Tuesday, December 15th, 2009

by Liya Endale

EA4C Guest Blogger

Observing social Ethiopian-American phenomena does not end on American soil. As any member of the Ethiopian Diaspora can attest, my first trip back home after a long absence was one of the greatest learning experiences of my life. Through a comedic procession of social mistakes which would have mortified anyone else, I learned about daily life in my homeland. No matter how many stories you hear or how many shady video tapes you watch of Gash so and so’s wedding, you will not truly get the experience until you go home again. Today, I will share one such occurrence which stands out in my mind only because I hardly get embarrassed and to hopefully make you smile…at my expense.

 Though I am not religious myself, I am quite captivated with religion. I love the customs and traditions that vary so widely. Some sing and dance, some teach of somber and disciplined ways of life, some chant and meditate, and some speak in another language even they don’t understand. It is a luxurious privilege that I can observe these traditions while maintaining a freedom to choose to participate in none or all of them.

Well, going back home to Ethiopia for the first time, I realized this luxury translates into social humiliation because religion and culture know no division in certain places; and there seems to be a correlation between this fact and antiquity of these places.  As a citizen of Ethiopia it is assumed that you know the basic practices of Islam and Christianity simply because these two religions make up the culture. Even if you go to “Burger Queen” you may be asked if you are fasting that day to determine which menu you receive. If you have a large gathering you know to have a Muslim and a Christian preparing food differently for the guests, if not- you might as well put a curse on them.

We were visiting the 8th wonder of the world, Lalibela- this place that has a series of 11 churches, centuries old, carved into the ground made of the hardest volcanic rock I ever imagined. It took twenty years to carve these churches that are connected through an intricate series of underground tunnels- in the 12th century! (http://www.sacred-destinations.com/ethiopia/lalibela.htm).

Anyway, this isn’t a history lesson (but please visit the site if you’re interested). The point is, I grew up in American churches where we had contests about random Bible versus, and the real prize was eating doughnuts in front of the losing team the next Sunday and the real lessons were never carried over into the “real world”. I remember getting angry at my Bible class teacher because she divided the class into a boys team and a girls team and helped us scheme up ways to make the boys jealous of us winners. “I don’t understand how we win a contest because we memorize the teachings of Christ just to be given a chance to scheme against the losers. What happened to WWJD? Have we really replaced to true prize of learning the way of Christ with doughnuts?” Yep, that was me in the 4th or 5th grade. What can I say, some of us actually digress throughout life. I can’t explain it; just the way it is sometimes.

Back to the story at hand- I was slowly making my way in and out of these immaculate churches, following our guide in my oversized Tommy Hilfiger sweatshirt and baggy pants, desperately trying to keep up with his 90 word-a-minute Amharic about the history, the architecture, the legend, the miracle of this place that is still inhabited by practicing Christian Orthodox priests. Soon, I accidentally found myself in some sort of blessing line before a Priest wearing a long, intricately detailed robe and carrying the famous Lalibela cross; a metal, sometimes wooden, cross so elaborately designed with symbolic details that the final product (commonly made into earrings and necklaces) is easily mistaken for a snowflake in America. I didn’t have time to think when my sister and I were standing face to face with the Holy man himself. I still don’t know what happened or what was supposed to happen or if what was supposed to happen was what happened. All I know is that I was prayed over, got smacked in the face a couple of times with his cross and likely made some egregious error by doing nothing at all. I stood there utterly confused, blinking profusely and flinching only at the swat of Holy metal to my forehead- left to ponder the meaning of my blessed encounter with an Orthodox Priest.

This blog submission was written by Liya Endale.  The views of guest bloggers are not the views of Ethiopian-Americans for Change.  Guest bloggers represent the broad dissection of views and outlooks within our community.