Editor’s note: This is Part I of a two-part series on one Kauaian’s journey to the heart of a religion in the Horn of Africa. Part II will run Sunday. “Gabriela, Gabriela, Gabriela,” echoes through the streets of Bahar Dar,
Editor’s note: This is Part I of a two-part series on one Kauaian’s journey to the heart of a religion in the Horn of Africa. Part II will run Sunday.
“Gabriela, Gabriela, Gabriela,” echoes through the streets of Bahar Dar, Ethiopia, like a mantra. Ticket-takers on four minibuses hang out the open doors yelling “Gabriela, Gabriela, Gabriela” over and over.
I left my hotel in predawn darkness minutes ago and walked to the corner feeling apprehensive about vague directions given to the church where a special service is being held today. I can relax now, not because they are calling my name, rather because the minibuses are competing for business. They will transport hundreds of worshipers to the Saint Gabriel Church. And that’s where I’m headed.
The Archangel Gabriel is honored with a mass on the 28th of each month, but Dec. 28 is a special celebration at the Saint Gabriel Church. It’s one of the few times they remove the replica of the Arc of the Covenant from its sanctuary. The Arc, the most holy object of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, is as strongly revered today, as it was when Christianity was introduced here in the fourth century. It is considered to be the “Holiest of Holies.”
Choosing one of the several rattletrap blue and white vans, I hop on and pay 12 cents (1.25 birr). Once the van fills up with churchgoers, we turn off the main street onto a dirt road bathed in dust-laden dawn light and bounce past white shrouded figures floating ghost-like along the shoulders.
When the van stops, I jump out and join the procession of worshipers who stream towards a round, ochre church on the hill. Although they say nothing to me, I notice that heads snap around when someone catches sight of my face or my feet. I am no taller than many Ethiopians and my head and shoulders are draped with the white shawl (shama in Amharic), but I am the only Caucasian person in the sea of black and brown faces, and I am also wearing strange shoes.
Besides those already inside the church, a few hundred worshipers gather out on the grass and listen to the priest alternatively chant and read from the Bible over loudspeakers. Young men dressed in colorful, ornate robes blossom like giant flowers among the snow-white throngs as they pour holy water from large silver kettles into worshipers’ cupped hands.
A recipient sips a little and then splashes the remainder over his head and shoulders.
The sermon that follows elicits more participation as people clap rhythmically while women intermittently emit high-pitched warbling sounds like Arabic belly dancers. It is only conjecture since I can’t understand a word of the Amharic language, but it seems that worshippers are showing their agreement with the sentiment of the priest, African-style. I am standing way in the back, but I can see that Holy Communion is being celebrated out of doors. Due to one of those “Lost in Translation” misunderstandings, however, I miss viewing the procession where a replica of the Arc of the Covenant is carried around the Saint Gabriel Church. Frustrated, I have to leave early to honor a reservation for a boat trip to the Orthodox monasteries on Lake Tana.
A 3,000-year-old
love story
I am traveling in northern Ethiopia where about 70 percent of people are devout Christians. The Ethiopian Orthodox Church is unique in its Jewish influence with an emphasis put on the Book of Jubilees (Genesis and the first part of Exodus) and veneration for the Arc of the Covenant. Like the Jews, they celebrate the Sabbath on Saturday (as well as Sunday) and don’t eat pork. Ethiopia has a fascinating religious history that documents the introduction of Judaism by the Queen of Sheba when she returned home from her visit to King Solomon in Jerusalem in the 10th century B.C. Judaism replaced the animistic, nature-based religion and is still practiced in Ethiopia by the Falasha people. Due to religious persecution by the government, the majority of Falasha, about 30,000, were airlifted to their new home in Israel by 1991.
The Queen of Sheba with her fleet of 73 ships and a caravan of 520 camels, ruled northern Ethiopia for 31 years. I visited the dusty, dry town of Axum, where I bicycled a mile over a stony dirt road to the ruins of her palace. Standing among the reconstructed rock walls, I looked across the main road where more camels, goats and sheep than vehicles passed and saw dozens of stellae (tall, slender stone monuments) erected almost a thousand years ago to honor dead kings. Encircled by brown hills and mountains, I reflected on the queen’s life and legacy, which, although disputed by some, is believed as gospel truth by all Orthodox Ethiopians.
