"My name is Yohannes.
The name of my family is Wassie.
I am 15 years old.
I live near the town of Bahir Dar, near Lake Tana, in the north of Ethiopia."

Yohannes does not hesitate for a moment. I am a ‘farangi’ a foreigner, and foreigners should never go without a guide. No discussion possible!

Yohannes is small for his age by Western standard, but compared to other children in North Ethiopia, he looks quite good. Only a bit skinny. He wears an old blue jacket, that
is too large for him, without a shirt, and his shorts are rags with big holes everywhere.
His feet do not look as if he ever wore shoes in his life.

"Okay," I say and smile. "You take me across the Blue Nile, then we walk through the fields and maybe after two kilometers we come to the great waterfall of the Blue Nile at Alata."

"Yes mister, I know the way. Now, I live here. My father is dead. Also, my mother is dead.
I live here with my sister. My sister is 28. We call the waterfall ‘Tis Abay’. That means ‘Smoke of the Nile’. You know, from the falling water there is a fog like smoke."

Over a muddy and rocky trail, we get to the riverside. The water is red-brown from the mud. "The Blue Nile is very red, Yohannes!"

"Yes, blue is the color for the stream and the fog after the fall, not for the water of the river on the upper level. Here, the river is all mud. No fish in this water. Not possible."

Yohannes calls a boy he knows from school with a little canoe. For 30 cents, he takes us to the other side of the river. I am a little scared when the canoe gets very close to the waterfall. Maybe the strong current near the edge will pull us into the fall.

"Do not be scared, mister. We get to the other side before the river can grab us.
You see that tree trunk? That will stop us from going over." Yohannes laughs at me and with his friend they peddle as some mad men.
At the last second, Yohannes grabs his tree trunk and we are safe. Just below us, the waterfall makes so much noise that we have to yell to hear each other.

Then we walk through the muddy fields for almost an hour to reach the lower level.

"Your father and your mother are dead. When did they die, Yohannes?" I ask.

"I do not know. Maybe one year, maybe two years. My father was old, maybe 75 or
maybe 100. My mother was sick in the stomach.
You know that here we do not have food every day.
There is not enough for everybody.
And the doctor is expensive also.
We have no money.
Every day I am hungry. I am always hungry, you know."

It was stupid of me to ask Yohannes when his parents died. The people here are very poor. They live in mud huts without electricity or water. They have no watch and no calendar.
The civil war only ended officially in 1991 and the revolution in 1994, but the war against Eritrea still goes on every day. Many refugees die of famine and decease.

For a moment we walk in silence. Soon Yohannes gets tired and we stop for a rest.

"I am in ninth grade in government school. I am a very good student. We study English and Amharic, our official language. The country has 70 other languages. We also study geography, mathematics, chemistry and physics.
After the eleventh grade, I want to go to college and become a water engineer.
I know a lot about water already.
The government builds a new power plant next to the falls for making electricity."

Yohannes tastes one of my muesli bars and makes a face.
He is not used to western food, but he still eats it.

On his left leg, he has a large open wound, almost as large as an apple. Hundreds of black flies cover the bloody wound. It does not seem to bother him except for the flies. If it gets more infected, and without medical treatment, he will certainly die, maybe within a few weeks.

Then we walk again…

When we get to the falls, Yohannes gives an explanation as a real tour guide.
"The fall is 45 meters high and at the end of the rain season 400 meters wide. The water comes from four rivers on the upper lever and comes together on the lower level, as one narrow stream.
The lower level river, we call the Blue Nile. The current is very fast, like rapids."

We climb down the canyon into a fog of water spray. In a few minutes we are soaked.
It is only about 20 centigrade and I shiver. The ice cold water does not bother Yohannes. The last 20 meters, he slides down the hill on a mudslide made of banana leaves, like children do in Europe in the snow on a sled.

"Be careful, mister. It is very slippery," Yohannes warns, when he sees me fall several times. Then, I also pick two large banana leaves and slide down the hill.

At the bottom of the canyon, the Blue Nile roars like an angry lion. The wild stream is half covered with white foam. A primitive tree trunk bridge connects to the other side.

"Here, the river is 37 meters deep, " Yohannes warns. "So, do not fall off the bridge and in case you do, better float down one kilometer before you try swimming to the shore. The stream is too strong, you know."

The tree trunk is only about as wide as my foot and very slippery. Yohannes walks over
it in one minute and as easy as one walks across a street. I know that I cannot do that. Yohannes notices and walks back to my side again.

"Mister, you sit on the trunk, then you lock your feet under you.
Then you lie on your stomach and lock your arms around the trunk.
Then you move forward little by little. In case you slide off, you still have your arms and legs locked, so hanging, you keep on moving till you are on the other side.
I show you."

Yohannes moves to the middle of the bridge like a paratrooper in a Rambo movie. Then he slides upside down and moves along hanging from his locked arms and legs.

I follow Yohannes’ example, ready to die as a real adventurer.
The river thunders in white wild foam underneath me.
The fog is now a full blast shower of ice cold water.
The trunk is as slippery as butter.
I move centimeter by centimeter.
It takes forever…

Then Yohannes’ hand grabs my shirt collar.
He yells: "You made it, mister.
I told you, I know a lot about water already.
I will become a water engineer and build a bridge for you!"