The sharp voices were raining from above while I was trying to regain my composure in a thirteen-meter-deep pit.

Still shaken by a conflict I engaged in, I was holding hands with a 5-year-old in a blue hood, my little human shield against reality. If only this nameless barefoot hobbit could have taken the magic ring out of his pocket and made us invisible!

I wanted to run. Far, far away! Away from an additional confrontation with a group of angry Chinese who wanted to beat the hell out of me. The situation escalated, and the police were about to get involved.

Suddenly, the imposing Church of St. George (Bete Giyorgis), carved out of Ethiopian mountain rock, felt more like a trap than an architectural wonder.

The bright skies above were an easy exit for birds. But for the wingless humans, there was no magical escape route. Without an invisibility cape, all paths out of this underground marvel of Orthodox Christian architecture led towards an ignited Asian bunch.

What seemed to have started as a relaxed Saturday morning of exploring the Lalibela churches, was quickly transforming into a tension-packed nightmare I just wanted to wake up from. Will I really have to go through police questioning now?

My decision to confront the Chinese was an instinctive one. It was certainly not a Christian thing to do. The locals probably followed Jesus better: If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also (Luke 6:29).

At that moment, my threshold for tolerating bullies was rather low. When this Chinese group milked every single drop of Ethiopian politeness with extremely aggressive obsessive photography at an important religious site, I lost it. I wasn’t Jesus after all.

Photo shooting bullets

Years of traveling the world made me more aware of the impact our touristic self can have on local communities. The mere experience of a journey taught me to calm down the initial paparazzo impulse when approaching something exotic. We can and indeed should salvage and enjoy the moment without engaging in a photo-shooting mania.

Just because we are armed with photo cameras and not rifles, it doesn’t make them less of a weapon. Just because we are shooting pictures and not bullets, it doesn’t make us less responsible for the wounds we can inflict.

What I witnessed on that initially relaxed Saturday morning in Lalibela was a rape of privacy. Seeing it and not taking a stand would have made me an accomplice.

This group of eight Chinese tourists, heavily armed with a variety of camera bodies and lenses, were invading the Orthodox mass ceremony in a rather obstructive way. Making photo models out of regular churchgoers, and scenography out of medieval architecture, they were slaughtering the space with their Nikon machine guns.

Some of them even wore vests with the logo of the famous camera producer. They might have been here on a “serious” business.

Who knows, they could have even won some photography awards later with their extreme approach that was everything but documentary. They humiliated tradition, heritage, and silent tolerance of Ethiopians under their raping photography stampede.

Special places always seem to attract people with a serious problem of obsessive photography. Santorini sunset and Angkor Wat sunrise are just the most popular examples of touristic experiences ruined by the mania of claiming social media fame.

All Chinese are the same?

Since I was a child (and that was in the times of analog cameras, when one had to change the roll film after 24 or 36 shots!), the camera-clicking Asian tourist was engraved as one of the strongest race-based clichés in my memory.

Always in a group, always following the umbrella-carrying guide, and always making maximal use of a million photo opportunities. That cultural stereotype was later appropriated through movie scenes and the easiest solution of the mime games.

Even if I try to put this archetype aside, the idea of Chinese obsessive photography has constantly been reinforced during my travels. I knew that my entering the conflict in Lalibela was not just a response to the actions of these particular people. It was a reaction to the behavior of many before.

Being someone who utterly rejects reducing people to their nationality, already writing about the issue in this way made me question whether I am just perpetuating a stereotype.

I know Chinese persons who do not fit into this narrative. So clearly, I understand that all Chinese are not the same.

However, led by first-hand experience, I dare to think that there are peculiar, even when subtle, differences between, for instance, Japanese, Korean, and Chinese camera-equipped tourists.

Nothing can be generalized, but there seems to be a difference in the probability of a particular behavior being executed. More often than not, a Chinese tourist will embrace a certain level of pushiness and insensitivity towards the environment he/she tries to eternalize through instant photography.

When I read my writing, it does sound racist. So I did end up wondering: have I really, by defending one race in Lalibela, executed my latent inner racism?

The stereotype in the making

Before I dive deeper into what happened on that Saturday morning at one of the holiest sites in Africa, I feel I should share at least a few of the earlier episodes that surely shaped my newest response too.

1. No zen with karaoke

I have already written about my experience of staying at Hang Nga Guesthouse in Vietnam, also known as Crazy House Dalat. This peculiar hotel of strange architecture in Vietnam’s Central Highlands was more of an amusement park than an accommodation facility.

Hordes of tourists, many of them Chinese, were let into the hotel grounds to explore them, poke their cameras through the room doors, and peek through the windows. It was one of the strangest hotel experiences I’ve ever had.

In the Crazy House review, I didn’t mention that I also visited the Truc Lam Zen Monastery during my stay in Dalat.

On one side, Buddhist monks were trying to meditate while planting trees, and on the other, Chinese tourists laughed out loud, having wild picnics in the forest, practically real parties complete with gigantic sound systems and karaoke machines.

One had to see it to believe it. The word ‘zen’ in the name of the monastery lost all meaning.

2. Volcano party in the conflict zone

Danakil Depression in Ethiopia is the hottest place on Earth where people still live. Close to Eritrea, Erta Ale is an impressive active volcano. The real and political heat, the declared state of emergency, and even the killing of tourists made the climb to the volcano summit possible only during the night, with a military escort.

That didn’t stop young Chinese tourists from bursting into uncontrollable laughter, playing cheerful pop songs on a portable sound system, and generally disobeying the instructions by the soldiers.