The Queen of Sheba (distorted from the region’s name, Sabae) traded with places as far away as India. Riding regally on a camel with her caravan, she embarked on a three-year journey to Jerusalem to confer with King Solomon. Some call it a 3,000-year-old love story. As it is told, he tries to seduce the beautiful queen during her stay, but she will have nothing to do with it. When she is ready to return to Ethiopia, the king tricks her into making a promise that leaves her in a compromised situation.
He promises not take anything from her if she takes nothing of his. Then he feeds her an extremely salty farewell dinner without any water. When the queen awakens parched in the middle of the night, the only water she can find is in a jug strategically positioned in King Solomon’s chambers. By drinking the water, he claims that she has broken her promise. The resulting intimate encounter would shape the future of Ethiopia, because as well as bringing Judaism back to Ethiopia, the Queen of Sheba would bear him a son.
The story becomes even more interesting. The young son, 13-year-old Menelik, makes a journey to Jerusalem to gain wisdom from his father. He is fascinated by the Arc of the Covenant, which was built by the children of Israel to hold stone tablets given by God to Moses. Playing a prank as some young men are drawn to, or because he was inspired by a dream, as the legend tells, Menelik snatches the Arc from the king’s temple and pirates it away to Ethiopia. According to Ethiopian belief, the original Arc of the Covenant rests this day under lock and key in a small chapel (Miryam Tsion) in the town of Axum not far from the Queen of Sheba’s palace. Only one priest is assigned to guard the icon. No one else is allowed inside and the priest never leaves the premises. I had to be satisfied with peering over the wall of the compound. Every single Ethiopian Orthodox Church has a replica of the Arc sequestered behind curtains where no one except the priests dare enter. In a few churches, though, I did see a couple of people peel back the curtain just a smidgen, to take a peak. Although I was curious, I did not even consider it.
The source of the Nile, the birth of Christianity
Spending a week in Bahar Dar on Lake Tana, the source of the Blue Nile River, I continue my study of Ethiopian religious history. Boating out across the calm, misty lake, home to flocks of pelicans and other exotic birds, we head toward one of the several islands that support small, medieval monasteries containing 700-year-old religious texts and paintings. We zoom past myriad papyrus skiffs, each with boatmen swinging double-ended paddles rhythmically through the air. These light boats are loaded with firewood gathered on the northern shores, as far as 35 miles away, to sell in Bahar Dar. They look as though they will sink from the weight, but I have been assured that this ancient art of weaving papyrus renders the vessels stable and as watertight as wood. I am surprised when someone points out the papyrus growing along the periphery of the lake. They look like the same slender green stalks with spiky heads that stick out from the marshy banks of the stream in Keapana Valley where I live.
I am disappointed that I will not be visiting the single island monastery that most interests me. It is called Tana Chirkos, the legendary place where it is believed that the Arc of the Covenant was protected for hundreds of years before being moved to Axum in the 4th century A.D. The reason that I can’t visit this monastery is not because of a misunderstanding or bad timing, rather it is simply that women are not permitted there.
The next day, I take an hour-long bus trip to Tis Isat (water that smokes), also called the Blue Nile Falls. A dramatic contrast to Lake Tana the day before, the Blue Nile River plunges over a 200-foot wide black lava rock face and makes its way up through the Sudan and into Egypt. Mesmerized by the power of this thundering mass of water, I find it hard to reconcile that placid Lake Tana is the source of the great Nile River. As I feel the gentle spray from the falls on my face, I reflect on Christianity. It captivated the hearts of these people when it was brought to the shores of Ethiopia more than 1,700 years ago and its peaceful message created a powerful river of devotion that sustains Ethiopian Orthodox Christians today. In a place where farmers still till the soil with a simple wooden plow behind oxen , poverty of this arid region is heartbreaking. But it is clear that while they hold onto physical life by only a fragile thread, an unwavering faith nourishes the spirit of these religious people.
• Gabriela Taylor is the author of “Geckos & Other Guests: Tales of a Kaua‘i Bed & Breakfast.” She lives in Kapa‘a.
