This passage from Vavilov’s bad luck tale brought me up short:

Owing to the abrupt shift to abundant fodder after a rather long fast, the stomachs of the mules had become distended and presented a rather typical picture of tympanitis. Two mules had died.

I “know” enough to know that at face value tympanitis ought to be an inflamation of the eardrum, and it is. But I don’t know whether it means something entirely different to an equid veterinarian. As luck would have it, one of my best friends is a world-renowned horse doctor, and this (edited for decency) is what he had to say.

The condition the guy is describing is acute gastric tympany, but in fact he was probably wrong and they had tympany of the caecum (the large brewing vat which is akin to the rumen, but as the horse was designed by an [incompetent engineer] it has no burping mechanism to let out the products of fermentation.).

What happens is: when you do feast after famine, the microbes go berserk, produce lots of gas, and if the gas can’t fart out, which it can’t if this happens so quick that the physical distension of the caecum compresses the out-path (rectum and colon) against the body wall, then they just balloon up and die, often of toxic shock coupled
with physical inability to breathe because the diaphragm gets physically pushed out forward into the chest.

In the old days, heroic vets used to trocharise (puncture) the balloon of the caecum, and they were saved … and then they died later of peritonitis.

Tympanitis is inflammation of the eardrum, not commonly fatal, or even diagnosed in the mule I suspect.

Just thought you would want to know.

February
1927

There were still a few days left before reaching Eritrea. Fields had disappeared. The area had become more sparsely populated and increasingly more beautiful. Ahead a panorama of a picturesque valley opened up. In hollows and along deep ravines there were groves of wild palms (Phoenix abyssinica), a relative of the date palm (P. dactylifera). The slender trunks were adorned with bright crowns of pinnate leaves. Below them there was a dense undergrowth of grasses. It was difficult to imagine a more comfortable place to stay overnight. But it was almost completely uninhabited and it was only with great difficulty that we obtained a bag of durra (Sorghum) for the mules.

In the morning there was bad luck again. Owing to the abrupt shift to abundant fodder after a rather long fast, the stomachs of the mules had become distended and presented a rather typical picture of tympanitis. Two mules had died. Toward evening four more were lost. In order not to lose the valuable load, the entire caravan, starting with its commander, had to proceed on foot while the remaining living mules were loaded to their limit. Afoot for 3 days we finally reached Admure, a small town close to the border of Eritrea, where there is an Italian consulate. All the difficulties were behind us. Here it was possible to obtain if not mules, then at least horses and fodder. And it was possible to rest and put the caravan back in order.

Signor Polera, who at this time carried out the responsibilities of a consul, turned out to be a hospitable and cultivated person, the author of a large book devoted to the women of Abyssinia. Apparently, to a considerable extent the book owed its existence to his Abyssinian wife. A second book, also a large volume, was presented to me. It was devoted to the Church in Abyssinia.

February
1927

Beyond the [Tekezé] river there was trouble again. The Amharan attached to us by the Italian ambassador claimed that the road along which the caravan was proceeding had become dangerous since ahead of us were many robbers, so it was necessary to choose a different road. The people in the caravan looked with fear to a stand of sorghum at the side of the road. To encourage them it was necessary for me to go in front. We had succeeded in advancing for only a few hours after crossing the river when people with guns, obviously used to attacking caravans, appeared from behind a dense thicket. The unexpected encounter with a European apparently had a certain effect on them. In this country it is well-known that every European is well-armed and therefore it is better to leave him in peace to avoid any unpleasantness. Polite bowing began and invitations were extended to stay overnight in the nearby village. It was late and we had to stay somewhere for the night, but how should we deal with this? The physiognomy of the people encountered did not inspire great confidence. A consultation took place in our tent. There was without doubt a danger. In the best case we would only lose our mules.

The council decided to present the leader of the gang with two bottles of brandy, the last ones remaining of our supply for special occasions. In case this did not have the desired result, we would pay him off with thalers but that was only to be used as a last resort. It was necessary to be prepared, to load the good revolvers, to brew enough wild coffee and not doze off during the night. The gift of the two bottles of the best five-star brandy was apparently very well received. The guide returned from the mission slightly tipsy but with fried chicken, a pot of honey and armfuls of flat-cakes made of teff. However, the hospitality was not to be trusted. At three o’clock in the morning, long before sunrise, the caravan was aroused without any difficulty. The people understood the situation very well. It was necessary to quickly get out of this place and to liberate ourselves from the undesirable companions while they were blissfully sleeping. At four o’clock, in the dark, the caravan started out on a path leading to the trail, leaving the drunken gangsters to sleep until morning.

