If Varanasi, India was the most exotic destination I have ever visited, it has now been trumped by Axum, Ethiopia. I wanted to see "real" Africa, and that's exactly what I got…limited or no access to almost every resource, abject poverty, clouds of dust clouding clouds of flies. But, it is most definitely an adventure, and probably the closest to Indiana Jones I’ll ever be.
An early indicator of the un-touristy nature of the place might have been when I received an e-mail from the US Department of State advising me not to travel there (due to tensions with nearby Eritrea) and restricting its own employees from doing so. But, as I’ve mentioned time and again, my plane tickets are non-refundable. When I went to the Lalibela office of Ethiopian Airlines to confirm my flight the day before, the agent greeted me with “Axum?” I said, “How did you know?” And he said, “You’re the only person flying there tomorrow” and pointed to my lonely name on a computer printout. The next morning, I was compelled to take a picture of myself sitting in an empty passenger lounge, an unprecedented event for me. After about only a 30 minute hop, I got my bag straight off the back of the luggage tractor on the tarmac and hitched a minibus ride to the Africa Hotel, which was highly recommended in my Lonely Planet guidebook. I don’t know where Lonely Planet got their information from, but they are sorely incorrect on their assessments of accommodations in Axum. A place that had promised Wi-Fi had no internet connection whatsoever, the toilet seat had disappeared, and the room was so filthy it marked the first time on my trip that I was compelled to use my sleep sack (a kind of sleeping bag made with sheet cloth) to separate myself from the soiled linens. Being one of the only faranjis in a town of 45,000, I was an easy target for guides, tuk-tuk drivers, shoe-shine boys, and adolescents asking for alms. I went with the first licensed guide I could find, an ambitious fellow named Sisay. Eager for income, Sisay suggested I lock up my cell and leave with him to see the ancient ruins of Axum in five minutes. Eager to evacuate my hovel of a hotel, I heartily obliged.
You wouldn’t know it by its current role as a faraway desert outpost, but 2000 years ago, Axum was the capital of the greatest empire on the continent. This is the reason why I came. When I was in high school, the late Milton T. Caldwell, my Afro-Centric World History teacher, once forced me to write a long paper on the Axumites. He made a big difference in not only my perspective of History, but in the lives of many of his students. I couldn’t help but think that somewhere, the spirit of Caldwell was smiling on me wandering the fields of gigantic granite columns in the heart of his “Mother” Africa. The obelisks, known as stelae, the largest of which stands over 70 feet tall and weighs 360 tons, date from pre-Christian times, and sit atop mysterious tombs discovered only in 1974, most of which remain unexcavated. It is truly the last great ancient civilization to be revealed to modern humankind.
Even before the Kingdom of Axum, the city is reputedly the hometown of the biblical Queen of Sheba, and Ethiopians fervently believe that a son produced by her and Solomon of Old Testament fame brought the Ark of the Covenant from Israel to reside here. The Church of Saint Mary of Zion is where it is kept, making it the holiest site bar none in Ethiopian Christendom. But, we’ll get to that later.
After visiting the “bath” of the Queen of Sheba (which is a large cistern used by locals to collect water), Sisay took me for lunch at his favorite hangout, which proudly serves fresh beef from cattle slaughtered daily that hang behind the counter. I had a delicious pot of tibs, which is grilled meat and onions served in a sizzling pot fueled by wood charcoal, along with injera bread and some hot spices for dipping. Over lunch, we discussed touring options for tomorrow. While he tried his best to convince me to make a two-day excursion that was beyond my budget, we finally compromised with a single-day sojourn to the monastery of Debre Domo. Satisfied with his successful sale, Sesay told me he wanted to take me out for drinks later, but since I wasn’t ready to stop sightseeing, would leave me in the hands of his protégé, a good-natured 14 year-old with a good command of English named Natismendi, Nati for short.
Nati took me around the Saturday market, full of people hawking everything from teff grain for injera to camels for caravans. While Sesay seemed somewhat jaded with his lot in life, Nati was so kind-hearted that it was hard not to want to help him out. I asked him if he’d ever been to Debre Domo, and he said he had not. Knowing that there would be plenty of room in the minibus, I told him if he made it to my hotel in the morning, he was welcome to tag along. That evening, Sisay took me bar-hopping in the center of town. Overall, it was a decent time, mostly just drinking beer and grooving to the DJs blasting Ethiopian tunes. The pop music here is hard to explain, but the songs have a similar sound: A Latin-like rhythm, featuring repetitive horn, synthesizer, or woodwind flourishes throughout, with almost Arabian vocals, including women shouting the “Hah-la-la-la-lah” trill commonly heard in Palestinian newsreel sound-bites. The denouement of the ditty is often punctuated by additional counter-time handclaps that come off as out-of-time. Personally, I’ve found it to be quite addictive, regardless of its unfamiliar nature. After such a long day and night, it made it easier for me to crash in my repulsive room. Waking up, I was slow to move, and Sesay was sleeping it off, but both Nati and the Minibus were waiting on me as scheduled, and despite a delay from a bicycle race, we made it out to Debre Domo in about four hours.
