Misadventures in Ethiopia: First Stop, Lalibela

Like most children of the 1980s – courtesy of Band Aid Christmas videos – I envisioned Ethiopia as a drought ridden desert filled with flies, starving children and vultures. What I found was a green landscape of dramatic mountains and jagged valleys intersected by the winding Blue Nile River. Despite being impressed by the beauty of the place – it’s tough to beat watching a golden sunset from a remote, ancient mountain top village while orthodox chants echo through the hills – this was my hardest trip to date. It didn’t get off to the best start, and I’m not sure it ever really improved. The history was also impressive but overshadowed by the horrific behaviour of Ethiopia’s ‘men’, a term I use loosely since they behave more like rutting dogs in heat. I’ve hacked the Mediterranean, Asia, South America, even the Middle East. But none of these places, with the exception of Egypt, even comes close to the level of harassment I experienced here. Straight up – for travelling women, Ethiopia is horrifically bad.

 

There is nothing quite like travelling in deeply patriarchal Africa to turn you into a raging feminist. Why is it that the more religious a society (Ethiopia is orthodox Christian), the worse the women are treated and the more depraved the male behaviour? If there is one struggle I have faced above all others while living here it is learning to accept other cultures with which I so utterly disagree. The treatment of women in many African societies is heartbreaking. Not to generalize, but it is pretty standard that women on this continent work very hard all day, rush home to make the dinner, then clean the house until late in the night – oh, and they also raise the children. The men meanwhile are down at the local Shibeen drinking away whatever is left of the woman’s hard-earned money, all day and night long… that is when they’re not busy harassing (or straight up stalking) female passer bys on the streets. I have never been propositioned for sex so much in my life. It was revolting. Keep reading because it gets even better. 

As I said previously my trip here started oddly, a trend that was to continue throughout. Having done my research as I always do, I expected functioning ATMs to be few and far between and Visa facilities non existent. The advice was to bring foreign cash because Bir are unavailable outside Ethiopia. So I brought a stack of Rand, assuming that Africa’s major currency would be accepted in a city that was, you know, home to the African Union. Imagine my surprise when I learned in the airport at midnight that no banks or foreign exchanges accept Rand in Ethiopia. Not the national bank, not the airport exchange. Luckily I had $20 USD in my pocket which covered the cost of my entry visa. So the first crisis upon arrival was dealing with a stack of useless foreign currency as my only means of payment for a ten day stay. This was magnified by the fact that my flight to remote Lalibela, which has no bank, was leaving at 7 am. I couldn’t even try to find my way to a Canadian embassy. A feeling of cold dread washed over me – this was going to be a problem. I decided nonetheless to take my flight to Lalibela and see if there was some way to organize assistance from there. So I hopped on an Ethiopian airlines propeller plane and flew over many jagged mountain ranges to the small mountain village that houses the 3^rd century UNESCO rock hewn churches.  

 At the tiny Lalibela airport, touts from local hotels jockeyed to snare guests with promises of free rides into town. Seeing as I had no money, I decided to play along. As we bumped along the dirt road it dawned on me just how deep into Africa I was. We passed shepherds in traditional dress and livestock rather than cars ruled the road. We had to stop for mid road bull fights at least twice. I eventually arrived at my hotel, which featured a beautiful mountain view, a toothless old man who read hilarious phrases to me from his English book, and a concrete bathroom with a rusted metal door and a toilet that only flushed via a jug of water (this is the case pretty much everywhere in Ethiopia; amazing how fantastic flushing toilets become when they’re scarce). I decided to head into the village to find the one foreign exchange/phone booth/internet cafe and whatever else it doubled as. The village is pretty steep, everything is an uphill hike – Addis Ababa is the world’s highest capital, and Lalibela is 4000 metres above sea level. As I wound my way through the city streets the harassment started, many local men mistaking me for Asian…and here we go again. About 80% of people wore orthodox Christian robes and few wore anything resembling western wear. Apparently clothing was optional anyway as one man strolled past me wearing a cropped t-shirt and nothing on the bottom – not even underwear, just full junk on display. I’m not really sure why he bothered with a crop top? On the one hand I wanted to take a photo, on the other I didn’t want to get caught looking and I certainly didn’t want to have to try explain why I was taking a photo of his crotch. The latter sentiment won out.

