❝At Twelve Degrees North Latitude, I arrived in Lalibela feeling confident. It was my third time landing at the airport, and I thought nothing and no one could disturb me at this point. But I was consciously wrong, and again. I'm not referring to the insurgency still visible after the ceasefire in the serious armed conflict between the Tigray and Amhara regions (November 2022), from the Fano youth militia I mean, but rather the assistant and guide himself who, from Addis, would act as a liaison to find the churches in the surrounding area of famous excavated complex of Lalibela.After all, the plan for this trip to Ethiopia was to finish exploring that unknown group of churches where I left off in the summer of 2024 and to get started on some background articles about The other Lalibela.
Not only did pilgrims come to Lalibela, it was also a big fair with a continuous flow of livestock.
Ali, as the guide was called, was going to be in charge of planning the transport during the week, combining the best route in each case and hiring drivers, locating the sacristan or priest or monk who possessed the keys to the entrance to the temple in each place, if possible before going, serving as an interpreter and avoiding dangers.
The Fano militiamen did indeed stop us three times, at points away from the main road, the one that connects Lalibela with the airport, but at the entrance or exit of villages not too far away, so it neither surprised nor alarmed me, apart from the fact that I had been warned.
It was about small groups of youngsters , somewhere between tense and smiling strangely, blue dresses from the bottom up and mostly of darker skin and dreadlockswho, in the middle of the checkpoint, ask to take photos with the lost white (in Spanish it also means target, malicious polysemy). They kept their loaded rifles slung over their shoulders the whole time, and without saying another word, they let us through. One time I ended up agreeing to the photo op to finish as quickly as possible and arrive on time at our next destination. (I wouldn't be surprised if that photo jumped from their phones to the internet.)
Lije —he preferred to be called that familiarly rather than by his name Ali, as mentioned— arrived in Lalibela, which was his hometown and where his family lived, on a different flight the next day, a small mix-up that caused some misunderstanding with the management of the hotel, Lalibela Hotel, comfortable and centrally located, soon resolved.
At the hotel entrance, I later met Ermiyas and Tesfaye, who would eventually replace Ali, as I will recount in subsequent diary entries. And Aliazar, a name I mistakenly associated with one of the many figures —not just the prophet— who appear in the Bible under the name Eliezer. It turns out he is Lazarus, a Lazarus who has a much more prominent and influential presence in Orthodox Christianity than among Catholics, as the witty kid explained to me. And a few days later, I met Natti, Nathanael's nickname, who would unexpectedly find me to give me rides and pick me up in bajaj —as they call tuk-tuks here—.
Little Lazarus with his sugarcane in front of the hotel.
Lazarus, with the same angelic face and enormous black eyes as the black angels who hang by their strength like clusters of grapes from the painted boards of beautiful coffered ceiling of Gondar, was leading the gang. Determined to clean my hiking boots, I ended up buying them from him an Amharic-English dictionary. It's a very common scam, which I validated by feigning ignorance, after insisting and insisting that he needed it for his school days. They took me to a small cantina thirty steps across from the hotel, where I bargained so much with the owner that reselling the book would end up being a fiasco for Aliazar and his group of friends. That he was motherless and that his father was a musician who played in a restaurant with a view, the Kana Restaurant, where I happened to eat, was partly true.
Actually, he worked more in the kitchen than in music, and, or so she assured me, he was the sole caregiver for her son. Every day, little Lazarus would run to the terrace of the hotel where I was staying, right at breakfast time, and smile, simply smile, until I reached the end and passed him, almost as if we were plotting some illicit activity, pieces of fruit from that morning wrapped in paper napkins. When we said goodbye, he would try hard to communicate in English and, between sentences, would ask me again and again if I understood him.
Lije accompanied me during the hours of celebration of the eve and main day of Gena in the escarpments stark openings around the excavated churches from where one continues the prolonged ceremony of Lalibela.And then we began the planned visits to the surrounding area the next morning, starting with Ymrehanna Krestos.As agreed, we settled the accounts and paid the expenses at the end of the day, with additional costs that were not entirely justified, especially since the itinerary had been shortened and the visit to one of the the two churches of Bilbala. In the afternoon, the forecast for the second day deviated considerably from what had been organized and budgeted, both in terms of price and car, with no justifiable reason other than the fact that the proximity to Christmas unexpectedly drove up prices, leaving no room to react. Lacking an agreement or explanation, Lije would fly to Addis Ababa after collecting the money that afternoon, without appearing too upset.
There was no time for maneuvering, and this is where I have to mobilize Ermiyas and Tesfaye, call on their help, and stick to the initial visit plan. They will drive until the last day, completing the planned tours, turning back to see the randomly excluded church of Bilbala, and then continuing with the rest. Asheten, Gannata, Makina y Neakweto Leab ●
