Katie Prescott

Now I’m back in London, I’ve been trying to explain to friends what that very exotic sounding city Addis Ababa is like. The large photos in this post don’t fit properly but I think they give a better sense of the city.

It’s a city of contrasts. The muddy tracks and corrugated iron houses meander around the asphalt roads and the odd skyscraper. Sheep and goats graze in the dirt lanes, elegant women totter on heels down the fashionable Bolé Road, the high walls of the Sheraton Hotel are surrounded by low slung slum houses.

Corrugated Iron and Sky Scrapers

The city is littered with the skeletons of half constructed buildings, so at points it looks as if it has been hit by an earthquake. The roads linking the skeletons are not yet built and covered in rubble.  Bright blue Toyota taxis rush around the legacy of the last Emperors, the palaces, the university, the ubiquitous lion of Judah statues.

Construction in Addis - the poster shows the end result

There is a beautiful park in the centre of Addis – complete with swing sets, benches and fountains. But no-one I spoke to had ever seen it open. It sits well opposite the prime minister’s residence, and near the United Nations building. So well in fact that the cynic would say it has just been built for show.

The large expat community ensures you can ‘get’ most things you would in the West. You can eat Indian, Thai and haute cuisine as well as the traditional injera. There are supermarkets selling everything from baked beans to plastic wrapped apples. Night clubs such as Harlem Jazz provide live music and a less seedy alternative to the hotel bars.

A night out in the city is unforgettable. You don’t see many people getting plastered, the party revolves around the dance and the conversation – and it’s not an exaggeration to say that it is some of the most fun you will ever have.  Live music makes you want to get up and dance, people ask you to dance, the singers force you to dance.  Sweet tej (honey wine) is passed around in glass flasks that look as if they’ve been taken out of a chemistry set. The azmari sing, dance and force even the most serious to explode with laughter at their rude, witty rhymes.

Children beg on the streets. Mothers clutching babies tap on the windows of taxis, desperately asking the occupants for spare change.  Bodies twisted by polio drag themselves along the pavement, flip-flops on their hands, thrown coins by people on the buses.  The many charities which operate in the country help provide for the very poor.  Yet of course the country doesn’t look like a sea of large eyes in hollow faces as you might imagine from television coverage.

It would be impossible to write about Addis without mentioning how religious it is. As well as the call to prayer from the mosques which serve about 30% of the population, the majority of the city flocks to the many churches which also play hymns and readings over the loudspeakers attached to their steeples.  People cross themselves when walking past religious buildings, even when services are not taking place crowds of needy people stand around the churches begging or selling religious artifacts.

The growing number of tourists who come to Ethiopia seem to ‘do’ Addis in a few days before they move on to greener pastures. I can see why. I felt very overwhelmed and culture-shocked by the city. But a few days in Addis cannot do it justice.  It is in the city that you get a sense of the whole. As most capital cities, it absorbs people from around the vast country. It is here that you can see many of the different tribes, ways of life and traditions of Ethiopia.

Runners in Meskel Square

John Mellors has emailed me the account of the exchange of voice recordings between Queen Victoria and the Ethiopian Monarchs, written in 1901 by Captain MS Wellby in his book Twixt Sirdar and Menelik. Victoria sent a phonographic recording to Ethiopia, and requested that they send one back.

On the afternoon following the feast, we were
destined to enjoy for a second time the honour of
visiting the king, for Harrington had brought a
message for him from H.M. the Queen of England,
which she herself had spoken into a phonograph.
As we entered the tent, nearly half of which had
been opened, we found the king seated as usual,
whilst around him stood a number of dignitaries,
Harrington and his sowars, with drawn and carried
swords, took their places immediately opposite the
monarch. A table was then set in front of the
king, and on this the phonograph was placed.
With the exception of the gurgling sound produced
by the instrument, dead silence pervaded the tent.
The Negus was highly gratified with the message,
even standing up that he might the more distinctly
catch the words, for he was much struck with their
clearness and firmness. He listened to the Queen’s
gracious words time after time, and readily con-
sented to my attempting to photograph the scene.
During this time a grand salute of eleven guns was
being fired to celebrate the occasion. I stepped
outside to try and take a picture of this event also,
and found soldiers running about in every direction,
anxious to learn why guns were being fired on
the sabbath.

The phonograph was then carried off to the
private quarters of Queen Taitu, who was equally
charmed with the message, demanding several
times a repetition of the Queen’s words. It was
a wonder to me that this particular cylinder was
not completely worn out. The Queen, although
understanding no English at all, was nevertheless
easily able to recognize the mention of her own
name.

Entoto Museum, Addis Ababa

As I wrote last month, I was recently asked by Hailesilassie, the curator of the Entoto Museum, to help locate the whereabouts of a voice recording of Emperor Menelik and his wife that allegedly lay in the British Museum.

