Meeting the Many Tribes of Southwestern Ethiopia’s Omo Valley and Lake Turkana Regions-2007

November 2007: Into the Omo Valley

A Journey to One of Africa’s Last Living Tribal Frontiers

As part of a two-week trip through Yemen and northern Ethiopia, my friend Evan and I made a decision that would shape our understanding of tribal travel for years to come—we headed south to Ethiopia’s Omo Valley, one of the most culturally rich and tribally diverse regions on the planet.

Why the Omo Valley?

Ethiopia is unique in Africa for one very important reason—it was never colonized, and up until recently had been largely isolated from the modern world due to a 20-year communist regime under the Derg. Combine this with Ethiopia’s vast, undeveloped terrain, and you have a land where ancient cultures—particularly those in the Omo—were left untouched.

The Omo Valley, located in the remote south near the Kenyan and South Sudanese borders, is home to dozens of distinct tribes, many of which still live traditional lives, speak their own languages, and practice unique customs that are strikingly different from one another. Here, clothing is minimal, body painting is ceremonial, and rituals still dictate the rhythm of life.

A Culture on the Edge of Change

When I visited in 2007, the Omo was still a whisper in the travel world—just beginning to appear in guidebooks and forums. But even then, I knew the clock was ticking. Mass tourism and tribal cultures rarely mix well. In many cases, the introduction of outsiders transforms a living culture into a performance, creating human zoos where authenticity is replaced by staged interactions and mutual exploitation.

The tourist takes a photo.
The tribe takes a payment.
And both leave with something hollow.

That said, it’s not all black and white. I learned—sometimes the hard way—that spending real time with a community, camping, eating, sharing space, is the best way to connect on a meaningful level, beyond the camera lens.

Our Plan: 8 Days, Total Freedom

To explore the Omo properly, Evan and I hired a private driver and vehicle for 8 days. We had a loose itinerary, our own tents and food, and the freedom to adapt as we went. Hotels were scarce, and those we did find were hot, unsanitary, and crawling with bugs—so camping was not only preferred, it was essential.

We didn’t know exactly where we’d end up or what we’d encounter, but that was the point. The Omo wasn’t about control—it was about immersion, discovery, and sometimes, discomfort.

This is the story of our Omo adventure—filled with mistakes, breakthroughs, and a front-row seat to a culture in transition.

Location of Omo region in SW Ethiopia

Our Route Through the Omo Valley

A Rough Plan for an Untamed Land

We went into this journey with only a vague route in mind, and that was exactly how we wanted it. Of course, our constant re-routing drove our local driver half-mad—but in the end, it led us to some of the most raw, untouched experiences in southern Ethiopia. Below is the final itinerary we pieced together along the way:

Day 1: Lalibela to Arba Minch

• Flight from Lalibela to Addis Ababa

• Met with our driver and rented 4×4

• Began the long drive south toward Arba Minch (approx. 505 km)

• Overnight in a hotel somewhere en route—exhausted, but finally in motion

Day 2: Dorze Village & Nechisar National Park

• Explored the Dorze village and Monday market in Chencha—famous for their towering bamboo huts and intricate weaving

• Visited the “40 Springs” between Sikela and Shecha

• Afternoon in Nechisar National Park, spotting wildlife and marveling at Rift Valley scenery

• Camped on the banks of the Kulfo River, just south of the park HQ

Day 3: Into the Omo—Konso to Jinka

• Morning drive through the terraced hills of Konso, a UNESCO cultural landscape

• Continued deep into the Omo Valley, arriving in Jinka

• Stayed the night in the Jinka Hotel

Day 4: Mursi Territory in Mago National Park

• Full-day journey into Mago National Park to visit the Mursi tribe, known for their striking lip plates and body scarification

• Navigated rough roads and remote terrain

• Returned to Jinka for another hotel night

Day 5: Tribal Markets and Turmi

• Explored the Key Afer market, a bustling and colorful crossroads for multiple tribes

• Drove to Turmi, home of the Hamar people, famous for their bull-jumping initiation rituals

• Camped near Turmi, under a sky full of stars

Day 6: Karo, Galab & Lake Turkana

• Visited the Karo tribe at Murulle, known for elaborate body painting

• Crossed the Omo River and continued toward Lake Turkana, briefly crossing into Kenya to visit Turkana communities

• Returned to Turmi and stayed the night in a local hotel

Day 7: Dimeka Market and Return to Arba Minch

• Drove from Jinka to Arba Minch, stopping at the Dimeka Market, another hub of tribal trade and interaction

• Back in Arba Minch for one final hotel night in the south

Day 8: Lake Chamo and Departure

• Early morning visit to Lake Chamo, famous for its massive Nile crocodiles and hippos

• Drove from Arba Minch back to Addis Ababa

• Evening departure via Ethiopian Airlines

Southbound from Addis: Into Ethiopia’s Changing Worlds

From Rastafarians to Remote Tribes

As we drove south out of Addis Ababa, the road began to deteriorate with each passing mile. Paved highways gave way to pothole-ridden stretches, and eventually to dirt and dust. The deeper we went, the wilder the landscape became, and the more traditional the people appeared.

