Katie Prescott

The drive up into the Simien Mountains from the nearest town of Debark was terrifying. The unpredictably weather had meant there was a complete white-out, and we could not see more than a metre ahead of us.  Our driver hooted throughout our slow ascent, scattering people, cars and cattle aggressively out of his way. After an hour of nail biting turns, we arrived at the first camp site where the mists swirled round us as our cook prepared our meal.

Sankaber Camp

The next morning, standing around while 10 people debated how many men and mules we needed to carry our mountain of bags was embarrassing. At the centre of this argument was an elderly gentleman with a weighing scales, receipt pad (an Ethiopian staple) and a pen. Clearly the man in charge. Our guide was carrying a small rucksack, our scout was carrying his rifle and a red woolly hat and our cook had a headscarf and a miniscule bag to rival our guide’s. Liz, Musbah and I ended up with a convoy of 4 mules and men to accompany us from camp to camp.

Our guide and scout

It is obligatory to take a scout to the camp, to protect you from the animals. He was a local farmer (we met his young son on his travels) who supplements his income by working with people who want to visit the park.  Despite carrying a gun, he told us that he’d never killed anything. He had only used the gun once to fire into the air to break up a fight between some local villagers. The gun didn’t look like it would be much use in a confrontation with a leopard, I’m not even sure it was loaded.  He was a lovely man, and with not a word of each other’s language we managed to communicate through smiles and chocolate.

Our scout, Baze

Our guide was one of only two female guides, out of a total of 40 who work in the Simien Mountains.  She was only 20, and unlike her three sisters, was unmarried. “Can you imagine doing this job if you were pregnant?” she quite rightly said – she certainly couldn’t have scrambled up cliff faces in her goat like manner anymore. She explained that most women in Ethiopia get married young – although the new age restriction of 18 has changed this slightly.  She described herself as the independent exception to a culture which still encourages early marriages.

Our guide

The final member of the team, the cook was a luxury.  But when we came back from a long hike up a mountain, the tea, popcorn and biscuits she set out on the grass of the camp was the most important part of the day. We handed her the ingredients we had bought in Addis Ababa, and with clever additions of wild thyme and perhaps some chicken stock (I was never quite sure) she served up hot soups and tasty rice each evening.

St George and the Dragon

Many of the stories depicted on the walls of the monasteries are of Ethiopian saints. Some of these are very familiar.  England and Ethiopia share their patron saint; Saint George, and the monasteries are covered in the familiar image of the mounted saint slaying the Dragon.  The Virgin Mary is called Saint Mary in Ethiopia, and her image is one of the most popular in the churches.

Saint Mary

Some saints are less familiar. Christianity here is meant to have been spread by 9 Saints from Syria, who each established a monastery in a hard to reach place.  This includes Abuna Aregawi. God sent a python to lift him high onto a plateau where he founded the famous monastery of Debre Damo.

St Yared

St Yared – the patron saint of music – is regularly depicted.  The story goes that he left school without finishing his studies, and sat under a fig tree watching a worm trying again and again to crawl up the tree to reach the fruit.  Eventually the worm succeeded.  This inspired Yared to persevere with his work.  He wrote Ethiopia’s first hymn book, the music of which can still be heard in taxis throughout the country.

Belai the Cannibal may not be a Saint per se, but he is often pictured as an example of Saint Mary’s mercy.  A horrible cannibal, he ate everyone in his path, including his own family.  One day, he came across a leprous beggar who begged him in the name of God for some water.  ‘I don’t know God’ Belai replied to him. The beggar then asked him for water in the name of Saint Mary.  Belai remembered this name, and gave the beggar some water (he wouldn’t eat him – he had leprosy).  When the time came for Belai to be judged, Mary begged that he was spared – and he was allowed a place in heaven.

Belai gorging himself

The story of the Ethiopian royal family is told in the story of the Kebra Negast (Glory of the Kings) – a godsend of a tale which makes the Emperors and Empresses almost untouchable.

Once upon a time, the Queen of Sheba went to visit King Solomon in Jerusalem.  Although she refused his advances, eventually he tricked her into being seduced by feeding her spicy food and refusing her water until she ceded to his demands.  When the Queen went back to Ethiopia, she was pregnant with the King’s child.  A son was born to them, Menelik. When he was old enough, he went to visit his Father and returned with the Ark of the Covenant, to Ethiopia.  The generations which followed, down to the last Emperor, Haile Selassie, thus claimed to be descended from the Solomnic line.

The Ark of the Covenent is believed to be stored in Axum, North of Gonder in Ethiopia, and hence each church in the country bears a replica of the treasure in the Holy of Holies.