February
1927

Again a descent began, into the canyon of the Takkaze (Tekezé) river, flowing not far from the Eritrean border. This is a deep river with gently sloping banks supporting a vegetation of wild, small-fruited castor-bean plants. Just like the Nile, the Takkaze is full of crocodiles. We stopped to camp overnight on a sandy beach, where we erected the tents. During the night something incredible happened. The guide had fallen asleep; I was writing the diary in the light of a small lantern. After a short while the entire floor of the tent began to stir, becoming covered by a large number of enormous, black, venomous spiders and scorpions. The guide, roused from his sleep, screamed to high heaven. The spiders had gotten into the beds with their ‘fangs’ bared. We jumped out of the tent, some people already bitten. It was necessary to flee this dangerous place. But crossing the ford at night was even more dangerous: we had to wait until dawn. However, it was also necessary to find a way out of the danger. It was evident that the spiders and scorpions had been attracted to the light. To extinguish the light meant to leave a considerable number of the uninvited guests in the tent. I suggested that the lamp be moved outside. The effect did not wait for itself; immediately, a mass exodus of spiders and scorpions began. The light of the lantern was narrowed to a slit and a literal drill began. The spiders and scorpions formed ranks along the light beam and gradually a straight, living line appeared, although some lingered behind. To deal with the stragglers the lantern was brought back into the tent, where all the remaining spiders and scorpions gathered in the narrow strip of light. Carefully and slowly the lamp was again carried out, drawing the rear-guard out of the tent, where the lantern was left in the open. Thus, the tent was freed from the pests and it was possible to sleep calmly.

February
1927

On the way from Fiche through Godzham to Gonder and Aksum the caravan often passed cemeteries. These are something like botanical gardens. Usually the cemeteries are situated in forests and around the graves all kinds of trees are planted, in part brought from far away. Here also rare species, including citrus trees, are frequently encountered. But, in general, groves of eucalyptus, considered especially fit for the souls of the Abyssinians, are planted. The cemeteries attract travellers for their shade but also because there it is always possible to obtain fodder for the mules and provisions for the people. According to custom, 40 days after a burial, a funeral feast is held in the cemetery. It is self-evident that at the feast there is an abundance of honey and flat-cakes made of wheat and teff. In other words, this is a kind of permanent inn, where without fail the most needed things can be found.

Members of the Field Museum 1927 expedition to Abyssinia

At the same time as Vavilov and his caravan were exploring Gojjam, so was an expedition from the Field Museum in Chicago. Did their paths cross? A quick search suggests not, but …

February
1927

I made a first-class discovery between Gonder and Aksum. In a field I found a peculiar awnless hard wheat, previously unknown. For decades, plant breeders from different countries have tried to produce awnless hard wheat by crossing ordinary awned hard wheat with soft awnless wheat. The creation of such a wheat is extremely difficult because of the great genetic distance between hard and soft wheat. However, in Abyssinia, nature herself had created an awnless hard wheat, analog to such a kind of soft wheat. The grain was still not harvested. I collected thousands of ears. From both a practical and a theoretical point of view, this was, indeed, the most interesting find during all time spent travelling in Abyssinia.

Gary Nabhan, who lectures tonight (21 May 2010) in Rome, continues his exploration of the markets Vavilov visited in Ethiopia. Pictures here.

As we descended down endless switchbacks from the plateau above the gorge, we could see the towers of the cathedral [of Debre Libanos] well ahead of us, but did not catch a glimpse of the market until we were nearly on top of it. There can be little doubt that it has remained in the same exact spot where Vavilov had known it, for it sprawled beneath a tree so tall, with such a spacious, shady canopy that it served as a refuge for any weary traveler passing its way. If it was not, in fact, “the tree where man was born,” it most certainly seemed like the tree where man and woman first traded seeds and healing herbs.

Beneath that canopy, there were no neatly framed vendor’s stands as there were in Ankober; instead, there was a mob of herb traders who showed their wares on shawls and blankets and baskets spread out before where they sat on the hard-packed clay. Each vendor sat in the midst of many multi-colored piles, which they guarded from incidental “sampling” by visitors walking by.

Perhaps “walking” is not the appropriate word for how buyers had to maneuver among the many vendors; they were so thickly packed beneath the tree that one had to almost tiptoe between the herb displays so as not to stumble or fall into anyone’s carefully sculpted conical piles of tumeric, chile powder, or cumin.

At last we saw the shiny black seeds of noog piled high, next to other oilseeds such a peppergrass and sesame. Next to the many colors of ground cumin and chile pepper, there were brilliant golden piles of ginger, as well as masses of intact but sinewy ginger roots. One woman hand-roasted and weighed various grades of Ethiopian wild and domesticated coffees right before your eyes, while another sold various colors and textures of sea salt nested in pale brown paper containers, each looking much like a scoop of vanilla ice cream in a sugar cone. There were countless medicinal herbs as well as the crystallized globules of Ethiopian myrrh and “false” frankincense. Surrounding all the herbalists were huge piles of blue Hubbard squash, papayas, onions, Swiss chard, kale, mustard greens, and pomelos.

I was reassured that we found such a timeless marketplace; of course, it now has vegetables from the New World as well as the Old, and plastic or fiberglass containers as well as pottery jars and baskets. Yet, the cultural context of this vernacular trading was much the same as it had been for centuries. Regardless of the changes in the rest of the world, these traders had managed to maintain some modicum of continuity with their predecessors, sustaining one of the world’s most celebrated cuisines. For the moment, regional tradition was holding its own against globalization. No Wal-Mart could offer what this one-tree, one-stop shopping place could offer, as it stood watch over the tributaries of the Nile.

