In the spiritual heart of Addis Ababa, an extraordinary project is taking shape in the Piasa district at the Hamere Berhan Institute. A dedicated cadre of religious devotees and skilled artisans are meticulously recreating ancient religious manuscripts and sacred artwork, works of devout reverence sometimes centuries old. Every tool, from parchments to pens and inks, is crafted on-site, embedding the institute’s efforts with a sense of profound authenticity.
Brandishing a bamboo ink pen, Zelalem Mola, an Ethiopian Orthodox priest, begins his sacred odyssey. With steady hand and resolute focus, he meticulously transcribes ancient Ge’ez script from a religious tome onto a goatskin parchment. A work of devout reverence, his task enshrines an antiquated tradition. Yet, for this 42-year-old devotee, it is more than mere preservation. Each stroke of the pen weaves a spiritual bond, drawing him closer to the divine, rendering his endeavor a profound pilgrimage on parchment.
At the institute’s helm, handling communications, is the zealous Yeshiemebet Sisay. At 29, she reflects on the initiative, which began four years prior. As ancient parchment manuscripts are gradually vanishing from Ethiopian culture, this has spurred an urgent call to action for Yeshiemebet and her team.
Traditionally, these priceless manuscripts were kept in monasteries, becoming part of an antiquated custom where prayers and religious chants were conducted using only parchment manuscripts. Yet, as modernity seeped in, the ritual started to lose ground. In response, Yeshiemebet and her team decided to inherit the knowledge from the priests, preserving the tradition in their own hands.
Inside the institute’s courtyard, an elaborate and painstaking process unfolds. Goatskins are tightly stretched over metal frames, left to dry under the faint sun barely penetrating through the milky sky above. Tinsaye Chere Ayele, a diligent 20-year-old, alongside his dedicated colleagues, meticulously cleans the stretched skin using a rudimentary scraper, undeterred by the pungent smell emanating from the animal hide.
These cleansed and dried skins, stripped of the goat hair, are then transformed into canvases. They are cut into specific sizes to be used as book pages or painting surfaces. Yeshiemebet reveals that the majority of the manuscripts are custom-made, often commissioned by patrons who subsequently gift them to churches or monasteries. Some individuals, however, commission a smaller collection of prayers or artwork to possess personal “reproductions of ancient Ethiopian works.”
Creating these ornate pieces requires months, if not years, of diligent labour. Small books may take one or two months to complete, while more ambitious projects could stretch up to two years. The arduous process often involves fashioning a stylus from bamboo and creating inks from various local plants.
Within the solemnity of the institute’s rooms, scribes like Zelalem devoutly undertake the monumental task of copying books. With the parchment pages perched on his knees, he painstakingly reproduces the sacred text Zena Selassie (History of the Trinity), a task that he estimates could take half a year to complete.
The liturgical language of these religious works is Ge’ez, a dead language that lives on within the Ethiopian Orthodox Church. This process of translation, from paper to parchment, is critical to preserve these writings, which are vulnerable to damage in paper form.
Despite the onerous process, the scribes maintain their dedication, their ardor fuelled by a deep-seated devotion and the belief that their painstaking effort makes them worthy in God’s eyes. Lidetu Tasew, the institute’s educational head, encapsulates this spiritual dimension beautifully, stating, “Spending time here painting saints is like talking to saints and to God.” This reverential sentiment, that the spirit of God exists wherever saints are painted, infuses every stroke of their work, preserving not just manuscripts, but the very soul of an ancient culture.
With AFP.