Seeing the Debre Domo Monastery was one of the most incredible moments of my life. Because of its remote location near the Eritrean frontier, it’s not a place many faranjis get to see, and a place no woman has ever seen, as females are off-limits. Debre Domo was founded atop an enormous mesa (called an amba by Ethiopians) soaring above the surrounding plain. In Lonely Planet, they tell you that the monks pull you up with a rope, and Sesay told me that they equip you with a safety harness, but neither is true. In fact, you make the 100-foot climb up a 90-degree wall clinging to a worn-out leather braid on your own, although a monk that weighs less than 100 pounds holds on to a frayed strap at the top, which fails to give me you a false sense of security. Seeing the ascent ahead of me, I almost chickened out, but after four hours in a van (and paying to get there) I cast my fears aside, said a little prayer and made the climb to the top. It took Nati a little while, but eventually he made it up too. Adrenalin pumping through my veins, I had to sit down and take a few deep breaths before entering the monastery.
Postponing any concerns about rappelling back down, I explored the fascinating grounds. Some 80 monks (and boys training to become “deacons” then priests) live on the island in the sky. Although they have power running up to the mesa, their only lifeline is the rope I nervously climbed, and other cables used to hoist livestock and supplies from the desert floor. Otherwise, they are entirely self-sufficient, using large pools carved from the rock to store rainwater, and growing or raising their own food. It is an amazing place. Nati and I were taken around by a couple of young deacons to see the ancient church (the oldest in Ethiopia, actually) with its priceless artifacts, cave tombs, and the meditation spot of the monastery’s founder, one of the nine “saints” who brought the Gospel to Ethiopia from Syria in the 4th Century. According to legend, Saint Abuna Aregawi tamed a giant serpent and used it to make the initial ascent to the top. Considering what an inaccessible spot it’s in, it’s hard to believe there isn’t any truth to the tale.
Once I’d mustered the strength to make the initial free jump to the rope, my way down was easier than my way up, walking along the cliff wall while clinging tightly to the cord. Still, I made a little prayer of thanks to have gotten safely off of the mountain. We made a pit stop at the pagan ruins of Yeha, the birthplace of Ethiopia’s first civilization, but after Debre Domo, the weathered stones surrounded by scaffolds simply could not compete. We also went through Adwa, site of what may have been the greatest battle in Africa. It was in Adwa in 1896 that Emperor Menelik II managed to lead a force of infighting factions to band together against the Italian army. Though both sides lost the same amount of men, the field remained with the Africans, thereby making Ethiopia the only country on the continent kept out of the hands of European colonizers. While there wasn’t much to do there, it’s nice to know that I’ve seen the battlefield every schoolchild in Ethiopia knows about.
I’d reserved my next day solely for the purpose of seeing the home of the Ark of the Covenant. Although there is a large church and a museum on site, the small building containing the Ark is absolutely off-limits to everyone, except for one virgin priest who remains steward of the tabernacle for the duration of his life. I had the pleasure of meeting Michael, the jeans and t-shirt wearing priest next in line to take on this incredible position. After getting a picture with him, I told him that if I come back to Ethiopia after he’s assumed his most holy role, I expect a VIP tour of the tabernacle. He laughed, as if to say “Yeah, right” and told me that even the one holy man in charge cannot touch the Ark itself, because it is simply “too powerful”. Whether or not you believe that the Ark of the Covenant is in Ethiopian possession, or even exists at all, it’s hard not to be moved by the spiritual fervor of the people in and around Axum.
After my visit to the Church of St. Mary of Zion, I went to the Commercial Bank to exchange some traveler’s cheques. Usually a painless process in other parts of the world, I had to return in two hours after lunch break in Addis, so that the bank manager could call the head office and confirm the validity of the checks. Then, I waited for another hour before my transaction was finally approved. Interestingly, the bank I spent the rest of my day in was the site of the first TPLF revolutionary operation…a robbery that bankrolled the fight that led to the independence of Eritrea in 1991.
With some more birr in my pocket, I asked Nati if there was anything his mother could use from a nearby shop. He selected a $2 can of vegetable shortening. We talked about World Geography on the walk back toward my hotel. He told me he likes to collect coins and wants to go to China someday. I told him to wait outside of my hotel for a moment, and went up to my room where I remembered I had some change from countries on my visit that couldn’t exchange when I left. When I came back down, I gave him a few coins for his collection from India, Thailand, and of course, China.
To be honest, I’ve had a love/hate relationship with this place. I don’t like the complete cutoff from communication with my loved ones back home, the fact that most things are either worn-out or don’t work here, and the incredibly frustrating attention from people (particularly children) asking for money. But, there are things I’ve seen and done here that just can’t be done anywhere else, and Axum is the kind of adventurous destination I’ve always dreamed of visiting at least once in my life.
