Mom didn’t feel like going to see the actual festival in the morning. She wasn’t totally recovered from getting sick earlier in the trip (what with the go go go pace) and we both were a bit tired of the preferential treatment and especially of all the religious stuff. Eventually, after many longing looks at my comfy bed, I decided to go to the festival. I told our tour guide that I didn’t want to get in people’s way or shove through crowds, and he sorta agreed, which I figured was the best I was going to get.
We walked up the hill, quickly,and went to the courtyard outside of that one church people with girl cooties can’t enter. I didn’t want to pass all the people crowded in the gate, but the guard made me, which ended up being a good thing—I was less in the way when we passed through because people were crowded around the gate and pressed up against the walls of the church. Apparently, there’s a Coptic belief that the Holy Spirit comes from the ground and and the best thing to do is to stay put so it can find you. So people just stop as soon as they get into the holy area. In this case, pushing through got me out of the way.
After some time listening and watching, we headed back to the square outside the main market. Again we were shepherded to a prime viewing spot, and the guide teased me for not being aggressive enough. This time the spot was behind a fence about 10-15 feet from the cross, and about 10 feet deep between the fence and the building behind us. There were many speeches in Amharic (about godly things, I’m sure). Then the Bishop and some priests circled the cross and lit it. It went up fast. One minute we were all getting close to the fence for better views, and the next we were backing up as far as the building behind us would allow. The next, the pressure of the heat had cleared everyone who had been standing in front of the cross to the sides of the building behind us.
The flames climbed the ten-foot cross and spread out, following the logs that were tossed onto the fire from several feet away.
Again, the crowd seemed both joyful and a little bit frightening, especially when combined with the destructive power of fire and the sheer joy of making the fire bigger bigger bigger. And I say that as someone who is generally very appreciative of the transcendent captivation of fire. I had a very strong sense that very soon the fire would explode out of control.
It never did.
On the way out, we stopped to watch some youths who had a drumming and dancing circle. Amongst them was a young woman I had seen the day before: hair only partially covered, looking like she belonged there, in the front with all the men, and doing her own thing. She gave me hope for the future of Coptic Christianity, from my own perspective, of course.
There were some kids in the crowd who couldn’t see and I gestured to a girl to see if she wanted up to see better. I’m still not sure she totally understood me, but I lifted her up and held her for a bit so she could see the drummers and dancers.