They didn’t even follow the guide’s warning to mind where they step on, taking selfies from the unstable edge of the volcano rim. It seemed they didn’t care if tomorrow would come, or if they would join the faith of the German tourist coldly executed a few months earlier.

3. Drone attack on camels

Another group of nouveau riche Chinese tourists raised my eyebrows at Lake Assale, the Ethiopian salt flats where camels transport tons of the precious mineral every day.

Camel caravans are photogenic, and they attract many photographers to make their shots in the vastness of the desert.

A Chinese duo parked in their foldable armchairs and launched a large drone in the air. One would think a drone would be useful to get aerial footage of the caravan. But no, here it seemed to be just a substitute for laziness while following the animals on their route.

For one, flying close to the camels was disturbing them, as clearly they have never seen such a large mosquito in their lifetime. Secondly, this drone was practically in every shot of other photographers, completely erasing the naturality of the scene.

And these passionate aerial photographers were keen on shooting every single camel caravan passing by. I had to personally approach them and request to take into consideration everyone else trying to take photographs before the sunset, and only then did they realize that they were not alone in the world.

Possible explanations for Chinese obsessive photography

There are several possible interpretations for obsessive photography behavior among Chinese tourists.
 	
Insurance
China is a fast-changing country, and photographs enable memories to survive. Aaron from Eduncovered.com (a website that sadly ceased to exist) learned from his grandmother that despite China being an ancient civilization, many families do not have memories of fairly recent history. With the experience of Mao Zedong's Cultural Revolution, marked by the disappearance of documents and memories of the past, the Chinese obsessive photography instinct could be rooted in preventing forgetting history.
 	
Escapism
Mabel Kwong, an Australian with Chinese roots, points out that in a culture of high work ethics, where people spend up to 12 hours a day in the office, even mundane things become precious enough to memorize. "I see many of my Asians friends who work in demanding corporate jobs post photos on Facebook of the absolutely mundane things they see on getaways. A rusty bicycle. A trolley of luggage. A can of Coke", she writes.
 	
Showing off
Michele Galeotto is not the only one pointing out that Chinese obsessive photography could be explained through the reaffirmation of the social status of the middle class. She notices that they will often buy pricy cameras and lenses to execute their photography hobby. "Japanese tourists have usually a more introspective approach to their photos, they are mostly shooting at themselves, and this is why they prefer compact cameras. Their Chinese counterparts live instead photography as a tool for ‘sharing’ their experiences within their circle and community, this is why besides the status symbol of owning the flagship camera of the range, Chinese choose (D)SLR cameras: it adds value to the photos they share", she explains.

The Chinese invasion of Bete Giyorgis

There have been many ‘inconsiderate Chinese photographer’ droplets filling up my patience cup over the years. So when I showed up for sunrise at Bete Giyorgis, one of the most impressive Lalibela churches, and a Chinese group quickly followed, I could almost anticipate their illogical movement patterns.

It was not crowded that Saturday morning, yet the Chinese quickly became unavoidable, entering every single frame of mine, and erasing any hope of authenticity one would hope to capture at such a site.

I gave up on exterior shots from above and followed the trench to get downstairs. The church mass was in progress. I didn’t want to obstruct, so I waited outside.

But the Chinese group quickly showed up at the entrance, and immediately I felt embarrassed to be a foreigner while trying to shush their noise down.

They took off their shoes (seemingly the only courteous act they knew of), and entered the church, ignoring the fact that even local women were standing outside.

After some time, I started to follow and observe their erratic behavior. They tried to climb the chairs in the church for a better shot and directed churchgoers to their liking.

They had no boundaries, getting into people’s faces, and annoying them persistently with bizarre photo demands.

Director’s in da house

The Chinese photographers manipulated an older woman like a puppet, in order for her to stand at a very particular place, in a very particular pose. She had to stop her prayers and stand by the door, staring outside, sunrays hitting her wrinkles perfectly, for that unique National-Geographic-style shot.

The photo monsters had this preconception of what they wanted to have in their memory cards at the end of the day. And they were not open to compromises.

They were instructing their “models” into holding palms together in prayer (I assume, that’s how a Chinese person imagines every Christian). I haven’t seen any Ethiopian engaging in that gesture on their own. When locals wanted me to photograph them, they were crossing their hands over their chests, forming “angel wings”. But authenticity does not sell, I guess.

At one moment, our tourists even stopped the priest from executing the ceremony. Seeing him bring a large pile of Bibles into the church, they didn’t take a shot in time, but it was something they didn’t want to miss. One jumped in front of the priest, blocking his path, and yelled: “Stop!” He just had to have that shot!

When the priest smiled at him, the photographer yelled: “Don’t smile!” The priest had to carry the Bibles with a serious face, he demanded. It was a bizarre director’s cut, and everyone had to ACT as told.

An altar server carrying a processional cross was practically abducted for the photo shoot, even if his body language was clearly stating he needed to join the mass.

But these Chinese photographers didn’t care much for people objecting. I saw them shooting even those churchgoers who were hiding behind their netela (Ethiopian cotton scarf). That’s when I realized: this was a school example of photo rape, no?

If you are interested in the history of objectifying other races for entertainment, read my review of the Basel Zoo! The popular Swiss institution is one of the last European zoos that was exhibiting black people as animals.  

The price of surrender

In general, churchgoers complied with these demanding photographers’ commands, even if one could see they were not always doing it willingly.

If I could be so free to interpret this, I would say it was an act of conciliation. They were just ordinary believers attending the church mass, and we, the foreigners, were paying 50 USD (a fortune in Ethiopian terms) for the privilege to access the site. It’s hard to confront the demands of those who practically finance the church.