It felt like we were traveling through a real-life version of The Lord of the Rings—a journey where each region hosted a completely different culture, each as exotic and distinct as the last, with little to no blending between tribes. The sense of cultural isolation was as stark as the changing terrain.

A Stop in Shashamane: The Land of the Rastas

Along the way, we passed through Shashamane, a town famous for its community of Rastafarians—descendants of Jamaicans who made Ethiopia their spiritual homeland.

We stopped for lunch and a brief visit. Here, ganja smoke wafted through the air, and reggae music drifted from shaded porches. The Rastafarians welcomed us warmly, eager to share stories of how they came to live in Ethiopia.

In the 20th century, Emperor Haile Selassie, revered by Rastas as the second coming of Jesus, visited Jamaica. In an act of goodwill, he gifted a parcel of land in Shashamane to those willing to return to their ancestral continent.

Today, that land is still home to a small but devoted Rasta community, living out their faith in the heart of Ethiopia.

Ironically, Haile Selassie was later deposed and killed by the Derg, the brutal communist regime that ruled Ethiopia for two decades—but in Shashamane, his legacy lives on.

In Shashamane portraits of King Haile Selassie are everywhere

Sleeping Rough (or Roughly Sleeping)

A Night in One of the “Good” Hotels

As we moved deeper into southern Ethiopia, the accommodation grew increasingly rustic. In the small towns scattered along the route, “hotel” was often a generous term—many were little more than concrete boxes with questionable plumbing, creaky beds, and the occasional surprise guest (insect or otherwise).

Whenever possible, we opted to camp in the wild—our tents offering both privacy and, ironically, more comfort. But when no campsite could be found, we checked into the best available option.

The hotel in the photo below?

One of the good ones.

With a working fan, a mosquito net with only a few holes, and even the luxury of running water (sometimes cold, sometimes not), it felt like a palace compared to some of the other places we’d crash. Out here, comfort was measured in degrees of survivability, and this one scored surprisingly well.

One of the nicer hotel rooms where we stayed

Toilet Rules Written on the wall “after completing faeces, please pur the water.”

A Break on the Water

Lake Chamo and the Giants Beneath the Surface

To break up the long, jarring drive through southern Ethiopia, we made a stop at Lake Chamo, one of the Rift Valley’s great freshwater lakes, known for its rich wildlife and haunting beauty.

We boarded a small wooden boat and pushed off into the still waters. Almost immediately, we were surrounded by life—dozens of hippos, their ears twitching just above the surface, watching us with wary curiosity. But it was what lay farther along the shoreline that truly made the stop unforgettable.

Lake Chamo is home to some of the largest Nile crocodiles in the world—absolute monsters that easily rival the beasts I’d seen in Australia’s Northern Territory.

Some stretched over 16 feet, basking along the muddy banks like prehistoric relics, their thick scales catching the midday sun. Seeing them from just a few feet away, unfazed by our presence.

Lake Chamo Crocodiles

Wild Camping in Nechisar National Park

Monkeys, Warthogs, and the Sounds of a Truly Untamed Night

After our boat ride on Lake Chamo, Evan and I decided to spend the night in Nechisar National Park, a rarely visited stretch of wild scrubland and savanna bordering the lake. We arrived in the late afternoon, but the entrance gate was deserted—not a single ranger in sight, and no signs of infrastructure. The road gave way to a narrow foot trail, swallowed by the bush.

With no one to stop us, and no rules posted, we took it as an invitation.

Our driver dropped us at the gate with a plan to meet us again at sunrise. From there, Evan and I hiked into the wilderness, just the two of us, our backpacks, and the shrill cries of monkeys and warthogs echoing through the underbrush.

A Night Under the Wild Ethiopian Sky

As the sun dipped below the horizon, we found a small stream and cleared a patch of earth for our tents, the only soundtrack a cacophony of rowdy animal calls building with the night. There were rustlings in the brush, unfamiliar grunts, and once—something heavy crashing through the trees nearby. Whatever it was, it wasn’t small.

