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Rebels from the Tigray region of northern Ethiopia have taken control of the town of Lalibela, a Unesco World Heritage site in the neighboring Amhara region.
Here’s a 2017 report by BBC reporter Jack Barker on Lalibela, home to 13th-century rock-hewn churches and a site sacred to millions of Orthodox Christians that was declared a World Heritage Site in 1978.
Officially Christian since 330 AD, Ethiopia claims to be the oldest follower of this religion in the world.
Although devastated by poverty, faith has remained strong there through the centuries; the medieval rock churches of Lalibela are clear proof of this.
Each of the 11 monolithic structures is dramatically inserted into the mountainous landscape, driven 40 to 50 meters into the ground and perforated with chiseled cross openings to allow sunlight to enter its empty interior.
Who built them
There are various theories around the creation of these extraordinary places of worship.
Some believe that churches were carved by the Knights Templar, Christian crusaders who were at the height of their power in the 13th century when churches were founded. But there is no concrete proof of this.
The most common hypothesis – and the one propagated by the small museum located near the entrance to the churches – is that they were carved under the orders of King Lalibela, Emperor of Ethiopia in the late 12th and early 13th centuries, who visited Jerusalem in 1187 just before the Holy City fell to Muslim forces.
King Lalibela built these churches in the part of Ethiopia on the Jordan River, with the intention of welcoming Christians to a “New Jerusalem”.
However, the museum does not seem to insist on this theory.
Their construction tool display only includes a fragile adze, an ax-shaped tool that King Lalibela’s servants are said to have used to carve churches into the ground.
Even with 900 years of wear and tear on these churches, the tool seems better suited for pulling weeds out of the ground than trimming rocks.
In one night
The thousands of faithful who attend daily services inside churches accept a much more divine explanation: that King Lalibela was aided by an army of angels, who completed the 11 churches in one night.
From a distance, the only sign of these underground temples is the flow of people entering and exiting the crevices.
The visits must be timed for times when congregations are dwindling, using breaks in daily services to agree on the passage, sometimes just wide enough for one person, to lead underground.
With my hand against the wall, I slowly descend into the shadows.
Even between prayer sessions, churches they are never empty.
A group of elderly believers watch me, leaning unsteadily on the prayer sticks, as I undo my hiking boots and add them to the small pile of flip-flops and slippers lying outside.
When I walk into Biete Golgotha Mikael, considered the burial place of King Lalibela himself, the threadbare red carpet hardly obscures the feeling of cold stone under the soles of my feet.
My eyes get used to the darkness and a medieval figure takes shape: it is Saint Peter, imprinted on the wall of New Jerusalem for all eternity.
Most memorable
Narrow passages and tunnels lead me from church to church.
But we are apart. Of the 11 places of worship in the complex, Biete Giyorgis, near the labyrinth of other interconnected churches, is the most memorable.
Its cross shape, perfectly buried in a gentle rocky slope, is crowned with a Coptic cross which can only be seen from above.
Its steep walls have been tanned over the centuries and it plunges 40 meters into the abyss that surrounds it.
Despite its exposure to natural elements, the structure is preserved and graciously survives its nine centuries of existence.
Not all have done so well.
Biete Medhane Alem, considered the largest monolithic church in the world, is protected by a UNESCO metal plate, to prevent further erosion. And the walls of Biete Abba Libanos show alarming cracks.
Noting these signs of decadence, I had doubts about the divine origins of churches: surely If the churches in Lalibela had been built by angels, they would all be in perfect condition.
But coming out of the dug tunnel that led to Biete Giyorgis, I realized that it didn’t matter how they were built.
Far below, a new wave of visitors has passed through the church’s imposing stone doors, lintels smoothed over the centuries.
They descended into the earth, disappearing into the darkness of the monoliths and reappearing, after passing through the structures, to return to the sunlight.
At the edge of the crevasses, the young people helped the old to orient themselves in the sloping paths.
I stood for several minutes watching the seemingly endless stream of pilgrims rise to the surface.
They had faith, and that was enough.
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