The possible interpretation for those who willingly participated could have also been the financial reimbursement for the photo they were hoping to get. It is not unusual for poor Ethiopians to ask for money in exchange for posing for a portrait.

My “colleague” with a hat was directing one older local to walk left and right, a gazillion times, until he made a perfect shot. At the end of a rather exploitative session, the old man said the only English word he knew of: “Money!” The Chinese guy pretended this was the only English word he didn’t understand.

He ignored the old man’s open palm, acting as if he doesn’t hear him, and continued shooting other motifs instead. I intervened and told the photographer that I believe this gentleman expects him to pay him for this modeling service. He still ignored both me and him.

Only when I came very close to him, did he open his wallet and hand over 5 birrs (9 cents) to the Ethiopian. It was the first small victory of mine in watching this exploitation unravel.

Fake one, take twelve: Fighting fire with fire

As I’ve learned in that Indonesian art gallery (check it out, it was Pipeaway’s most viral article), people do tend to act irrationally when confronted with a photo opportunity.

While the Chinese episode in Ethiopia did not have all the elements of the selfie mania I have witnessed on the bridge over the River Kwai in Kanchanaburi, Thailand, it still had elements of vanity too.

These photo aficionados from China were borrowing people’s netelas, entering their sleeping caves in the walls, and pretending to read the usurped Bibles for the photo.

Everything they were documenting that day in Lalibela was just fake. And they thought they could pay 5 Ethiopian bir for it.

Then this 5-year-old boy in a blue hood showed up. Later I would learn his name was Ashenafi Sisay. He politely approached one of the camera-clicking intruders and raised his hand for a greeting. But his handshake intention was ignored.

When you constantly exploit people for photographs, you might start confusing every raised hand for a financial demand you would prefer not to answer. This amiable boy just wanted to be a good Ethiopian, but he was invisible.

A young man, later I would learn his name was Sigey Melkame Bejena, was one of those churchgoers abducted for the Chinese photo needs. From afar, I saw he didn’t feel pleasant in the role, and I tried to use body language to signal to him that he WAS allowed to say ‘no’.

But even when Sigey raised his hand to protect himself from the lens, and demanded not to be photographed anymore, he was ignored.

At that moment, I just couldn’t hold it anymore. The instinct took over my actions. I took my photo camera, approached the Chinese, and started to shoot THEM from up close!

Mad in China

They were infuriated. This simple performative gesture of mine was all it took to stop them from molesting the Ethiopians. And now they turned to me.

“No, no!”, the Chinese with a hat screamed. He raised his hands, protecting himself from my lens, the similar way that Sigey tried to say ‘no’ to him just moments ago. But there was a difference. Sigey was not on the edge of becoming violent.

“Delete! Delete!”, the photographer requested in a huff.

“Why would I delete it?”, I asked innocently. “I will not delete the photos. You are exotic to me!”

“Delete!!!”, he insisted.

“What seems to be the problem?”, I played dumb. “You are photographing them, I am photographing you. We are all just taking photographs!”

My subtle lecture on ethical behavior in photography did not seem to hit fertile ground. Which was logical. If the Chinese could have ever imagined what they were doing was wrong, they wouldn’t have been doing it in the first place. So it seemed as if I was trying to communicate with someone who obviously didn’t speak the same language.

As a matter of fact, the language of my peaceful protest against the photography violence was confronted by – body language. His hands which were previously abusing Ethiopians with a click of a button, now aggressively came after me.

“Do not touch me! I’ll call the police!”, was all I managed to threaten with at that moment. I’m really not a scuffle boy. The unnecessary noise already was making me upset.

All this commotion made Ethiopians gather around. I don’t speak Amharic, and they do not speak English, but I kind of understood that they were taking my side, trying to protect me.

A wreath of Ethiopians in white netelas was surrounding me, almost like Bilbo’s ring of invisibility. But my foe-friends still had a physical fight in their mind.

Winner Blessing in my hand

Sometimes, all it takes is to wait out. The Chinese exited the church through the trench. It seemed it was over, even if it wasn’t. But at Bete Giyorgis, this marvel of architecture, it was just me and the Ethiopians now.

After being forced to participate in a ridiculous photo session for an hour, the netela-covered strangers started approaching me. A simple “Thank you” was all I heard. They were all speaking these two English words.

The gratitude for what I thought was a plain normal human action was incredibly touching. After hearing so many thank yous in a row, my eyes filled with water.

I had my own set of troubles in adapting to Ethiopia (remember that African bus episode?), and it was a strange feeling of connection that overwhelmed me at this moment.

“Don’t cry”, the church guardian told me. “You are the winner!”

The 5-year-old, Ashenafi Sisay (his name translating as Winner Blessing, later I would learn), took my hand and held it strong. He released it only for me to put the shoes back on.

The security officer from above reminded me that there would be aftermath: “Come on up! The police need you!”

My new Ethiopian friends, Sigey and Ashenafi Sisay’s mother Mame Esayte Woldemariam, tried to explain to the security guy what had just happened. He still wanted me to come up to talk to the police.

One modest family in Indonesia also touched me deeply. It all started when Fathin Naufal reached out to me on Couchsurfing. 

The art of disappearance

“Hurry up!”, he said, while I powerlessly pointed towards the 5-year-old’s hand slowly leading me out through the trench. There was not much space there, and this blue-hooded hobbit made sure not to let my hand go. Walking sideways like that seemed to last an eternity.