But this was exactly why we came.

We lit a small campfire, sipped red wine straight from the bottle, and talked under a sky swirling with stars. The heat of the day gave way to a cool breeze, and the deep wilderness wrapped around us like a secret. No guards. No fences. Just two tents, one flame, and the raw soundscape of the African wild.

It was real wild camping—no rules, no other travelers, no distractions.
Just the primal beauty of Ethiopia, exactly the way it’s meant to be experienced.

Most common primate we saw all over southern Ethiopia

Wart Hog

My tent in Nechisar National Park

Hilltop Huts and Smoky Markets: A Visit with the Dorze

As we neared the Omo Valley, we detoured into the highlands above Arba Minch to visit a Dorze village, famous for its towering beehive-shaped huts. Perched on a ridge, the village was lush and peaceful, with manicured gardens of enset and maize surrounding each home.

We were welcomed into a few huts, tipping families a small fee in exchange for their hospitality. Everything—from the woven fences to the towering bamboo homes—reflected Dorze craftsmanship and tradition.

Later, at the local market, we wandered among traders and villagers, many of whom were women smoking long tobacco pipes, seated proudly on stools, their presence timeless. The blend of mountain air, pipe smoke, and quiet rhythm made this a memorable cultural stop on our road to the Omo.

Dorsi beehive Hut

Me in the marketplace

Women smoking tobacco pipes 

Southbound Into the Wild

Rough Roads, Grand Scenery, and Unexpected Encounters

The further south we traveled, the rougher the roads became—but so did the scenery more majestic. Towering ridges, vast valleys, and pockets of untouched wilderness opened up around every bend.

Yet even in the most remote corners of Ethiopia, we were never truly alone. Whenever we stopped—be it to stretch our legs or admire the view—small children would appear as if out of thin air, smiling and curious.

They would ask for “highland,” the local name for empty plastic water bottles—a valuable item in villages where every drop must be stored. Others would quietly request “one birr,” a small coin, worth just a few cents, but meaningful here.

It was a reminder that even in the most beautiful places, need is always nearby—and that plastic, so often waste in our world, is seen here as a tool for survival.

Driving south into Omo

Market Day in Key Afer

Colors, Culture, and Wooden Chairs in the Omo

We spent one night in Jinka, a small hub in the Omo Valley, and timed our visit perfectly with market day in nearby Key Afer. The normally quiet town came alive as hundreds of tribal people from across the region gathered to sell goods, socialize, and trade.

One detail that caught my eye: nearly everyone carried a small carved wooden peg, which I learned was their traditional chair—portable and practical, used to perch comfortably in the dirt.

The market was a riot of color—beaded jewelry, bold tribal dress, painted faces, and infectious energy. Most people were friendly, and while many asked for a birr (about 20–50 cents) if you tried to take a close-up portrait, casual photos and respectful interaction were welcomed.

For photographers, it was a dream. For travelers, a vivid window into a way of life unchanged for generations.

Key Afer Market

A Different Reality Than Expected

Strength, Style, and Pride in the Omo Valley

One thing that struck me immediately in the Omo Valley was how strong, stylish, and proud the tribal people were—far from the Western media portrayals of poverty and desperation that often overshadow Africa’s rural communities.

These were not starving or broken people—they were athletic, self-sufficient, and confident.

Clothing was worn with intention and flair—brightly colored wraps, elaborate beadwork, and intricate hairstyles that reflected both identity and tradition. Their physiques were lean and powerful, shaped by a life lived outdoors, close to the land. Even without modern amenities, they weren’t just surviving—they were thriving in their own way, on their own terms.

It was a humbling reminder that poverty doesn’t always look like weakness, and that dignity, beauty, and strength exist in forms many outsiders fail to recognize.

Key Afer Market

Key Afer Market

Key Afer Market

Key Afer Market

Into Mursi Territory

Guns, Lip Plates, and a Cautionary Glimpse into a Fierce Culture

Wanting a more authentic experience than the typical tourist stop, I asked our driver to take us to a Mursi community well off the main route, deep inside Mago National Park. We met with a local guide to plan the route—a remote region of harsh roads, said to be home not only to the elusive Mursi, but also surviving populations of elephants and lions.

The Mursi are infamous in Ethiopia’s Omo Valley—for their iconic lip plates, their fierce independence, and their reputation for aggression. With easy access to AK-47s from neighboring South Sudan, they’ve long been known for tribal raiding and cattle rustling, and their tense interactions with tourists are no exception.

