Ethiopia: The Italian Road to Axum

Chapter 5: The Italian Road to Axum - History, Cliffs & Checkpoints 

The night before our journey, our guide warned us: tomorrow’s drive would be long, but beautiful. “Very scenic,” he added with a smile. I nodded, imagining rolling hills and dramatic cliffs. What I didn’t know was just how much “long” and “beautiful” could mix with tension, fear, and exhilaration.


The road from Debark to Axum, carved by the Italians through the cliffs of Limalimo, twists like a ribbon laid by hands that dared the impossible. It’s often called one of Ethiopia’s most scenic drives, but beauty here is inseparable from danger. Narrow switchbacks cling to cliffs, sheer drops disappear into fog, and checkpoints — military and militia alike — turn the road into a test of nerves, patience, and trust.


We hadn’t gone far before reality struck. Soldiers with stone faces and rifles halted us at the checkpoint. Our driver and guide spoke quietly with the soldier, their exchange serious. Seeing our unease, our guide leaned back and whispered, “They’re checking the road.”


A few kilometers later came another stop — but this time, it wasn’t the military. It was militia. Young men in mismatched uniforms, rifles casually slung across their shoulders, demanding money. Our guide reluctantly handed some over, hoping it would cover the next stop. Ahead, more “non-official” checkpoints awaited us, each one a reminder of the uncertainty of this journey.


As if armed checkpoints weren’t enough, the weather turned against us. A thick fog wrapped itself around the mountains, smothering visibility until the world outside vanished.


The road twisted and turned along cliffs so high I couldn’t guess their height. With nothing but mist outside my window, I had no idea what lurked beyond the edges — and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. The van crept forward, each turn a gamble. 



From time to time, the fog broke just enough to reveal a waterfall plunging from a cliff, its roar breaking the mountain silence. With no other vehicles in sight, our driver gladly stopped so we could capture the moment. Then the journey resumed — zigzag after zigzag, each hairpin turn a fresh test of my nerves. 


Hours later, the fog lifted completely.  The mountains stretched out before us, valleys opening between cliffs, hills rolling out in endless waves of green. It was magnificent — and yet still dangerous. Rocks tumbled across the road, reminding us that awe and risk often travel together.


Just when I thought the worst was behind us, the road delivered its biggest test. Another checkpoint — this time, not soldiers. 30 - 40 militia appeared out of nowhere. They seemed more like boys than men, rifles slung across thin shoulders, their mismatched uniforms paired with the trendy white gel sandals so common in Ethiopia.


They swarmed the van, voices sharp, faces hard. Our driver and guide negotiated in low tones, the tension thick in the air. Then our guide leaned back and said flatly, “They want a ride.”


We protested. It didn’t feel acceptable. But the decision had already been made. One by one, about twenty of them climbed onto the roof, clutching their weapons as the van lurched forward. My heart hammered with every bump in the road.

Photo taken by our driver

When we reached the next village, they hopped off casually, melting into the crowd as if they’d never been there. We sat stunned in silence. 


The village was a scene of its own. Men and women in flowing white robes gathered by the roadside. Donkey carts rattled past. Children and livestock darted across the road, each one dodging the potholes like seasoned travelers. Our guide explained that the people were on their way to church.

From there, the road pressed on, battered with loose rocks and broken pavement, but always framed by breathtaking scenery. As if the mountains never left our sight, valleys stretched wide beneath the cliffs and rolled into waves of endless green, and the rhythm of Ethiopia — ancient, beautiful, and unflinching — surrounded us.

By the time we finally reached Axum, I was exhausted, but also humbled. The Italian Road had tested every nerve I had, yet it also revealed something undeniable about Ethiopia: this is a land where contrasts coexist. Beauty and hardship. Fear and wonder. Fragility and resilience.


This road, built by outsiders during the Italian occupation, has become something more than asphalt and switchbacks. It is part of Ethiopia’s story, carved into both mountains and memory.


And that is Ethiopia itself — the Land of Origin. A place where history, struggle, and staggering beauty are inseparable. Where every path is difficult, but every path leads you deeper into the truth of  the country. 


https://www.instagram.com/reel/DOV2YNJkeXj/?igsh=d2g0NWV2bGx3a2po


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NOTES:

  • All photos by the author except when noted.
  • A permit is required to bring drones or large cameras into the country. This permit can be arranged in advance through the Ethiopian Information Security Agency before your arrival.
  • Without a valid permit, you may be detained at the airport, or your equipment could be confiscated.
  • Photographing military personnel, militias, or military installations (such as bases, camps, or facilities) is strictly prohibited




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