When finally outside, on the ground level, more and more netela-covered Ethiopians walked towards me to say two words only.

“Thank you!”

“Thank you!”

And then again: “Thank you!”

What was going on? Was I on live TV? There were not so many people witnessing the incident just a few minutes ago, but it seemed the news traveled fast. Quite a few Ethiopians wanted to approach me and make sure that I was okay.

One tour guide took me aside as he had heard that his Chinese tourists wanted to beat me up. He wanted to know what seemed to be the problem.

“I really don’t know”, I continued playing dumb. “There was no problem. We were all taking photographs, and then they suddenly got upset for some reason. But as long as I am concerned, there are no problems at all!”

The white tour van was parked at the entrance, at an unavoidable spot, and the Chinese were waiting for the conflict to resolve.

The 5-year-old and me, firmly holding hands and walking slowly like turtles, we passed by that van and went out of the complex with nobody ever noticing us. No police, no Chinese.

For that incredibly long moment, in the slowest escape ever, we seemed to be under an invisibility cloak.

Found in translation

Ashenafi’s mom invited me for buna, a coffee-making ceremony at her place. I don’t drink coffee, but I said: “Sure, I’d love to.”

It was a modest household in a slum, where no tourists ever walk through. Wildly built over Lalibela hills, this was an invisible home of real Ethiopia.

Poverty lived here, but the word ‘Happy’ printed out on a piece of paper and glued on their family home wall showed that it takes more to kill one’s spirit.

The 11-year-old daughter Tigist (meaning Patience) prepared coffee, offered me injera with shiro, and even washed my netela, bringing it back blindingly white and fragrant, ready for tomorrow’s mass.

Ashenafi was drawing and writing my name in Amharic, then taking photos with my camera and mobile phone.

Another daughter, Hanna (meaning Favored by God), studied textile engineering in Bahir Dar. Mame Esayte called her and proudly told her the church story.

This woman, dressed in a T-shirt with a ‘Lion King – Bilingual school’ imprint, had the face of a tired parent, exhausted by daily struggles, yet trying to provide the best life she could for her children.

“Do you eat bread?”, they asked me. I said yes, stupidly, thinking it was just a matter of curiosity. Soon, Tigist showed up at the door with freshly baked bread she just bought somewhere.

This humble yet invested single-parent family was doing everything they could to make my visit comfortable. It was warm and touching.

Mame Esayte Woldemariam would be calling my phone many times in the following weeks, and we would talk. Did I say that she didn’t speak English, and I knew no word of Amharic? Nevertheless, this woman felt deeply connected, enough to report on her daily life. At least, that’s what I thought she was telling me.

Unexpected miracles

Before I left their house on Saturday, these warm-hearted people gave me another present: a clay miniature of Bete Giyorgis church, and two printed photographs from their family album. That seemed like a precious thing to give away in the social reality they lived in. But they insisted I take their gift. I left them my own visa-style photo I accidentally had in my wallet.

We agreed to meet again the next day. After a mass in Bete Medhane Alem, the largest rock-hewn church in the world, we revisited the House of St. George. There were no more photography-obsessed visitors, and the world seemed different.

The church guardian, the one that proclaimed me a winner the day before, now guided me to see the treasures of the Church of Saint George that regular tourist visitors never get to see. Bete Giyorgis’s interior had hidden paintings of Saint George and the dragon behind the curtains, Lalibela’s chest with a special locking system, crosses on the wall…

I was able to take as many photographs as I liked and had people pose for me with no reciprocation expected.

The moral of the story, I guess, if my Chinese “colleagues” ever happen to read this, is that it doesn’t take much to reach other humans. The human approach can open up doors we never thought opening, and allow us, the photographers, to take images we never knew were there.

Something shifted in both me and the Ethiopians the days after the sad racial conflict at Bete Giyorgis. After being in the country for a month and a half, this was the first time I was walking down the street feeling truly accepted or blended in.

When there would be people stopping me, they would do it to say ‘welcome’, to ask how I was, or to compliment on ‘my wear’. I guess that bright, freshly washed netela did give me a Jesus-style glow.

Nobody was pulling my sleeve and asking for money. The (stereo)typical Ethiopia seemed to disappear.

I was wondering if prejudices and misconceptions are truly only in our heads. Or if the world can miraculously change once we contribute to the miracle.

Why the censoring of photos?
I am quite aware about the fact that internet can backfire. Hidden behind our screens, we can direct our frustrations towards people instead of behaviors (remember how that selfie girl became an easy target?). In order to minimize the danger of perpetual violence, I have decided to partially protect the identity of the main actor of this obsessive photography story. Until someone informs me that he has actually won some photography award for his "documentary work" in Lalibela, I believe his face will be less relevant than his actions. For the sake of improving our conversations with other people and cultures, I would prefer if we could focus on phenomena instead of trampling someone who is already down.

What are your views on Chinese obsessive photography? Do you believe it exists? Please comment below!
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My wandering through Ethiopia brought me to an impressive cluster of Lalibela churches! Dubbed the Ethiopian Jerusalem, this holy site of Orthodox Christianity is a monument to centuries of faith. Carved in solid rock, Lalibela churches are an unexpected surprise connecting the Earth and the heavens.

Whether you are looking for God or just exploring the history of human marvels, this Lalibela church guide will introduce you to Ethiopia’s most fascinating underground treasures!

But before we dig into this museum of architecture, some background info!

How old is the Ethiopian Church?

Christianity officially entered Ethiopia in the 4^th century, during the reign of the Aksumite emperor Ezana.

