Those amazing cave churches of lalibela
About 400 miles from Addis is the town of Lalibela, whose airport terminal in 1966 was a tin-roofed shack. Here in the thirteenth century king lalibela he ordered the construction of twelve monolithic churches. His intention was to build (and hide underground) a ‘New Jerusalem’ after Muslim conquests halted Christian pilgrimages to the Holy Land. Unlike pyramids built from quarried blocks of stone, these medieval churches were carved out of solid living rock by skilled craftsmen.
Originally hidden deep underground, the churches remain holy Ethiopian Orthodox Christian pilgrimage sites. More accessible to today’s pilgrims, I had to crawl on my hands and knees to reach an underground darkness. Once there, I was transported to the Middle Ages. In the dim shadows, a priest stood holding a torch in front of an altar surrounded by well-preserved religious wall paintings. It looked like he had been standing there for 500 years! The monks tell you that the Ark of the Covenant is similarly hidden in a monastery in the ancient kingdom of axum, where Queen Sheba lived among the obelisks in the 10th century BC. A mighty empire in northern Ethiopia, axum it played a vital role in international trade from the first century to the latter part of the first millennium (100-940 CE). Ethiopia is indeed the old land of legends that Indy Jones missed.
Crocodile hunters from the Baro River (Ethiopia-Sudan border)
Although we spend considerable time at work or on the embassy tennis courts, how long can you stay in a place that has a nightclub, no streetlights and hyenas lurking in the shadows? My friend Alan was a correspondent for the Associated Press in Addis and we used to go backpacking. When he learned that two Yugoslav brothers, Alek and Jan Rankoviç, hunted crocodiles in the Baro River for a living, he thought it would be a good story and a fun trip. Ravenous jaws of hyenas and jaws of snapping fangs are not my idea of fun. But Alan’s considerable persuasion convinced me to join him and Joe Frankel, a US trade agent, on a safari to the South Sudan-Ethiopia border. Two Ethiopian friends from my office joined us. Relatively quiet in 1965, today our embassy will advise you not to go there.
Ethiopian Airlines pilots could take off and land on plateaus the size of postage stamps. Armed with malaria pills and insect repellent, we flew in one of their twin-engine DC-3s packed with farmers, chickens and goats, from Addis Ababa at 8,000 feet, to a low plateau where a Land Rover waited to take us further down to the Baro tropical river. Two Peace Corps volunteers had worked in a nearby town. They knew the river was infested with crocodiles and were repeatedly warned not to swim there. When they disappeared we knew how to pay attention to the warning sign. Despite the humid tropics: No swimming!
The dance
On our first night after dining around a huge fire, we had unexpected guests. Shepherds and farmers, the anuak tribe are a nilotic luo ethnic group that has inhabited parts of eastern Africa and the upper Nile for centuries. They filtered into our little circle until we were surrounded by 25 or 30 curious bluish-black naked bodies covered in ghostly white ash. The Rankoviç brothers had invited them to dance for us. In the flickering light of the fire they began to drum and play their primitive instruments while moving their bodies very slowly to the rhythm of the music. As the rhythm became faster and the dance more erotic, they raised a cloud of white ash and dust that settled on all of us. One of the women broke away from her African chorus, she removed a large thick ivory bracelet from her forearm and slipped it over mine, up to and above my elbow. I don’t like animal ivory, but to refuse the gift would have been an insult.
The following night we were invited to accompany the brothers on a crocodile hunt. That morning they had given us a tour of their warehouse. The spectacle of hundreds of corpses hung up to dry scared me. But everyone was going and I didn’t want to stay alone in the camp.
The hunt
It was dark on the river when we got into several small boats, just us humans and the bugs. I noticed that the hunters had razor sharp teeth that made them look ferocious. They carried lanterns and thick, heavy clubs. Soon the river was filled with crocodiles attracted by the lanterns. The lights hypnotized the animals long enough for the men to poke them between the eyes. After stunning the animals, they shot them once so as not to damage the hides. The scene was bloody and nauseating and I vomited over the side of the boat. Although crocodiles are not my favorite wildlife, it was too much for my stomach. I have always regretted witnessing such mercenary slaughter, which today in Africa has reached unimaginable proportions among all animal species.
Last night, sleeping on our cots, I was awakened by a strange, monotonous hum. Through the mosquito net I saw two anuak men in ornate headdresses sitting by a small fire. They were singing and throwing amulets into the flames. Alan had also heard them when he reached out his hand to mine. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “They are healers sending us protection for a safe journey home.” And that was.