Entrance to the Holy of Holies where the tabot is stored

I heard many variations on this tale in Ethiopia, which combines all of the best ingredients of a Dan Brown novel. Although no-one has conclusively proved the Ark’s existence, there is a gripping book by Graham Hancock on the subject which tries to establish it’s location in Ethiopia, The Sign and the Seal.

The chanting place

The defining feature of the monasteries is their circularity.  They are divided into three concentric circles representing the chanting place, the Holy Place and the Holy of Holy places.

The Holy Place (Ura Kidane Meret monastery)

The Holy of Holies is decorated on 4 sides, and can only be entered by members of the clergy. It contains a tabot, or representative of the Ark of the Covenant which is brought out on the 11 December, but even then is covered and not revealed to the public eye.

Angels guard the doors into the Holy of Holies

The four sides of the Holy of Holy’s depict scenes from the life of Jesus, scenes from the life of Mary, the lives of the apostles and martyrs and the miracles of Jesus.  The style is very distinctive to Ethiopia – almost cartoonish, highly stylised images.

Adam and Eve banished from the garden of Eden (Entos Eyesu Monastery)

The monasteries are treasure troves of ancient manuscripts which the monks took great delight in showing us.  I almost expected them to fall apart as these illuminated parchments were passed from hand to hand, photographed and snapped back on the shelf.  The manuscripts are writing in Ge’ez which is the language of Ancient Ethiopia, still read by most monks today. Some were under glass, but the majority were still used – in worship and as a tourist attraction.

Monk at Debra Mariam Monastery

Fishing on Lake Tana

Lake Tana is the largest lake in Ethiopia. It stretches from Bahir Dah in the South, almost to Gonder.  The lake is dotted with islands which conceal some of the country’s most famous churches and monasteries.  As with many of Ethiopia’s holiest places, they are not easily accessible. As women, we were not allowed to even attempt the journey to most of them as it would be seen as encroaching upon men’s retreat from daily life.

Monk at Ura Kidahne Meret monastery

Most of the monasteries were built in the 14^th century, and the majority are still active today.  We took a boat to visit three which were open to women. This is because nuns were working there, as were married priests.  In the Ethiopian Orthodox Church priests choose at a young age whether they want to be married or celibate – and only if you are celibate can you proceed to become a bishop, and potentially the Patriarch, or head of the EOC.  This is complicated however as if you divorce your wife or she dies, you revert to being a celibate priest.

Nun unlocking a door into the Entos Eyesu monastery

It was the first time we had witnessed a really ‘touristy’ part of the country.  Children lined the muddy paths up to the monasteries selling miniature papyrus boats, baskets and horn cups.  However there still were not many of us, and at each monastery the priests would unbolt several doors, quietly take an entrance fee from us, carefully write each entrant a receipt and lead us to take our shoes off before unbolting more heavy wooden doors to lead us into the sanctum.

Children selling handmade gifts to tourists

We organised our boat trip through Bisrat the son of the owner at the fantastic backpacker’s paradise: the Ghion Hotel on the shores of Lake Tana.  He regaled us with tales of injera flown back on Lufthansa jets to Ethiopian expats in Europe, parties at the Sheraton in Addis and drunken faranji.

Addis itself is a hotchpotch of rural village life and a more sophisticated urban experience.  As we pulled out of the city, the rural elements became more pronounced.   The landscape and people flowing past became more conservative, dressed in traditional clothes and using more rudimentary means of transport – tuktuks, mules and horse and cart.

Men walked carrying their dula (staff) across their shoulders, hanging their arms from each side as if they were bearing a cross.  Most goods were carried on the heads of the people walking by the sides of the road, who did not seem to bend at all under the strains of the sacks and fuel.  The scale of the country, the distances between each town, was emphasised as it took almost 12 hours to reach the town of Bahir Dah.

It was here that our introduction to the unique culture of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, founded in the 4^th century, began. Some parts of the religion were very familiar to me, but with its roots laying strongly in the Judaic tradition, others were less so.

The Asni Gallery was not what we expected. ‘The coolest place in Addis’ a friend had told us. But after walking around for 3 hours trying to find it, we were hot and bothered and passed caring.  ‘After the Total Garage, and the French Embassy’ sounded relatively straightforward. But without working road names, navigating Addis Ababa never is. A taxi up a country road finally pinpointed the elusive gallery.