Hailesilassie had read  that Queen Victoria had requested the recording, and he was desperate to obtain a copy for Entoto’s collection. The museum is dedicated to the Emperor who was the founder of Addis Ababa, and the man responsible for uniting Ethiopia.  The recording would really bring to life the small collection of Menelik’s possessions which make up the museum.

Amazingly, Ami Jones who is currently seconded to the Ethiopian Ministry for Education and his Father have found the recording filed in the British Library (rather than Museum) in London.

As Ami is based in Addis, he hopes to present it to HaileSilassie personally as a surprise once the wheels have been set in motion in London.

John Mellors of the Anglo-Ethiopian Society sent me the following email, which sheds more light on the subject:

“The story of the Menelik recording is told in a paper by Prof Ullendorff “Emperor Menelik’s phonograph message to Queen Victoria”, SOAS Bulletin, 32 (1969), 251-6. It’s been reprinted a few times and I’ve got a copy somewhere – I’ll try to find it for you. The recording is very poor but he managed to translate most of it. A copy was given to Haile Selassie during one of his visits to the UK but I can’t remember if this was why Ullendorf (who taught Amharic, Ge’ez and other Semitic languages at SOAS) translated the recording. I gather that it’s very difficult to understand what is being said but a couple of our members, one Ethiopian, listened to it recently at the BL and found it fascinating”

The Tigrai region is peppered with hidden churches and monasteries.  To satisfy my romantic desire to explore them, we walked up into the Lasta Mountains to visit Ashetan Maryam.  This monastery is a two hour hike to 3150m above sea-level, up from Lalibela which is set at 2630m.

When we finally approached a door set in the cliff face, the never-ending walk suddenly felt worth it. As entrance fee was paid to the priest – who must have seen us coming for miles – and we walked up through steep stone steps through the cliff, to come out by the main church, which was hollowed out inside the mountain.  The courtyard was open to the sky – it had been cut to be like a box with no roof.

As in each religious place we’ve visited, the priest opened up the wooden shutters to let light flood into the stone building.  He then selected some of the church’s treasures to show us – including a 14^th century saints book written in Ge’ez, King Lalibela’s cross and prayer stick.  A prayer stick is made of bone or ebony, and used to prop up worshippers during ceremonies which can last up to 2 hours, for which congregations are expected to stand.

During the long descent we saw scores of men and women making the long journey to villages up the mountain, carrying heavy sacks of grain on their heads.  Although by Ethiopian standards Lalibela has a lot of tourists, it doesn’t seem to have benefitted the region yet. It is still one of the poorest regions of Ethiopia.  Perhaps tourism here has not grown or brought wealth to the area as quickly as expected – certainly most of the new, luxury hotels that we saw were empty.

The site of Saint George’s church, part of the Lalibela complex, looks like a jagged cleft, but on approaching and standing over it, the crack reveals a perfect pink cruciform.

After the completion of 10 of Lalibela’s churches – the legend goes that Saint George visited King Lalibela to chastise him because none of the churches were dedicated to St George, the head of the saints.  In response, King Lalibela built one of the most exquisite churches in honour of Saint George, whose horse’s hoof prints are said to act as steps down into the site, a reminder of his visit to the King.

View down into St George's

Entrance to St George's

The church is set away from the others, a sign that it was built later.  It is a slightly conical shape, with a thick base.  This suggests that the workmen had learnt from the construction of the previous churches.

Hoof prints

This ‘new Jerusalem’ was created by King Lalibela in the 12^th century at a time when Jerusalem was under Islamic occupation.  The names, down to the River of Jordan and Bethlehem are taken from the holy city.  Despite being one of Ethiopia’s main tourist attractions, the town still feels very remote, and as it is a 2 day journey from Addis Ababa, inaccessible.

According to legend, the King was visited in a dream and told to build the complex of 11 churches which are cut into the pink volcanic rock of the Lasta Mountains. Workman (or angels, depending on who you speak to) would cut around a jagged space around a block deep into the hard stone.  Once the block was isolated (either completely, or with the walls still attached to the stone), it was carved into a beautiful church.

Locals and priests say that this work was accomplished in a mere 23 years.  Scholars dispute this, saying the stonemasonry is in keeping with the many other rock-hewn churches in Ethiopia, and as such would have taken place over a longer period of time. Neither view detracts from the extraordinary result.

The churches are accessed through a series of tunnels, unexpected entrances and underground steps which twist and turn on one another.  Crosses and signs decorate the churches which hint at a mysterious past, perhaps linked to the Knight’s Templar.

Lalibela remains an important place of pilgrimage for Ethiopians.  Although the priests wear sunglasses to protect their eyes from the flashes of tourists’ cameras, it is not a museum.  Worshippers come here every day and the site is flooded with people during religious festivals. The ‘fertility pool’ which opens each Christmas is prized as particularly potent.  Apparently one disbelieving faranji tried it and subsequently gave birth to 5 children.

Inside the stone churches have matted floors to protect worshippers’ bare feet.  Unlike the elaborately painted monasteries we saw on Lake Tana, the interiors of the churches in Lalibela were relatively simple.  Adornments and patterns were cut into the stone around windows and pillars, with occasional friezes covering the walls.

