ETHIOPIA


THERE ’S AN INTERNAL BAT T L E R AGING INS IDE ME: ON ONE S IDE, MY INNER SU RV I VA L I ST IS T RY ING TO MA KE ME TU RN BAC K WHI LE THE ADRENA LIN- F U ELLED F IGHTER URGES ME ON. HE AD AND HE A RT ARE IN TU RMOI L .


This is the part I call ‘too late to turn back’. Stretched flat like a starfish across a sheer rock face, I edge onwards, patting my hand along the wall to find the next hand grip, seeking a dash of comfort in the fact that it’s well worn — this route has been moulded by those who came before me. I’m but one of thousands who’s tackled the


climb to Abuna Yemata Guh, which is itself one of a hundred or so rock-hewn churches hidden in northern Ethiopia’s rugged Gheralta Mountains. I’m following in the handholds of pilgrims and climbers; locals and travellers. Only the devoted would tackle this. I’ve just got to have a little faith, I tell myself — that’s what spurs everyone else on, aſter all. “We’re crazy in Ethiopia,” Tewe, my guide,


PREVIOUS PAGES: Sandstone mountains in Tigray region; priest at Abuna Yemata Guh CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: View from Korkor Lodge; skull marking the entrance to a burial chamber; Daniel Korkor church; Tewe hiking along the riverbed


yelps as he clambers higher and higher. Perhaps he is. As the head of the Gheralta Guides Association in nearby Megab, he oſten does this climb twice a day. Several feet below him, meanwhile, I pause to breathe — something I’m increasingly forgetting how to do as we climb — and continue my ascent. Though regular visitors clamber up with


ease, travellers oſten climb this rock face wrapped in ropes and harnesses. However, Tewe has deemed me ‘young’ and ‘fit’ — something I rebuke as having no link to my climbing prowess, nor my courage. So, I’m freeclimbing under the watchful eye of a group of very patient scouts who point out the next handgrip, then foothole, then


handgrip again until, aſter a few precipitous boulders at the top of the rock face, the most hazardous section of ascent is over. Now there’s just a narrow walkway


between me and the church. Faith must be what propels people at this stage too. On one side, centuries-old sandstone worn smooth by passing hands; on the other, a sheer drop to the valley below. Tewe walks ahead unaided, unfazed. Just behind him, I cling to the wall like a gecko, shuffling timidly along the sheer pass. But my persistence is paying off.


Stretching out before me are views of the Gheralta Mountains and the flat plains that sprawl at their feet — a dusty landscape that’s oſten likened to the red desertscapes of the southern United States. Two hours away is Mekele, the nearest city and regional capital, but until then there’s nothing but vast, empty, unspoilt wilderness. Further south in Ethiopia, Lalibela — with


its rock-hewn churches believed to date to the 12th and 13th centuries — is better known partly as it’s more accessible. Here in Tigray, in northernmost reaches of the country, however, only the determined reach these churches, hidden away in the mountains like ancient treasures. But of all Tigray’s rock-hewn-churches,


Abuna Yemata Guh steals the show, its reputation as one of the most inaccessible well earned. I’ve climbed up to three churches so far in this region, but none has


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