The Kingdom of Aksum in the area of Northern Ethiopia and Eritrea had a strategic position on the Red Sea. Money makes the world go round, so the nation on the route between India and the Roman Empire accepted Christianity. They even had the world’s first coins with a symbol of a cross!

The man who brought the new religion over was Frumentius, a Syrian Greek, the nephew of a merchant who was murdered during a stopover on the coast. After years in slavery under Ella Amida‘s reign, he was freed and became a child tutor to the heir of the late king.

Frumentius baptized the new emperor Ezana and, with the approval of the Patriarch Athanasius of Alexandria, became the country’s first bishop. For sixteen centuries, until 1959, when the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church gained autocephaly, the Coptic Orthodox Church in Egypt was always appointing its bishops.

The conversion of the king of Ethiopia to Christianity was just the beginning. By 340 AD, the majority of the kingdom turned Christian. Ethiopia became the second country in the world (after Armenia) to proclaim Christianity as the state religion.

However, there are references claiming that Christianity started in Ethiopia even earlier, in the 1^st century. After Judea, the apostle Matthew preached the word of God in Ethiopia until his death.

Among numerous mentions of the country’s name in the Bible, one is especially significant. According to the New Testament, Philip the Evangelist baptized an Ethiopian eunuch on the road from Jerusalem to Gaza. This early conversion of a person who was different in every way (race, ethnicity, sexual minority) seems to be a fantastic lesson for the less inclusive ‘Christians’ of today!

The Ethiopian Orthodox Church claims to be one of the earliest capitals of Christianity. Read about another spiritual capital of the Orthodox Christian world - the Monastic State of Agion Oros!

Lalibela church history – a dream of the African Jerusalem

In the 6^th century, Aksumite king Kaleb founded the city of Roha in the Lasta Mountains in the South. The Islamic Empire soon took control over the Red Sea, and the kingdom started to decline. They moved the capital from Aksum to Roha.

In the 12^th century, a boy surrounded by a swarm of bees was born there. It was interpreted as a sign of good fortune for the kingdom’s future.

The boy who would later become king was named Gebre Mesqel Lalibela (the world Lalibela meaning “the bees obey him” in English). His youth was also mysterious; Lalibela had visions and talked to angels.

A voice in King Lalibela’s vision instructed him to build a new home for Christianity, the second Jerusalem

The king made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem seven years before it would fall into Muslim hands. The siege of the holy city in 1187 meant that Christians would not be able to visit it anymore. A voice in one of Lalibela’s visions instructed him to build a new home for Christianity, the second Jerusalem.

In the highlands of Ethiopia, more than 3.500 kilometers away from the town where Jesus was crucified, the ‘New Jerusalem’ was taking shape. Lalibela church bundle literally rose from the ground, dug out of the mountain floor. With clear inspiration from biblical places, they even named the town river – Jordan.

The extraordinary feat of rock-cut churches honored the most famous king of the Zagwe dynasty, and the town of Roha changed its name to Lalibela!

A man in Indonesia has also built a church after receiving instructions in a vision. Check out this very peculiar Chicken Church!

Rock-hewn churches of Lalibela – architecture made by angels

According to the Gospel written by that same apostle Matthew who preached all over Ethiopia, in the most famous biblical name change, Simon became Peter. Jesus named the first leader of the early church: “And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock, I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”

Maybe Lalibela was very literal in interpreting the word of God, so he laid the cornerstone of the ‘New Jerusalem’ in – stone.

Technically, Lalibela churches were always there. They just needed to be carved out of the mountain formed 31 million years ago.

Lalibela rock churches were built by hand, using just hammers and chisels to excavate trenches, and then shape the monoliths into churches, imitating the traditional look. Doors, windows, columns, archways, vaults…

There was not much room for error while working on the volcanic tuff rock. No space for fixing mistakes during the Lalibela church construction.

In total, there are eleven rock-hewn churches in Lalibela. Each carved from a gigantic block of natural rock, they differ in style. Additionally, they built a complex system of tunnels and subterranean passageways to interconnect the churches.

Lalibela architecture is a fascinating monument to the passion of its builders. According to some (doubtfully reliable) sources, it took merely 23 years to build Lalibela churches, which would have been an extraordinary achievement in the Middle Ages!

But Lalibela architects had help! After the human workers would call it a day, the angels would take over the night shift. That’s at least how believers explain the remarkable speed at which builders erected the black Jerusalem.

Aksumite civilization clearly had high skills in working with monoliths. Learn more about it in our article Kingdom of Aksum: History and myths written in stone. 

Lalibela churches mystery of attraction

When Lalibela started materializing his extraordinary dream, he was aware that Jerusalem was attracting Ethiopians. The king knew they would try to reach the holy city, at least once in their lifetime, even despite the dangers imposed by the Muslim takeover.

Building a New Jerusalem, closer to home, fulfilled their need for elevated religious experience, and they started flocking in.

Until these days, the palmers were coming from all corners of Ethiopia, sometimes walking barefoot and fasting. For some of them, reaching Lalibela town might be an end of a several-month-long journey. That kind of devotion is considered to be proof of strong faith that God would honor.

In the Philippines, pilgrims testify their faith on Easter in a rather extreme way. They are crucifying themselves during the Maleldo Festival!

You can witness the magical attraction of Lalibela churches first-hand, at any moment of your visit.

Pilgrims gather in white robes, with sticks or umbrellas in their hands, resting in front of the rock-hewn churches, on carpets or bare stone.