 After a lengthy hike I found the multi purpose foreign exchange… which refused to exchange my Rand. As I stood debating whether to cry or have a tantrum a friendly British couple approached, seeing my obvious distress and offered assistance. They, angels that they were, exchanged a large sum of Bir with me – effectively saving my ass. I also managed to send on the world’s slowest internet connection an SOS email to my parents and boyfriend. Turns out it’s quite upsetting for parents when their remaining child is having problems in remote reaches of Africa. Later that day as the sun set over the mountains I listened to the religious chanting reverberate from the ancient churches carved into the hills around me. It felt quite surreal to be where I was – so foreign, so exotic. Despite all the trouble, I felt like an adventurer.

The next day I awoke to the sound of chanting at sunrise. I hadn’t slept all that well because as with most accommodation in Ethiopia my hotel turned out to be flea ridden. Anyway, I was excited to start my tour of the famous rock churches of Lalibela. I had seen photos and travel shows about the area for years and was thrilled to finally make the trek myself. Built in the 3^rd century by King Lalibela and inspired by his pilgrimages to the holy land, there are twelve churches as well as many monasteries and caves in the surrounding countryside. The most famous of the churches is Saint George which appears from the top as a giant cross. Nobody really knows how the churches were built since they were carved out of solid rock and the technology to do this shouldn’t have existed in 3 AD. Angels are credited but as for a more earthly cause, this remains under debate. As per recommendations I hired one of the official guides to show me the churches. A deacon, I assumed his religious standing would ensure me a harassment free day. No such luck. Instead he inundated me with constant offers of sexual services – he wanted to help me ‘relax’ (maybe he could tell I had just finished final exams??), and numerous pleas ensued that I cheat on my boyfriend with HIM, because after all my boyfriend would never know and besides, European girls ‘like sex with the black man and never go back to white men after they’ve tried it’. By the end of the day he was ‘in love with me’. I want to know if there really are European women who take up losers like this on their offers, inadvertently exposing all white female travellers to these sex pests.

The churches themselves are really spectacular – magnificent even. They are spread throughout Lalibela, into Northern, Southern and Eastern clusters, all with slightly different features. The closest thing I can think of is Petra, although they aren’t quite on Petra’s level. Inside, they are covered with old religious paintings and images of black Jesuses and Marys. Shoes must be removed before entering each building but the wet dog scented carpets within are, yet again, completely flea ridden. For protection I brought all of our mismatched single socks and wore three at a time, throwing them away as I went. Each church also had a dedicated priest who immediately wanted ‘donations’ to his personal pocket. Sadly for me some of the churches did not allow women to enter. I spent the whole day exploring and really enjoyed it, until my charming tour guide dumped me off in a township area surrounded by shacks, with some teenager who spoke no English and gave me seriously weird vibes. Everyone was staring and yelling because there was no way tourists show up in those parts. Of course they wanted to sell me things.

The next day I decided to explore on my own because I couldn’t handle another day of deacon sponsored creepiness. As I made my way up the hill I was again pestered endlessly. I decided I needed a break and so went for lunch at the one tourist friendly hotel and café at the very top of town. I must confess I was already mentally exhausted from the first two days which had left me feeling lonely, harassed and stressed. So, it really made my day when a group of American diplomats from the US embassy in Addis motioned for me to join them. They bought me lunch then made a concerted attempt to scare off some of the creeps who were loitering around the entrance awaiting my exit. To Matt and company, I remain eternally grateful. After lunch I retraced my route from the day before, stopping to take photos along the way. I had to walk through the countryside to reach the furthest churches – I was so enjoying the peace and quiet when I noticed a man in the bushes, following me. Naturally, this made me nervous. Every time I would stop, so too would he. I decided that I had better turn around as there was no one else around and even if there was, I doubted they would help me. Of course he kept following me – eventually he caught up. Turns out he just wanted to proposition me for sex in the bushes.  By this point, riddled in bites, it was tough to determine if the fleas or the men were the bigger pests.

 

I spent the rest of my time in Lalibela exploring the town, sampling the local food, and drinking Ethiopian coffee which they prepare for you in a coffee ceremony. Along with the churches, the coffee proved another highlight – it tastes incredible but really packs a punch. Needless to say, the local coffee houses were teeming with leering men, if there was a woman she was only there to make the coffee. I can’t say I was sorry to leave after four days of this.