URBAN DWELLERS

Late one evening, in darkness, I was wandering through the narrow streets of Harar. It was a scene straight from the Middle Ages, with old houses leaning over the streets in the ancient walled city in the lowlands of Ethiopia. There were high gates in the city wall, which was still virtually intact, although crumbled in places. The heat of the day had lessened somewhat, but not much, and the moon dominated. The city was quiet after the roaring daytime activity, the markets, the traffic around the outside of the wall, and the throngs of people. Now at night the bark of a dog stood out clearly, and people had retired to their houses. Not all of them, for one or two slept in doorways, oblivious of my passing.

Just ahead a familiar shape crossed, its shambling gait better known to me as that of a hunter from the Serengeti plains. The large hyaena disappeared through a gap in the wall, having walked within a few feet of a sleeping woman. Minutes later two more withdrew around a corner. Here in Harar, the spotted hyaena was a well-known, tolerated scavenger in the town, clearing up the bits and pieces, never leaving a single piece of bone or meat. Just outside the city walls I found a local man sitting on the ground, wide awake despite the hour. He was surrounded by a dozen hyaenas who were interested in titbits.