Lalibela: Ethiopia’s New Jerusalem

Chapter 8: Lalibela - Ethiopia’s New Jerusalem

Just when I thought I’d seen the worst of Ethiopian roads, we made the drive from Mekele to Lalibela. What should have been a five-hour trip stretched into more than eight.

The road was nothing but mud and ruts. At times, it felt less like driving and more like wrestling the earth itself. And then there were the interruptions:

Military and militia checkpoints.
Herds of cows, donkeys, and goats blocking the way.
Farmers tending their animals right in the middle of the road, moving only when they felt like it.

It was exhausting, frustrating, and at times, absurdly funny. But as soon as we arrived, we were swept into something extraordinary.

We had come just in time for a double celebration: the end of a two-week fasting season and Ashandye, a festival honoring the empowerment of young women. The air pulsed with rhythm—drums, chants, ululations—and everywhere people were dancing. We followed the music into the heart of the gathering, where the streets were lined with goats, chickens, eggs, and fresh produce—offerings for feasts and rituals to come. Crowds filled the square, spilling onto the hillsides. Boys climbed trees for a better view. And then the procession began: priests in golden robes carrying ornate crosses, men in white and red robes, singers and drummers filling the air with cadence, dancers moving in circles, the festival alive with centuries-old tradition.

It was more than a welcome; it felt like being embraced by Ethiopia’s living soul.

The Rock-Hewn Churches – The North-Eastern Cluster

My original motivation for visiting Ethiopia had always been to see the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela, carved directly from volcanic rock in the 12th and 13th centuries. These eleven medieval monolithic churches are sometimes called the “Eighth Wonder of the World,” and together they form a spiritual landscape unmatched anywhere else.

On our first day, we explored the North-Eastern Group of churches:

Bete Medhane Alem (House of the Savior of the World) – the largest rock-hewn church in Lalibela, with massive columns reminiscent of a Greek temple.
Bete Maryam (House of Mary) – considered the oldest church in the complex, rich with carvings and home to a central baptismal pool.
Bete Meskel (House of the Cross) – smaller, elegant, quiet.
Bete Danaghel (House of the Virgins) – built in memory of martyred virgins, deeply sacred in its simplicity.
Bete Golgotha and Bete Mikael – twin churches with exquisite reliefs of saints and angels. Tradition holds that King Lalibela himself is buried here.
Bete Bethlehem (House of Bread) – uniquely shaped like a beehive, accessible only through a tunnel.

Getting to Bete Bethlehem was unforgettable. We crawled through a pitch-dark tunnel, narrow and winding, using our hands to feel the way forward. Emerging into the sanctuary felt like a rebirth—light flooding the chamber, the sound of prayers echoing softly against the stone.

What struck me most was not just the spiritual resonance of these spaces, but the astonishing precision of their engineering. Some pillars were plain and solid, while others were intricately carved into crosses. It was artistry, faith, and ingenuity combined—stone transformed into eternity.

The Monastery of Ne’akuto Le’ab

The next day, we ventured to St. Ne’akuto Le’ab Monastery, a lesser-known but atmospheric site just outside Lalibela. Unlike the clustered churches, this monastery is carved into a cave-like recess in the mountainside. Water trickled down the rock face, creating a quiet, meditative ambiance.

The church itself was small and modest, undergoing construction, yet inside it carried the same sense of timeless devotion. I captured one of my favorite photographs here—the rough-hewn stone, faint light, and a palpable sense of faith carved into the earth itself.

The Crown Jewel – Bete Giyorgis (St. George)

And then came the highlight: Bete Giyorgis, or the Church of St. George.

If Lalibela is the “New Jerusalem,” then St. George is its crown jewel. Unlike the clustered churches, St. George stands apart—carved deep into the ground in the shape of a perfect Greek cross. From above, it looks as if it were pressed gently into the earth by a divine hand. Its walls rise directly from the rock trench, a masterpiece of both devotion and design.

Descending the narrow path into its courtyard felt like entering another world. The air grew cooler, the bustle of Lalibela fell away, and suddenly I was face to face with one of the most iconic sacred spaces in Africa. Inside, the church is simple, almost austere—but its simplicity magnifies its power.

To stand in St. George, after having dreamt of it for years, was one of the defining moments of my journey. I came seeking history, architecture, and beauty—but what I found was something deeper. In its silence, St. George felt alive, still resonating with the prayers of generations.

Lalibela was more than a destination—it was a pilgrimage of its own. From the festivals that pulsed with music and devotion to the quiet sanctity of the rock-hewn churches, I felt drawn into something timeless. These were not monuments to the past, but living spaces of faith, where history and spirit meet in stone.

Standing in St. George, I realized Lalibela was not just about marveling at architecture or witnessing tradition—it was about being reminded that faith, creativity, and endurance can carve the impossible into reality. Lalibela is, in every sense, a New Jerusalem: a place where earth and heaven meet.

Conclusion

As my journey across Ethiopia came to a close, I kept returning to the country’s slogan: “The Land of Origins.” At first, it felt like clever branding. But after walking its roads, meeting its people, and standing in awe before its history and landscapes, I realized it is something far deeper — a truth you can feel everywhere you go.

In Addis Ababa, Lucy and Selam reminded me that the origins of humanity are written in Ethiopia’s soil. In Tis Abay, the roaring waters of the Blue Nile revealed the origins of civilizations downstream, nourished for millennia by this river’s flow. In the Simien Mountains, jagged peaks and wild vistas spoke of the Earth’s raw beginnings, a landscape untouched and eternal. Gondar’s castles recalled the origins of empire, Axum’s stelae and relics carried the origins of faith and civilization, and Lalibela’s rock-hewn churches revealed the origins of devotion carved into living stone.

Even in daily life, Ethiopia’s origins ripple outward — in the farming of teff, an ancient grain that still sustains families; in the coffee ceremony, where the world’s favorite drink first took root; and in the rhythms of communities that preserve traditions passed down through centuries.

Ethiopia is not just where things began. It is where they continue — where origins are still alive, still shaping lives, and still inspiring wonder. Traveling here is not simply a trip through a country; it is a journey back to the beginning of us all.