Religious communities as custodians of geoheritage: towards a culturally grounded approach to geotourism in Dogu’a Tembien (Tigray, Ethiopia)

In the highlands of northern Ethiopia, the landscape is not merely a backdrop for human life; it is woven into the very fabric of faith. Here, the rock itself tells a story that is both geological and spiritual. Geotourism is a way of traveling that looks at the earth's physical features—its cliffs, caves, and ancient stones—not just as scenery, but as part of a larger cultural and ecological picture. Usually, when scientists study these places, they focus on the rock layers, the age of the formations, and how water carved the valleys over millions of years. However, in regions where religion has shaped the land for centuries, the story is incomplete without understanding the people who live there. This paper explores a specific question: how can we share the wonder of these geological wonders with visitors without disrupting the sacred life that has protected them for generations? The answer lies in recognizing that for the Orthodox Christian communities in this region, the rocks are not just stone; they are living parts of a holy system that has preserved the landscape for centuries.

The researchers focused their work on Dogu'a Tembien, a rugged district in the Tigray region of Ethiopia. This area is famous for its dramatic cliffs and deep valleys, but it is also home to a dense network of rock-hewn churches. These are not buildings constructed on top of the ground; they are carved directly out of the solid sandstone cliffs, often perched on narrow ledges or high summits. While the most famous of these churches are in Lalibela, a UNESCO World Heritage site, the northern Tigray region contains over 120 such sites, many of which are less known to the outside world. The team, consisting of geologists, historians, and local experts, spent years walking these trails, documenting the churches, and talking with the priests and villagers who guard them. They wanted to understand how the geological features of the area interact with the daily religious practices of the local people, and how this relationship could form the basis for a new kind of tourism that respects both the science of the earth and the sanctity of the site.

One of the most striking discoveries was the role of the local community as the true custodians of this heritage. The researchers found that the preservation of these sites is not the result of government laws or international conservation groups, but of a deep, living religious tradition. For example, every church in the region is typically surrounded by a "church forest." These are small patches of dense woodland that have been protected for centuries because the local faith considers the area sacred. These forests act as reservoirs for native plants and animals in an otherwise heavily farmed landscape. The same protective spirit extends to the rocks themselves. The study highlighted a specific, recently documented church called Debre Semaʿit Yohannis. This church is carved into a narrow pinnacle of rock, so high and steep that reaching it requires climbing a narrow path along a sheer drop. The researchers followed the process of this site coming to light, from its initial discovery by the local community to its re-consecration and the beginning of its journey toward becoming a place for visitors. They saw how the local people used the natural properties of the rock, such as striking certain stones to create a bell-like sound, blending geological knowledge with spiritual practice.

The paper also examined other sacred features that are deeply tied to the geology of the area. There are holy water springs, often located in remote valleys or caves, where people travel for healing rituals. These springs are not just random sources of water; they emerge from specific geological formations, such as cracks in limestone rock, which allow groundwater to reach the surface. The local belief system sees the water and the soil around it as a single sacred substance, often mixing the water with earth from the site for healing. The researchers observed that these sites are active centers of community life, drawing thousands of pilgrims during annual feast days. These gatherings create a natural flow of people along ancient footpaths that wind through the dramatic landscape, offering a ready-made network for tourism that is already rooted in the local culture.

However, the study also made it clear that turning these living sacred places into tourist destinations is fraught with challenges. The researchers documented several instances where well-meaning visitors clashed with local customs. Because these are active places of worship, not museums, access is often restricted. A visitor might arrive at a church only to be told they cannot enter because it is not the right time, or because they do not meet specific religious requirements. One of the most significant barriers is gender. In the Orthodox tradition, access to certain sacred spaces is strictly divided by gender; some caves and monasteries are entirely closed to women, and even within open churches, men and women occupy separate areas. The researchers noted that foreign visitors, unaccustomed to these rules, sometimes reacted with frustration or confusion, which could lead to tension.

Furthermore, the study found that the behavior of tourists often unintentionally disrespects the sanctity of the site. Visitors might wear inappropriate clothing, smoke near the church, or treat sacred objects as props for photos. The researchers observed that while local clergy sometimes tolerate these actions to avoid conflict or to gain economic benefits, it creates a deep sense of unease within the community. There is also a tension between the scientific view of the landscape and the religious view. Geologists see the sandstone cliffs as the result of millions of years of sedimentation and erosion, while local religious narratives might explain the same features through stories of saints or divine intervention. The researchers found that in rural areas, these two views often coexist without conflict, but creating signs or guides that explain the science without offending the faith is a delicate task.

The paper concludes that for geotourism to work in this region, it cannot simply be about showing people the rocks. It must be a partnership with the communities that have protected these places for centuries. The researchers argue that the most successful approach is one where the local community retains control over who visits, when they visit, and how they behave. This means that tourism development must be slow, respectful, and driven by the needs of the people who live there. The study suggests that if managed correctly, tourism can provide income for local families through guides, small lodges, and food services, without undermining the religious practices that keep the landscape intact. The key is to see the geological heritage and the religious heritage not as separate things, but as a single, living system. The rocks, the forests, and the water are all part of a sacred landscape that has been cared for by faith, and any future visitors must come with the understanding that they are guests in a home that is still very much alive.