Some sing in churches. Some read their Bibles in front of the buildings, alone or seated in a group. Others quietly pray while leaning against the churches’ walls, showing ultimate respect to these monuments of Orthodox Christianity.

You can witness ordinary life there too. Women plucking the seeds of teff, the national grain of Ethiopia. Simply tacked sheds on the churches’ grounds, with a size of a typical Japanese capsule room, suggest certain believers live on the premises. It’s life at its simplest. A sheep might pass by at any moment! And it will!

After the Sunday mass, some worshippers might visit the place with holy water nearby, to shower. Then the priest might touch parts of their bodies with a ritual cross, to clean them from the inside too. Lalibela church mystery comes in many forms.

On special occasions, such as Christmas, thousands of pilgrims arrive in Lalibela. Locals feed them and wash their feet at the end of their journey. Check out what the Christmas celebration looks like in Lalibela churches in the coverage by CBS 60 minutes on Youtube!

Guide through Lalibela churches – the sacred monoliths

There are 11 rock-hewn churches in Lalibela town. We can divide them into three clusters: five churches in the Northwestern group (symbolizing the earthly Jerusalem), five of them in the Southeastern group (symbolizing the heavenly Jerusalem), and the last Lalibela church standing alone, in the West.

It’s up to you to decide which ones you should see first. The Northwestern group is the closest to the ticket office, the lonely Bete Giyorgis is a masterpiece of its own, and the Southeastern group seems to provide more tranquility, with fewer crowds.

If you want to dig deeper into the mysteries of Lalibela, consider purchasing this Lalibela handbook!

It’s useful to notice that Lalibela underground churches carry different names in different sources. Google maps might say one thing, UNESCO could disagree, Lonely Planet might insist on their version, and locals could be using completely different wording.

It could get confusing, trust me! Well, I tried to keep the nomenclature I found the most often used, even if it might seem inconsistent. I did mention the other name versions where I found them to be relevant.

Without further ado, what are the 11 rock-hewn churches of Lalibela?

List of the 11 rock-hewn churches of Lalibela

1. St. George Church – Bete Giyorgis – House of St. George

Lalibela church of St. George (Bete Giyorgis, sometimes spelled Bet Giorgis or Biete Ghiorgis) has a shape of a Greek Orthodox cross.

While other rock-hewn churches of Lalibela typically have a rectangular plan, the cruciform layout of St. George Church secured its iconic status. The view from one of the uplifts reveals that the roof contains several reliefs of crosses, one inside the other.

This Lalibela church was the last one built, and supposedly by the orders of Saint George himself. In one of his visions, king Lalibela encountered the saint after the completion of the other rock-hewn churches.

George was not happy about being forgotten, so Lalibela commissioned another church, in his name. St. George turned out to be impatient as well, as they claim he worked on the construction site at night.

For many, the most impressive Lalibela church stands 13 meters tall, in a pit of 25 by 25 meters. When observed from above, Bete Giyorgis (House of St. George) seems hardly accessible. But there is a narrow descending trench spiraling around it, leading through a covered passage that eventually opens in the church courtyard.

Life and death join here. The baptismal pool is the start of the Christian life, while the holes in the side walls hide burial tombs of the ancient pilgrims. There are even people living in some of these little caves!

Inside the church, there are various paintings of Saint George defeating the dragon. Some are hidden in the sanctuary behind the curtain, together with the replica of the Ark of the Covenant, a typical artifact reserved for the eyes of the Ethiopian priests only.

Twelve windows in the upper part of the church let the sunshine into its dark interior, with sunrays adding to the mystic atmosphere created by the incense smoke.

Did you know you can build your own Lalibela church? This jigsaw puzzle is perfect for the modern architect's mind!

2. Bete Medhane Alem – House of the Savior of the World

Bete Medhane Alem is not just the largest of the 11 rock-hewn churches of Lalibela. It is also considered to be the largest rock church in the world! It has 33,5 meters in length, 23,5 meters in width, and 11,5 meters in height!

According to some, this large monolith is a rock replica of St. Mary of Zion Church in Aksum, the one neighboring the chapel with supposedly original stone tablets of God’s Ten Commandments.

The simple architecture of Bete Medhane Alem (House of the Savior of the World) is marked by 34 external and 38 internal pillars. It also features keyhole windows and doors, typical of the Aksum style.

Its spacious interior with a nave and four aisles gets packed on Sundays, as the worshipers gather to be blessed by the famous Lalibela Cross.

The ornamented processional cross, made of 7 kilograms of gold, supposedly has healing properties. You may see the priest rubbing the pilgrims with it, in order to cure them of diseases.

This 12^th-century cross was absent from 1997 till 2001 when it was stolen and sold to a Belgian collector for 25 thousand dollars. I assume they keep it in a safer place now!

Same as at Bete Giyorgis, the courtyard walls have carved-out holes, functioning as tombs or cells for the monks.

3. Bete Maryam – House of Mary

A short tunnel away from Bete Medhane Alem, another courtyard is revealed, dominated by Bete Maryam (or Biete Mariam). The House of Mary is obviously dedicated to the mother of Jesus and is supposedly the oldest of Lalibela rock churches.

The interior of the nave and four aisles are decorated with frescoes and relief carvings. While you can see various geometric designs and paintings such as one of the bulls fighting in the ceiling, one column containing holy inscriptions has permanently been hidden behind a cloth since the 16^th century.

Bete Maryam is the only Lalibela church with porches.

Above the western one, you can see a carving of St. George killing a dragon. Cross and swastika-shaped windows also draw attention.