Tourism Meets Tension

When we arrived, we were joined by a mandatory armed police escort, required for any visit to Mursi territory. As expected, the encounter was intense. The Mursi knew tourists came for photographs, and they were aggressive about compensation—pulling at our clothes, reaching into pockets, and in some cases, attempting to grab what they could.

It was a sharp contrast to the warm interactions we had with other tribes in the region.

While I had hoped to camp with the Mursi to gain a deeper understanding, the constant demands for money and the thought of encountering a drunk, armed tribesman made us reconsider. We were told the tourist income goes toward medicine, food, and other necessities—but also toward tobacco and alcohol, which is becoming a growing issue in their community.

A Tribe Both Fascinating and Fractured

The origin of the lip plate tradition is uncertain—some say it began as a way to make women less appealing to slave raiders—but today, it has become a defining and commodified feature. The Mursi wear them because they want to, but also understand that tourists like photos of them. Regardless, the custom is slowly becoming less common. 

I left with mixed feelings—fascinated by the raw power of the culture, yet disturbed by the exploitative dynamic that now seems to define many Mursi encounters.

We didn’t stay long, and in fairness, perhaps we didn’t stay long enough to understand the full picture. But for now, the Mursi remain one of the most challenging tribes I’ve visited in all of Africa.

Road into Mago

Mursi men who tend to walk naked outside the village but wear a blanket around their waste when in village

Armed and Feared

One of the most striking and unsettling realities of visiting the Mursi is that almost every adult male carries an AK-47 slung over his shoulder. These weapons, often sourced cheaply from war-torn South Sudan, are not just for show—they’re tools of power, protection, and, at times, aggression.

Among neighboring tribes, the Mursi are both respected and feared—known for their warrior-like nature, history of cattle raiding, and tribal skirmishes. Their reputation as fierce defenders of their territory adds to the complexity—and volatility—of any interaction with outsiders.

In a place where modern guns clash with ancient traditions, the Mursi remain one of the most intense and formidable tribal societies I’ve ever encountered.

Mursi woman

Where the Roads End and the People Appear

Unexpected Company in the Heart of the South

The deeper we pushed into southern Ethiopia, the rougher the roads became—dusty, rutted tracks winding through some of the most majestic landscapes I’d seen. Jagged hills, sweeping savannas, and wide, empty horizons surrounded us. It felt like we were venturing into a forgotten world.

And yet, no matter how remote the spot, we were never truly alone.

Even in the middle of nowhere, small children would suddenly appear—smiling, barefoot, and curious. They would gently ask for “Highland,” the local term for an empty plastic water bottle, used in villages to store drinking water. Others would whisper, “One birr?”—a small coin worth just cents, but valuable here.

It was a quiet, persistent reminder that even in the most remote corners of the world, need and connection are never far behind.

Mursi village

Mursi woman with lip plate removed

Mursi woman in village

Mursi woman in village

Two Nights in Turmi: Meeting the Hamar People

My Favorite Tribe in the Omo Valley

Of all the tribes I visited in southern Ethiopia, the Hamar were my favorite.

Evan and I spent two nights in the town of Turmi, a dusty little outpost that quickly became one of my favorite stops in the Omo. We checked into a basic roadside hotel, nothing fancy—just a bed, a mosquito net, and a working fan if you were lucky. But the atmosphere made up for it.

One evening, we found ourselves feasting on local chicken and cold beer, joined by a few tribal guests who happened to be staying at the same place. We laughed, ate, and drank together while watching Hamar people pass by in their traditional dress, waving and smiling as they went about their day.

Village Visit and Genuine Connection

The next day, we ventured out to visit a small Hamar village just outside of town. We paid a modest fee to the village chief—a respectful custom—and from that point on, no one asked us for anything. There were no tourist traps or staged performances, just real people living their daily lives.

We spent hours sitting, talking, and laughing with the Hamar. There was no rush, no pressure—just the kind of slow, meaningful interaction that’s increasingly rare in tribal encounters shaped by tourism. We even shared a few cups of their home-brewed alcohol, passed around with big smiles and a few laughs.

It was one of the most genuine and memorable experiences I had in the Omo Valley.

The Hamar people left a lasting impression on me—not only for their beautiful culture and traditions, but for their warmth, openness, and dignity. In a region where so many interactions are shaped by expectation and exchange, this felt real, and it stayed with me.

Hamar People

Hamar People

Hamar People

A Sobering Moment Among the Hamar

While our time with the Hamar tribe was one of the most heartfelt and authentic experiences of our journey, it wasn’t without its moments of sobering reality.

