink today. I had the foulest dream of my life last night.

I saw this large Ethiopian burst through the curtains into my room. He came for me with a knife!”

We all have at least one dream which we remember.