The eastern wall is especially symbolic. The upper set of windows represents the Holy Trinity. The lower windows depict the Calvary of Jesus. The central windows represent the ascent of Christ to heaven. The lower right window stands for the criminal who repented on the cross, thus there is another opening above that window. The other crucified sinner went to hell, so there’s an opening below the window representing him.

4. Bet Meskel – House of the Cross

On the northern side of Bete Maryam’s courtyard, Bet Meskel (or Biete Maskal) is a small chapel with two aisles only.

There are paintings of Jesus and Mary displayed on some of the pillars of the House of the Cross.

Its tiny size and the priest with pocket-size Bibles might be the biggest ‘attractions’ of Bet Meskel.

5. Bet Denagel – House of Virgins

On the southern side of Bete Maryam’s courtyard, another tiny chapel is carved into a rock.

In Bet Denagel (Bet Danaghel), there’s just enough space for a couple of benches and a canvas with another representation of St. George fighting the dragon. With his image being everywhere, it seems everybody took it seriously when the saint got offended on that occasion!

Bet Denagel is the House of Virgins. Virgins are the 50 nuns that were murdered in the 4^th century by the orders of the Roman emperor Julian the Apostate from Edessa. The church resembling a cave is honoring the memory of these martyrs.

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6. Bet Golgotha & Bet Mikael – House of Golgotha Mikael

Further west, Bet Golgotha and Bet Mikael are the twin churches, the only part of the Northwestern group of Lalibela churches I couldn’t approach closer during my visit, due to restoration works.

UNESCO calls them together – Biete Golgotha Mikael (the House of Golgotha Mikael).

Bet Mikael (which is also known as Debre Sina, the Church of Mount Sinai) is known for its relief-carved crosses and cruciform pillars.

Bet Golgotha with its life-size carvings of the twelve apostles is off-limits to women and adjoined Selassie or Sillase Chapel (Trinity Chapel) is closed for anyone but priests.

Supposedly, Lalibela’s final resting place should be under the floor of Bet Golgotha. A Portuguese priest Francisco Alvares described the tomb in 1520 when it was still accessible. He said a heavy stone slab was covering the crypt. There was a hole in it, and pilgrims could touch the grave of the king-saint. The extracted dust was supposedly healing diseases.

In this holy complex, there are also replicas of the tombs of Christ and Adam, as well as the Nativity crib. I’ve managed to see the Tomb of Adam only from above. Supposedly, it is just a hollow block of stone. But what more do you expect from a symbol?

7. Bet Gabriel-Rufael – House of Gabriel and Raphael

Bet Gabriel-Rufael (also Biete Gabriel-Raphael, and all other word combos) is the first edifice you will encounter when approaching the Southeastern group of Lalibela churches through their main entrance.

Follow the path called the Way to Heaven, and a monumental rock-hewn church will appear in front of you!

Also known as the House of Archangels, this twin church has an impressive exterior. To access the building, one needs to cross the bridge carved in the rock over a deep trench. This moat fills with water when it rains. To keep it, there is an underground cistern below the courtyard, with two circular wells.

The stairs and the terrace suspended over the abyss are quite an imposing sight. If you’re not afraid of approaching the void, this Lalibela church offers a great photo opportunity (scroll to the end of the article to see mine)!

Once inside, this fortress looks quite simple. The entrance opens to Bet Gabriel first, and then there is another doorway to Bet Rufael. Apparently, there should also be hidden rooms below the main church plan.

Some experts believe that the House of Gabriel and Raphael was actually a royal palace built in the 7th century. The idea was to provide a fortified shelter for the emperor after the collapse of the Axumite Kingdom in the North.

8. Bet Merkorios – House of St. Mercoreos

If Bet Gabriel-Rufael was accessed via the Way to Heaven, the next Lalibela church is approached via the Passage through Hell.

There is a pitch-black underground tunnel, 35 meters in length, and according to tradition, one should pass it without turning on any light! That includes mobile phone torches.

Well, it’s an experience! A survivable one, as long as you step forward slowly and mind your head!

Finally, some light will emerge, and this will be the exit to Bet Merkorios, also written as Bete Mekireriwos, or Biete Qeddus Mercoreus… Linguistics gets complicated, right?

Mercurios (let’s write his name this way, just for the sake of diversity) was a Coptic saint in the 3^rd century. Emperor Decius tortured and beheaded him because he refused to abandon Christianity.

It is not unusual that this church got its name after a martyr. The evidence of the iron ankle shackles discovered here suggests that the House of St. Mercoreos could have been Lalibela town’s prison or courtroom.

Today, it is another sacred place, with beautiful frescoes and paintings depicting the saint, Christ, and apostles.

9. Bet Amanuel – House of Emmanuel

The only freestanding monolith of the southern cluster is Bet Amanuel (Biete Amanuel). It was carved with great attention to detail, reproducing the characteristic features of the ancient Aksumite and early medieval architecture.

With 12 meters in height, the House of Emmanuel has alternating layers of protruding and indented walls, mimicking the style of Debre Damo Monastery or Yemrehana Krestos Church, built with a combination of wood and stone.

The same as in the case of the other clusters’ main monolith representatives, this one is also surrounded by hermit cells and grave chambers carved in the moat walls.

Bet Amanuel was supposedly the private chapel of the royal family.

10. Bet Lehem – House of Holy Bread

There is not much information about this church with oval walls. Resembling more a monastic cell, with its low ceilings, Bet Lehem (Biete Lehem) has no typical church inventory.

Deriving its name from the Hebrew ‘Bethlehem’, it could have been just a royal bakery, where they produced the holy bread.