At one point, some of the villagers brought us to a young boy stricken with malaria. He was lying in the shade, sweating and lethargic, his tiny body clearly overwhelmed by fever. They asked if we had medicine, and I shared what little I had—a few antimalarial tablets and painkillers from my travel kit.

But we knew it wasn’t enough. Not really.
There was no clinic nearby, no doctor, no real care.

It was a heartbreaking reminder that life in the Omo is as fragile as it is beautiful.

Hamar boy with malaria

Conversation and Hooch with the Hamar

During our village visit, we met a Hamar man who spoke English, learned in school—a rare gift that allowed for a deeper connection. We sat with him and his family, sharing homemade hooch, poured from reused plastic bottles, laughing and trading stories beneath a shady hut.

Through him, we gained insight into Hamar life, traditions, and struggles—especially around healthcare and education. It was one of those rare travel moments that felt genuinely human, bridging two very different worlds with nothing more than conversation and a shared drink.

Me drinking homemade hooch with Hamar

Crossing the Omo to Meet the Daasanach

From Tourist Tension to Raw, Remote Encounters

To reach the Daasanach, a tribe spread across southern Ethiopia and into northern Kenya, we first had to cross the Omo River by boat. The initial village we visited on the far bank reminded me of the Mursi experience—highly transactional and aggressive, with nearly every interaction ending in a request for money. It wasn’t a favorite stop.

But as we continued further south toward Lake Turkana, everything changed.

We began visiting villages so remote that some of the locals had rarely—if ever—seen foreigners.

In one village, children were so startled by our presence they ran away in fear, unsure of what—or who—we were. The contrast was striking. Gone were the demands for cash and photos. Here, we were met with raw curiosity, shyness, and in some cases, unease.

It was a reminder that true remoteness still exists, and that not everywhere has been touched—or tainted—by tourism

Me crossing Omo to Daasanach village

Me in a  Daasanach village

Daasanach village

Daasanach looking at their photos

The Road Less Traveled: South to Lake Turkana

Off the Map and Into the Wild Omo

Our driver wasn’t exactly thrilled when I asked him to take us south along a brutal, barely-there road toward Lake Turkana and the Kenya border, but after some coaxing, he agreed—and it turned out to be one of the most rewarding parts of our journey.

This stretch of the Omo Valley sees virtually no foreign visitors. As we ventured deeper, the villages we encountered felt untouched by tourism. The reactions ranged from ecstatic joy to genuine fear. Children were mostly curious, wide-eyed and fascinated. But some adults, having never seen outsiders before, kept their distance.

One towering man, far stronger than me, allowed me to take a photo, but his nervous energy was palpable—he posed quickly and moved on with a cautious glance.

Not a single person asked us for money.
In this forgotten corner of Ethiopia, we were witnesses to a way of life truly untouched, and that alone made the rough road entirely worth it.

Villages in lake Turkana

Villages in lake Turkana

Our car at lake Turkana

Lake Turkana’s Wild Edge

At the shores of Lake Turkana, the scenery turned raw and primal. Villagers hauled in massive Nile perch, and sun-bleached crocodile skulls lay scattered along the banks—a stark reminder that this lake is home to some of the world’s largest man-eating crocodiles.

A place of beauty, but always with an edge of danger.

Kids playing

Turkama tribe

Parts of modern life like this watch band have been incorporated into traditional dress

Turkana People

A Giant with Caution in His Eyes

This towering man—standing nearly 6’7” with his traditional wooden chair slung over his shoulder—was kind enough to pose for a photo. But behind his calm stance, I could sense his uncertainty and mistrust. His eyes studied me carefully, not with hostility, but with a quiet wariness—as if unsure what to make of a stranger from a world so far from his own.

In that moment, we shared a silent exchange—curiosity met with caution, across cultures.

Tall Turkana Man

A woman carrying goat skins on her head who was also perplexed by us and just stared

This kid was my favorite and we had a good time laughing together

Me photographing the kids

The Long, Smelly Road Back to Reality

The drive back from Lake Turkana was just as rough as the way in—long, remote, and grueling. Evan and I camped in a few more wild spots along the way, savoring the last bits of solitude before returning to the bustle of Addis Ababa.

Miraculously, our dust-covered vehicle held out until just a few hours before reaching the capital, breaking down only after safely delivering us. Swapping it out in the city was easy. If it had failed in Turkana? That would’ve been another story.

Unfortunately, there was no time to shower—I had to head straight to the airport and board my international flight home to California, still coated in dust, sweat, and a week’s worth of tribal smoke and heat.

It was a rough flight… especially for my seatmates, who had the true misfortune of flying next to a man who’d just emerged from the wilds of the Omo with no chance to rinse off.