They say Gondar, Ethiopia, is the Camelot of Africa. Sitting here amidst the ruins of the Kuskuam complex, I can see why. Kuskuam, built in 1730, was the home of Empress Mentewab, whose wobbly skeleton I have just visited by candlelight in the dark tombs of the church. It’s surreal sort of place that belongs in one of those half-faided paintings forgotten in a crumbling cellar beneath the earth. Indeed, the earth itself seems to be reclaiming these ancient ruins; fresh grass and brambles climb their way over and between the crumbling rocks. The soaring towers, once lost to the sky, are now rounded by the wind and rain and melt back down into the hills.
It’s majestically peaceful here. I feel like a solitary empress, at home in an ancient world that smells sweetly of pine and grasses. Around me I can hear the many birds singing in worship to the sun and the cows in the distance contribute to their songs with low moans. Faintly, very faintly, I can hear the sound of prayers being echoed by the soon-to-be monks who reside in the grass huts at the bottom of the hill. It is a place of majesty and worship.
But I am not really alone here. All sorts of birds and butterflies flutter hesitantly towards me, as if to curiously assess the stranger in their midst. I am no bird expert, though I wish I were so I could give you the names of my new-found friends. There are little blue birds with twinkling calls, bigger ones that shimmer bright sea green and sing with a deep-throated gaggle. And then there are those huge ones that sweep down from the trees chasing each other round the towers of the temple.
It took me about an hour to walk here from Gondar, up along a dirt road that winds steeply up the mountain. There is a celebration happening in Gondar today – some sort of national holiday to celebrate the history and culture of Ethiopia. Thousands of people descended on the town square with flags and banners, joined by the army with their guns and batons. I stayed for a while, tried to join in the songs and the marches, but when the pushing and shoving started, I thought it best to leave and find somewhere quiet where I could be alone.
I have not been alone since I arrived in Gondar. The minute I arrived, I was adopted by Fastima, a 12 year old girl who asserted I was her new best friend. I was also befriended by two other young men who insisted on taking me to their hut for a coffee ceremony – an elaborate process whereby coffee beans are roasted, ground and made into three cups of coffee per person. I sat amidst a crowd of friends and family, drinking cup after cup of coffee, while one of the men’s grandmothers showed me how she made cotton reels from raw cotton.
No, I have been befriended by many here Gondar. It is wonderfully welcoming and it warms my heart immensely, but I have also lately been craving some time alone. Here, outside Gondor, at the ruins of the Kuskuan temple, I am finally wrapped comfortably in my own little world of silence.
But oh, wait, here comes my little friend. And my how she talks! How on earth she managed to find me here, I am not sure. Perhaps she asked around for a pale-looking stranger and was guided along.
Oh well, I guess it is time to relinquish my peace and quiet. It was good while it lasted.
