I was just a 13-year-old boy when the storm of war first swept over Lalibela in 1975. The Ethiopian Airlines airplane, a symbol of connection and progress, was reduced to ashes at Lalibela Airport by supporters of the ousted king. I remember the panic that ensued at my school when an urgent evacuation was announced. White smoke billowed from the burning wreckage, marking the onset of the civil war that would ravage the rock-hewn Lalibela churches.

 

My school director, who happened to be my aunt's husband, tirelessly evacuated students from every class. The chaos outside intensified as I reached home, with gunshots punctuating the air. As I gazed outside, I saw a group of farmers marching towards the regional government offices. In less than 20 minutes, the magnificent building was ablaze, and the smoke had spread throughout the city. Since my house was in close proximity to the offices, I could feel the fumes emanating from the burning buildings.These were the very farmers led by deposed government officials who had revolted against the military junta in 1975, instigating the conflict in Lalibela. In response, the military junta known as the "Derg" sent soldiers and F16 jets, turning our peaceful town into a battleground. The churches shook from the reverberations of bombs. In the somber twilight, my eyes beheld a heart-wrenching scene: the surrendered farmers, once filled with hope, met their tragic end. The soldiers, devoid of mercy, wielded shovels not for cultivation but for carrying out merciless executions. With each strike, the despair of the condemned echoed in the air, and their lifeless bodies were callously consigned to a pit, buried alive beneath the weight of cruelty and conflict.

 

As a teenager, the horrors of that time haunted me, leaving scars that time could not erase. The war continued to engulf surrounding villages throughout 1976. Now, several years onward, I reside in Canada, watching from afar as Lalibela once again becomes a battlefield. The news, carried across the Atlantic, brings back the psychological torment I thought I had left behind.

 

Unable to stand idly by, I decided to channel my anguish into action. I founded the advocacy group "Save Lalibela Today" to shed light on the dire situation. Even though I am no longer a resident, the city's plight continues to weigh heavily on my heart. My mission is clear: to fight until Lalibela attains the recognition it deserves as a holy city and is freed from the shackles of war and conflict. The echoes of the past drive me forward, determined to make a difference and ensure that the world hears Lalibela's cry for peace.