Extracted from Where our Food Comes From by Gary Paul Nabhan
and used with permission.

Collecting biodiversity in the markets remains an efficient practice, and so it was when Gary Nabhan and David Cavagnaro followed Vavilov to Ethiopia.

For several days, we played a game of geographic hopscotch, trying to retrace the path of Vavilov’s caravan from market to market, from Ankober and Debre Birhan overlooking the Great Rift Valley on the eastern edge of the highlands, to Addis Ababa in its south-central stronghold, and northward through Debre Libanos and Fichè, where one crosses the Blue Nile Gorge on the way up to Gonder and the monumental ruins of the Axumite Empire.

Each market was different in scale, size, and antiquity; some now found themselves as sideshows to railroad tracks or paved highways, whereas others remained shows unto themselves, situated in the shade of the leafy canopies of tall trees. One open-air market looked for all the world like it belonged under the mythic “tree where man was born,” for its vast and ancient canopy seemed to stretch out in every direction to shelter an entire community of traders and buyers who had come in from all reaches of the gorge. …

At last, we located the Ankober market that Vavilov had visited; it had moved at least two kilometers from a nearby ridge into the heart of town since his time and was now situated across from the bus depot. As it was closed for the holiday being celebrated as we arrived, David and I found an ecolodge, where we were each given a conical thatched-roof hut to sleep in. The lodge overlooked the original market site used through most of the early twentieth century. We were invited up the ridge from our huts to eat in a beautifully crafted longhouse, where we sampled the same honey wine and barley beer that Vavilov had shared with the headman of the village.

The next morning in Ankober, David and I wandered over to the new market, which comprised some thirty-six stands that sell all manner of fruits and vegetables every Tuesday and Saturday morning. The list of produce did not vary much from the inventory that Vavilov would have seen: durum wheat, teff, barley, corn, peas, favas, and lentils; sugar cane, peaches, bananas, oranges, melons, almonds, and lemons; chili peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, pumpkins, green onions, carrots, lettuce, radish, potatoes, and tobacco. Although many of the species originated elsewhere, their landrace varieties were peculiarly localized.

Extracted from Where our Food Comes From by Gary Paul Nabhan
and used with permission.

February
1927

We hurried on to the former capital, Gonder. The caravan had become worn out after a month and a half constantly on the road. On the map there was a large circle indicating a major city, an old capital. It turned out that in this capital there were neither market stalls nor any permanent market; it was held only once a week. Money was as good as useless; it was impossible to buy anything with it. Here barter was the natural way of dealing. It was necessary to get help from the governor to somehow turn our money into a couple of mules, which were of much use to us, into assets for which other goods could be obtained. He directed us to a market, which was crowded with thousands of people milling around the place with or without any purpose. The majority carried small wicker umbrellas, although it was not hot and it was quite possible to manage without an umbrella. But carrying one was fashionable not only for women but also for many men. It was a kind of custom.

In a special, small row of the market, we could buy salt and pepper for money. Crystallized salt serves as common currency for major deals and dried red pepper, provoking a proper sneeze, is used as small change. When buying samples of grain, we paid with a handful of red pepper. The price of a mule was 20-30 pieces of salt.

This was the district of Aksum, settled earlier in history by a civilization around the upper Blue Nile. Enormous, magnificent obelisks with delicate inscriptions had been erected, bearing evidence of an old civilization contemporary with that of the pharaohs. The soils were stony, the climate was dry and the crops were insignificant.

The caravan moved on to the shores of Lake Tana.

February
1927

At the night camp a major event occurred, forcing me to remember the advice of the governor. The Christian Lent was approaching. Our caravan was to a great extent international: together with the Amharans there were also Somalians and representatives of other nationalities, part of which were Christian and part Moslem. Before the advent of Lent it was necessary to fill up on plenty of meat because for 6 weeks it had to be abstained from as prescribed by the rules of the church. Following the advice of the interpreter it was decided to purchase a ram. In the village a large amount of spirits was purchased. At night, when the ram was roasted, a major carousing began. One of the men in the caravan, who usually kept somewhat apart from the rest of the members, became especially violent. He decided to untie the hobbles of the mules and allow them to run free. Attempts to persuade him to stop were to no avail. A scuffle began, which continued into the night. The uproar threatened to disrupt the entire caravan. It would have been especially perilous if the mules were lost, since it was difficult to purchase any at this place. Reluctantly, it was decided to shackle the violent man. Toward morning, he came to himself again and all ended comparatively happily.

Wild coffee on the shores on Lake Tana.

The next night, in a forest, I had to be on guard the major part of the night. Tired and still not entirely sober, the caravan slept as if dead. After wolfing down the food and wrapping themselves in their covers, the people slept on the bare ground. In the forest one could hear the roar of leopards, which are common in this country. The mules began to snort and jump about. I had to stand guard, fire a round into the air now and then and keep the fire going. The Abyssinian coffee made from the seeds of the wild coffee bushes turned out to be an excellent help. Two cups of it was enough to keep one from sleeping all night, to be in a good mood and to carry out the guard duty necessary.