The Asni Gallery main house

Gallery is perhaps the wrong word, but I am so glad we found this amazing place.  The gates opened to reveal a beautiful vast tree-filled grounds on a steep hill.  Climbing for 5 minutes, we came to the large 1912 rambling house of an ex-minister of justice with a smaller building next door. Uncrossing his legs and stretching up, a man approached us from a circle of young men sitting chewing at the top of the hill. He introduced himself as Tamrat Gezahegne. ‘Come in’ he said ‘we’re just preparing some pictures for the exhibition at the Sheraton next month. And when you’ve finished, please join us for some khat’.

by Tamrat Gezahegne

We entered the smaller building he gestured us to, where unmarked pictures lined the walls. He pointed to those he had drawn and introduced himself as one of the artists who worked in the ‘park’. Newspapers spread on the floor, and easels propped against the wall added to the informal feel. We then turned our attention to the beautiful old house, which looked like a work of art in itself. And indeed the group of artists had covered the outside in paintings and sculpture.

Paintings outside the house

In a strange inversion of a traditional gallery, there was hardly anything inside the house which felt very eerie, a chandelier was still in place, as were bathroom fittings – and the bare floorboards throughout felt as if there were going to break to the touch.

Inside the house

The grounds around the house were dotted with sculptures, made from rusted iron, plastic bottles and other odds and ends.  Around the terrace, broken pottery lay ready to be shaped into something.

It was an artists’ commune. We enjoyed wandering around the very relaxed and beautiful outside space in the sunshine, before declining the offer of khat and making our way back down into the smog of the city below.

Painting of the house

Next week, we are going to the North of Ethiopia to visit Lake Tana – famous for its island monasteries, the Simien Mountains for a 5 day trek, Gondor (the city of castles) and finally Lalibela where we will see the rock hewn churches.  We are due back in Addis on the 4th September.

As it is my birthday while we are in Gondor, we are having an Addis based celebration tomorrow night at ‘Harlem Jazz’ nightclub, where we are seeing Ethiopian singer Kenny Allen if he is not still touring. Fingers crossed.

Speaking of birthdays to people here has made me realise how much we take them for granted (not that mine isn’t very important).  This is because many people here have no idea when their birthdays are.  If you are born in a rural part of Ethiopia, it is unlikely your birth will be registered.  This particularly applies to the orphans we are working with who don’t know what year or day they were born, and so it isn’t something they celebrate.

People here seem to dwell less on age than we do.  School is determined by grade, not birth date, your ability and level rather than your age.

As a formality, it is possible to register for a birth certificate at a government department in Addis. Obviously birth certificates are necessary for visas, passports etc. So to get your ‘official’ birthday, you take along someone who was present at the time of your birth and an estimation of your age is made.

Last night we celebrated ‘bohé’ (my phonetic spelling of the Amharic) or ‘bonfire’ night at the Home, and with the rest of Addis Ababa. A religious festival to celebrate Jesus challenging his disbelieving disciples, it is celebrated by bonfires in the streets, lots of firecrackers (not gunshots as I initially thought) and the Hoya Hoya dance (Jenna’s very apt description).

Singing around the bonfire

By the sounds of it, the original meaning of the festival has separated somewhat from the celebrations themselves, and it’s a great excuse for a party. And the Ethiopian Orthodox church seems to have lots of those, about once a month a good old festival crops up. This is the biggest one in the run up to New Year on the 11^th September.

The bonfires are made by joining dry tinder in a tepee shape, which we danced round in circles, singing, clapping and generally jumping about in the dark. The boys from the Home today recreated the Hoya Hoya dance for the camera, as it was pitch black yesterday and impossible to film anything. Boys in Addis will go to their neighbours’ houses and improvise jokey songs about them to much hilarity, chanting and banging the floor with their ‘dula’ or long wooden sticks.

Once the fire died down, we went inside for the coffee ceremony. I’m going to miss delicious Ethiopian coffee, although I’ve bought all the necessaries to make a little coffee ceremony of my very own in England. Across straw spread on the floor, incense is burned, and coffee served from the traditional elegant black pottery.  We also ate a bread, baked for the occasion – though the Amharic name escaped me, as most of them do.

Coffee Ceremony in the Home

Churchgoers in Addis unperturbed by the rain

Having written a post about how regularly rain and electricity come and go here, I feel compelled to eat my words. It’s all got very exciting and unpredictable. In Addis we had power for 3 days in a row last week. Then, bam, none. Today, a power day, we have had none all morning. Even the lovely Jupiter Hotel – our local bastion of power which has its own generator and wi-fi, our living room on dark evenings – didn’t have power today.

As I’ve said before, power and rain are closely linked here – one begets t’other as the power is hydroelectric.

In Harar, as in Addis, the power is alternated between regions of the city. Luckily our government-run hotel, the Ras, had its own generator. Yet mysteriously there was no power to make coffee in the mornings, the waiter told us apologetically. An Italian lady staying there made a very incisive observation on the situation:

“There’s always power when there’s a football game”

And sure enough, for the premier league game on Saturday, the power mysteriously appeared.