Speaking of holy bread, if you visit Lalibela rock churches during the busy Sunday mass, you will see the communion service is with real bread distributed among the faithful. Typically, that involves children and elderly people. Those in the middle, at a sexually active age, should avoid taking the Eucharist.

11. Bet Abba Libanos – House of Abbot Libanos

Bet Abba Libanos (also Biete, sometimes Aba) is dedicated to a 6^th-century Ethiopian saint of the same name. He got famous for his teachings on monasticism.

The House of Abbot Libanos differs from other Lalibela churches in a way that it is just partially underground. Wedged between the top and bottom rock, it was built in the hillside cave.

According to the legend, Bet Abba Libanos was constructed in a single night (consequently, it is not strange it had to go through many restorations!).

The builder was Meskel Kebra, the wife of King Lalibela, with the help of several angels. Just like her husband, she is also considered to be a saint and is buried in Bet Abba Libanos.

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Lalibela churches protected by UNESCO. Or not?

In 1978, the 11 churches of Lalibela were inscribed on UNESCO‘s list of World Heritage Sites.

Besides the Ethiopian rock churches, the protection also includes Lasta Tukuls, the neighboring ancient village with two-story roundhouses. These traditional dwellings are constructed from local red stone, they have staircases inside and thatched roofs above.

In 2008, the European Union has funded the raising of the protective shelters above some of the churches. The ugly-looking coverings were supposed to shield the most vulnerable buildings from disastrous weather. Even if the umbrella-style structures were imagined as a temporary solution to the problem, they are still standing today.

Gas station roofs, as locals like to call them, started to represent a threat to the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela. First of all, they are heavy and could collapse. Secondly, they were intended to keep churches from becoming too wet. And now the Ethiopian rock churches are the driest ever, which is also not good for their longevity.

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Things to know before entering Lalibela churches

There are certain rules of conduct when visiting the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela. Don’t be that idiot that just takes loads of images with no respect towards the locals who actually come there to pray! These are simple top 3 rules to know before stepping inside Lalibela church:

1. Take your shoes off before entering Lalibela rock churches! You can leave them at the entrance, like everyone else! As for the rest of the dress code, wear something covering your shoulders and knees!
2. Observe the locals! If you see men and women entering churches at the separate entrance, respect that, and follow the example!
3. Do not take flash photography in the church! There is a reason, I guess, why they wrote the warning in German (“Bitte brauchen sie keinen flash in die kirche”). In any case, don’t be disrespectful with the clicking of your camera. Nobody is your private model! If you do get permission to photograph someone, express your gratitude with some Bir!

Speaking of photography, I had a very peculiar adventure in Bete Giyorgis, marked by an international incident. Check out my report on obsessive photography, and how to avoid the police once they come for you!

Lalibela church entrance fee

The adult ticket costs 50 US Dollars (45 Euros). Children’s tickets are half of that amount. The tickets are valid for 5 days. All sites could be visited in one full day, so if you stay longer, relax, and do it at a human pace!

Beware that bringing in video cameras could impose an additional fee. I decided not to take my GoPro camera, as they know it can record video footage. At the same time, other cameras that look like photo cameras, as well as mobile phones, were totally fine to carry in.

Lalibela churches opening hours

The rock-hewn churches of Lalibela officially open from 8 am till noon, and then after a lunch break, from 2 till 5 pm. You’re allowed to come earlier without entering churches, and witness Bete Giyorgis at sunrise for instance!

11 rock-hewn churches of Lalibela – Conclusion

If there would be a competition for the eighth world wonder, Lalibela rock churches would be a solid contender.

In Ethiopian highlands, hidden in the ground, the sacred landscape reveals itself, strengthening the faith of believers for centuries.

They come poor and leave rich. They come sick and get a cure. In these manmade caves, they find God.

The fantastic structures were built from top to bottom. Nobody else builds a house like that in this world! This makes Lalibela churches a very special example of medieval architecture. Buildings that are essentially sculptures do not cease to amaze.

There are not many long-lasting legacies in the world. With poor standards of Ethiopian housing, rock-hewn churches that survived centuries have to be divine. So divine that, when conservators were working on protecting these rocks, priests would collect the dust from the drilled holes. It’s a sacred stone they have! After all, they were designed by angels!

Ethiopia might not be on everyone’s radar. But if you decide to give it a chance, and literally dig under the surface, you might be surprised by what you find!

About Lalibela

Lalibela location

Lalibela is located in the Amhara region, in the North Wollo zone. This mountain town is some 645 kilometers away from Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia.

Lalibela altitude: 2.480 m

The population of Lalibela town: 17.367 (2007 census)

How to get to Lalibela?

It may look close on the map, but reaching Lalibela town from Addis Ababa by bus will take two days (overnight stopover in Dessie).

For travelers coming from western Ethiopia: If you go to Lalibela from Bahir Dar, it will be a one-day ride. Traveling by bus from Gondar will again require spending the night somewhere.

For travelers coming from northern Ethiopia: If you go to Lalibela from Aksum, you will need to stop over in Mekelle and probably once again in Weldiya. Unless you make a purposeful stop in Mekelle for visiting the Danakil Depression, as I did, in which case your desert trip agency can drop you off at Lalibela directly as mine did!

Of course, van transport is always quicker than the bus. It all depends on the experience you want to have. And risks vary when you travel Ethiopian roads.

The fastest way would be to fly in, as Lalibela has its own airport.

Where to stay in Lalibela?

If you’re looking into where to stay in Lalibela, check the best offer of Lalibela hotels here.

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