So, this happened.
Not recently - it’s been a few years now - but it remains one of the stickier situations I’ve found myself in and, at least in hindsight, a surprisingly fond memory.
In a part of Ethiopia without much in the way of roads or mobile coverage, a friendly business arrangement quickly turned menacing when Muga here decided that he might be able to walk away with considerably more money than the modest fee we had agreed on. (As anyone who has been to the Omo Valley can attest, paying for photography is mandatory.) This was that moment. I took a few shots of Muga pointing his AK at us not because I’m particularly foolhardy, but… Well, it wasn’t going to change the situation anyway, and I thought it might be good to have a few photos of the turn of events. Just in case. And, if all worked out, I might as well be able to illustrate what I presumed would be a memorable story.
The whole situation was simultaneously threatening and slightly ludicrous, as Muga had let our second vehicle leave. In it was another of my friends. Who had photos of Muga on his phone. Some minutes later we pointed this out to Muga, suggesting that trying to extort money from us now was pointless and that the police would know exactly who to look for, but that logic didn’t quite sink in. His attitude remained steadfast: pay, or else. Or else what? I confess I felt fairly certain that he wouldn’t shoot us, but even with good odds, it seemed better to stay put and wait it out.
Waiting it out turned out to be a good choice, in the end. Three hours of 40-degree heat, during which I made an effort to seem completely unbothered by the stand-off by laying down to read a book, took its toll on Muga’s companions. They left one by one, and eventually, he agreed that $20 was sufficient payment to allow us to pass. Lucky for us, as it turned out, because when we finally rejoined the other vehicle, we found out that the local police couldn’t or wouldn’t help without the approval of the regional commander, who unfortunately wasn’t picking up his phone. Maybe tomorrow, they had informed my friend.
A few years later, when I was back in Ethiopia on a different job, my guide from that Muga trip told me that he had run into Muga on a fairly regular basis on other trips to the Omo Valley. Muga had no hard feelings at all and thought this was a very funny story to reminisce about. “Remember that time when I pointed my gun at you and you had to pay me?” Good times, right? Perspective is an interesting thing. Personally, I would love to see Muga again and ask him exactly what went through his mind that day. Something tells me he’d be up for it.
At least for a fee.