They gathered around our base camp before the blazing Ethiopian sun parched the savanna. This region of low mountains covered with acacia and cacti, between the lakes of Stephanie and Turkana, is home to the Hamar tribe of Gema Gofu Province. The Hamar are considered the most beautiful in East Africa, an agro-pastoralist tribe skilled in pottery, beekeeping, and blacksmithing. Cattle are the focus of their culture. Both men and women are very concerned about their appearance and decorate themselves extensively with cowrie shells and animal skins, embellished with beads. Beautifully decorated and spectacular to observe, the hair is artfully twisted and coloured with iron oxide mixed with animal fat. The bodies painted, pierced, and scarified. The arms and legs play host to an array of brass and aluminum bracelets.

'Baroo' was waiting to have her photo taken just as the sun broke the distant horizon and silhouetted the giant termite mounds surrounding our base camp. Two small fingers held against her goatskin bib indicated the amount she required to grant the permission to photograph her.

©Kieron Nelson "Vanishing Cultures Photography" All rights reserved

©Kieron Nelson "Vanishing Cultures Photography" All rights reserved

Two Birr, the equivalent of ten cents, would allow me the privilege, and she released her grip from her older sister's hand. It is next to impossible to photograph the tribal groups in the Lower Omo Valley without paying for the privilege. They also prefer new uncirculated notes, which were difficult to obtain, unless you get them at the National Bank in Addis Ababa. Employees at the foreign currency wicket were bewildered: No one knew the whereabouts of the cashier, but all agreed he should be back shortly. Eventually, he arrived, with a large sheet of blank paper, and stared at it for over five minutes. The contemplation complete, he acknowledged me by pointing to the wicket next to him. The line there was ten deep. Twenty minutes later I explained my request to the clerk, and he directed me back to the foreign currency wicket! I pushed one hundred dollars under the wicket and asked that it be changed into new one Birr notes. He took the money and disappeared. Minutes later, a young woman appears with my original one hundred dollars and advises me to try the main branch as they are out of money. On by cab to the main branch of the National Bank. Walking through the parking area people are being frisked and searched. A smiling guard, noticing my bewilderment, waves me through while clutching an antiquated assault rifle. Again I explain my request, the money is passed through to the cashier, who promptly passes it back, telling me that first the money has to be exchanged for Birr, and then I must come back for new notes. "Where?" I ask, "Up on the second floor," he says. A cashier on the second floor sends me to the third floor, where a foreign currency form is filled out in triplicate. Then back down the stairs. The money, now in large denominations of Birr, was passed through the wicket along with the completed forms... and promptly handed back, "Sir, you will have to wait, the foreign currency teller has gone for lunch."

BarooThe 15,000 to 20,000 members of the Hamar make their living as successful cattle herders and farmers.	©Kieron Nelson "Vanishing Cultures Photography" All rights reserved

©Kieron Nelson "Vanishing Cultures Photography" All rights reserved	©Kieron Nelson "Vanishing Cultures Photography" All rights reserved
Omo Valley accommodations	Challenging Terrain