Lion of Judah pattern on rugs covering a church floor

Each church was so carefully constructed; it was easy to forget that they were carved out of rock.  Even more amazing was how well preserved the complex is.  Apart from the ugly white structures UNESCO put up covering the church chasms, Lalibela felt untouched since its construction.  It made me more curious to visit some of Ethiopia’s even more remote rock churches – some of which are so high in the mountains that they can apparently only be reached by rope.

The lady in a long white dress stood in front of us, hands on hips.

Faranji come to Ethiopia-a-a-a-a-a

(Dun-dun-dun)

Maybe they come from America-a-a-

(Dun-dun-dun)

And then a line in Amharic which had the audience grasping their sides, and Musbah pulling up his shirt to cover his red face.  It made us desperate to understand the singing! What was she saying about us?

The night of my birthday we went to a small pub where azmari singing was taking place. Sometimes described as ‘minstrel singing’, it is a bit like rhyming, sung stand-up comedy.  A female singer and a man accompanying her on the masinko (a stringed instrument) circle the room together, picking their victims from the audience and singing a song about them – particularly if they are tall, short, fat or of course faranji.

In between the singing, we tried to dance the Eskista or shoulder-shake, adding to the hilarity in the room, to the encouraging TSSSKKK TSSKKK sounds from the lady.  The laughter was infectious, it was a brilliant evening out, despite being the butt of most of the jokes!

Masinko

A short hop from the castles, is Fasilidas’ pool.  It is a huge empty swimming pool, the walls swallowed by tentacle-like tree roots and lichen.  As with most cities in Ethiopia, Gonder has a huge problem with water shortages.  Yet judging by the grubby postcards being sold at the door, it is still used for occasional religious ceremonies when the pool is filled with water and priests gather round it.

The walled castles of Gonder are the centrepieces of the old capital of Ethiopia (Addis Ababa became the capital in 1896).  They were built in the 17^th century after a period of religious conflict in the country, which saw the Muslim Harari governor Ahmed the Gragn chasing the Ethiopian Emperor from city to city – a fugitive in his own country.  To support their Christian fellows, the Portuguese sent troops to the Emperor’s aid.  But with the troops came Jesuit missionaries.  In 1622, Emperor Susneyos converted to Catholicism and decreed that Ethiopia must follow suit.

Thousands of Ethiopians were persecuted for following their traditional beliefs which caused uproar in the country.  In 1632, Emperor Susneyos was forced to resign in favour of his son Fasilidas who consolidated his power by settling his capital in Gonder – it’s mountainous position (2,200m above sea level) in the heart of trade routes and away from the malarial Lake Tana making it an ideal location for an defensible city.

Stables

To prevent any further Catholic conversions, foreigners were banned from Ethiopia for more than a hundred years from Fasilidas’ accession.

His successors each added to Fasilidas’ castle complex.  The architecture shows signs of Portuguese and Indian influences, with the distinctive Star of David insignia throughout, indicating the royal family’s holy lineage.

Gonder University graduates celebrate in the grounds of the castle

Empty lions’ cages served as a reminder of when the royal family kept the king of the beasts under lock and key as a sign of their strength.  Apparently lions were kept here until 1991, when they were moved to the Lion Zoo in Addis Ababa by animal rights activists.

Lions' Cages

Most of the castles are in fantastic condition. The few piles of rubble that sit amid the buildings were caused in 1941 by British bombardment of the Fascist Italians who were using the castle as a base.  We were shown one of the guard towers that they turned into a latrine.

The destruction has now stopped and the castles have been declared a World Heritage Site – with restoration currently underway by UNESCO.  Guides with perfect English are drawn from the local university, who use the castles as a springboard to walk tourists through Ethiopia’s fascinating history.

The views across the mountains made you feel on top of the world.  Our climb to 3,900m was never a straightforward ascent. We struggled up and down soft grass verges, narrow rubble paths and through rivers as our guide led us from one incredible ‘viewpoint’ to another.  I read somewhere that the Simien Mountains were known as the chess pieces of the Gods and it is true that the rock formations resemble the singular shapes of carved figures.

At points we were so high the sensation clutched at our stomachs as we peered over the edge into the frothy clouds below. And when the mists were high the mountains steamed like volcanoes.  We would walk through white clouds into glorious sunshine, from blank white to never ending views across the valleys.

To my surprise, there were many villages in the mountains, and we came across several shepherds and farmers on our treks.  Young children approached us selling woven slingshots, the traditional mountain hat (a stiff, helmet-shaped woven hat with a short bobble on the top) and cups made from horn.  Our scout knew many of the shepherds we met who smiled kindly at our struggles to climb the mountains they so effortlessly roamed over.

Gelada Baboon

One of the most incredible sights was the troupes of gelada baboons that move through the park – distinctive for the red heart shape on their chests.