An Ethiopian Easter
In an effort not to become closed and rigid I decided to celebrate Easter, untouched by God in 31 years I thought if I'm going to have an imaginary friend anywhere, Ethiopia would be the place. According to the Ethiopians this country was Christian before the Armenians, they believed in God before the Jews and the Zoroastrians because the Garden of Eden was in Ethiopia, Adam and Eve were Ethiopians. Apparently in Genesis the Garden of Eden is located at the source of the Nile, forget about Burundi, Uganda and all the competing claims, the source of the Blue Nile is in Ethiopia. The Ark of the Covenant is located in Ethiopia, in a Church I'm going to visit. The line of Ethiopian Kings to Haile Selassie, Ras Tafari, is descended from King Solomon, he tricked Queen Sheba into spending a night with him and their illegitimate child made their line. In addition to the mythology there is a scientific argument, the oldest human remains are located in Ethiopia, the missing link, Lucy, is Ethiopian and the Ethiopians look like no one else on earth. Case closed, forget about going back to Europe to find my roots, the only step back from here is to an amoeba.
I spent Easter in Lalibela, a UNESCO site, churches carved out of rock, Africa's Petra, one solid Church, one solid structure, not constructed or built but dug into existence out of rock, connected by tunnels, church after church, not another Christian museum, a testament to a superseded belief, a Christianity alive, full of men and women robed in white entranced in prayer. Ethiopia has a Christianity like no other I've seen, semitic, ritualised, untouched by modernity, unadulterated by Roman or Greek paganism, without a breath of Luther, unpoliticised by American evangelcism, the Soviets or the rest of the world this is Semitic Christianity. Women with tattooed crosses on the foreheads, patterned across their necks, covering their hair like Muslims, the pray eerily Muslimesque, standing to kneeling to standing to kneeling, knees smashing against rock followed by foreheads into stone, arms clasped across their chests in a cross, over and over again, children racing, praying at high speed, the older the slower. Each Church packed with black people clad in white, squeezing to find room for an aerobic prayer, the bible made audible by monks in constant recitation.
On Saturday everyone with reeds wrapped around their heads, dipped in holy water in solidarity with Jesus's crown of thorns. For two months leading up to Easter they fasted, no meat, no sex, no alcohol. A complete fast between Easter Friday and Easter Sunday, not morsel of food, not a drop of water. Broken on Easter Sunday with a carnivorous feast, fused with home made alcohol, beer, a wine made from honey called Tej. I joined in the prayer late on Saturday night, Sunday morning, in a church carved out of stone I stumbled in completely drunk on Tej, slightly high on chat/khat/chad, wearing an orange jacket into the middle of a congregation robed in white, breaking my knees on the rock and head on the floor was easy in my inebriated state, standing up was far more difficult. I could see Jesus, he was painted on the wall in front of me but alas I am still unsaved. I can't help but like the ritual, the link with an ancient past, a glimpse into our history, of how we were, I am glad there are people that keep it alive, that history is not consigned to a museum. A call to prayer at dawn, in Arhmaric, a semitic language, sounding very similar to an Ajan, halal/kosher style eating, no pork, the blood is drained, prayers are said before the animals throat is cut. The old testament is as important as the new. They are pre-Muslim, they did not get it from them, apparently they were Jews before they converted to Christianity in the third century. The line between Judaism, Christianity and Islam is given life here. They say they gave refuge to Mohammad's family when he was expelled from Mecca.
This is Abyssinia, this is the old world, they interlocked with the Pharaohs, the Jews, the ancient civilisations of Mesopotamia. This is the birthplace of coffee, drunk all day, black and sweet, there is the coffee ceremony, drunk, beans roasted, boiled in water and served with excessive amounts of sugar. This is the only coffee I have ever liked, I do not shake, my guts do not burn, my ass does not explode, I just feel a little more awake. This together with chat/khat/chad, a don't know the spelling, its a leaf that half the country is chewing, a new drug for my wasted on a shoestring tour, a mild amphetamine, chewing in the night without a serious drinking session afterwards will lead to a sleepless night. Its effect is subtle, its initial taste awful, after 30 minutes of chewing a lightness, conversation is smoothed into an uninterrupted flow of ideas. Knee breaking unfathomable bus journeys are tension free as the bus winds around unmade mountain roads, dipping and crawling up hills in an unbranded bus with Ethiopians on their first journey vomiting everywhere. These are a people like no where else I have been, this country is completely unique, it is not Africa, I am not too sure if I am in Africa, at first I thought I was between worlds, between continents, ethnicity's, an intersection of culture but then I realised, this place is too ancient to be called a fusion, it is unbelievably diverse because of its antiquity.
There are multiple language families within this country, when placed against the Indo-European family that stretches from Europe to India the extreme diversity is unparalleled. I have seen black people with blue eyes, narrow Chinese style, sometimes nearly white, sometimes jet black but more often a bronze brown, hooked noses, sharp chiseled features, elongated faces, bums are no longer bumpers, West Africa has given way to slimness with curves. They are close to a claim for the most beautiful people on the planet. They eat injara, a staple made from tef, it is pure iron, somewhere between a sour pancake, a muffin, slathered into a plate with food piled on top, torn off in bits to pick up the food. If there is a word for this country it is unique, they have a 13 month year, 12 equal 30 day months plus a 13th month of 5 or 6 days. They will celebrate the year 2000 this September. The time is different, their midnight falls at our 6am. Approaching dusk the entrance to a house is lined with cut grass, incense burnt, the coffee ceremony begins. The country is exceptionally poor, it is difficult to understand why, the land is fertile, the people resourceful yet in towns the taxis are donkeys and wonky carts. They had 2000 years of feudal rule, followed by 15 years of military Communist rule that nationalised all land, still today you only buy the house on top and get a 99 year lease from the government. The current government has been in power for the last 15 years since they defeated the Soviet backed military, they are from the north, they hold elections to be compliant with post cold war norms. A the last election the opposition won, they are now in jail, they sent out international SMS's, now texting is banned, the government has a monopoly on everything, there is one phone company, one internet company, one gas, one electricity, one water and nothing works. Beer is cheaper than water.
