Dawn had not yet gotten underway when I walked into the dirt lot of the bus station in Arba Minch, Ethiopia. I was tired, and I was entering "the ring" when I'd rather be readjusting my pillow. But I had only a month in which to see this country, Africa's second most populous, and so I needed to catch the first minibus to Konso. It was 5 a.m., and the minibus would leave in an hour.

When i say "the ring" I am implying that stepping into an Ethiopian bus station, especially as a very white foreigner, can be akin to stepping into a boxing ring.  Not only is there the noise and bodies pressed together that you'd find in many other places around the world, but there is also the likelihood that someone is going to try to rip you off. And so you step into the bus station with a hardened frame of mind, ready to absorb some verbal assualts and deceptions. You also step in ready to push back, perhaps hard.

This is a minibus much like the one I took to Konso

A day earlier, I had visited Nechisar National Park. It includes Lake Chamo, one of the many lakes in Africa's Rift Valley. Seeing animals in the wild is more relaxing than navigating your way aboard many an Ethiopian minibus...which might be why, once onboard the Konso-bound minibus, I sometimes would ponder the life of these animals.

When you are on the bus, already several miles down the road, and your driver's assistant (he is the one who operates the sliding side door and collects the money) leans over to you and says, "Give me 10 birr," you ponder the crocodile. The ticket for the two hour trip to Konso costs 24 bir and you have already paid this; what he is asking for now is a 10 birr fee for your backpack, which is tied to the roof. But this, you know, is much too much, and many minibuses don't even charge at all. And so you turn to the assistant and say, "No, I will not give you 10 birr."

Dawn is breaking now and you can see the assistant -- he is 15 years old and his older brother is the driver -- frown, his face no less hardened than yours. The match has begun. But at this point you also think of the yawning hippo, because you are not a morning person and even if you were you wouldn't want to begin your day on a cramped minibus next to a teenager who will spend the next 90 minutes trying to wear you down in order to rip you off. 

His name is Abraham, and before long he drops the price from ten to seven birr. That is to say, the price has gone from about 65 cents to 45 cents. Some readers may wonder what is the big deal; it's only a few cents. There are several reasons that it matters, but at the head of the pack is this: the principle of equality. Going through Ethiopia's transportation system often felt like a giant shake-down, in which you were selected for special treatment because of your skin color. Never mind that the Ethiopian man beside you had three cell phones and a wallet bulging with large bills, you were the white foreigner, and guys like Abraham were going to treat you differently. And if one of your heroes is Rosa Parks, this does not sit well.

And so every few minutes Abraham would say, "Give me seven birr," and I would say, "No, I'll give you three." In previous days I had asked numerous locals what a fair price would be for a bag on the roof, and "two birr" was the reply.

With only fifteen minutes left before reaching Konso, and as farmers walked along the highway's edge carrying produce to market, I turned to Abraham and said, "Abraham, here is what I'll do. I will give you seven birr, because you insist this is the right price. But when I step out of the bus I will also take a picture of you and your license plate, and then I will ask locals in Konso if you ripped me off. If they say you didn't, no problem. But if they say you did, I will take these pictures to the police and tell them I want you to give me my money back. Okay?"

Abraham's frown deepened as he looked out the window and muttered, "Give me three birr."

And then I felt like a pelican -- they often like to hang out near the crocodiles on Lake Chamo -- and could feel my spirits soar as this latest battle concluded. Our financial dispute now in the past, Abraham and I enjoyed some small talk together -- where he was from, how big his family was, and so on. And when we reached Konso, he climbed to the roof and handed down my bag with a smile.

It was 8 a.m., and a new day in Ethiopia had begun.

Joel Carillet, chief editor of Wandering Educators, is a freelance writer and photographer based in Tennessee. He is the author of 30 Reasons to Travel: Photographs and Reflections from Southeast Asia. To learn more about him, follow his regular photoblog, or purchase prints, visit www.joelcarillet.com.