Mekelle፡Telaviv, Nairobi, Pretoria, London, (Tigray Herald)
“Echoes of the Highlands: The Soulful Songs of Wejerat”
By Yemanu Gedlu
As the sun rises over the rugged escarpments of southeastern Tigrai, its golden fingers stretch across the green slopes of Wejerat, awakening a land where culture is sung before it is spoken. In this highland cradle of heritage, one hears not just the wind through acacia trees—but the heartbeat of a people, carried in the haunting, melodic strains of Wejerat cultural songs.
As a traveling journalist tracing the uncharted trails of Ethiopia’s musical soul, I found myself drawn—compelled—by stories of a community whose songs are not merely entertainment, but living archives. I arrived in Wejerat during a local gathering, a mesmerizing fusion of dance, drumbeat, and age-old vocal tradition. At the heart of it all was the song—a gubae, rising like smoke into the mountain air, echoing tales of love, valor, harvest, and exile.
What struck me first was the voice—a tremble at first, then a storm. Deep, layered harmonies rose from a chorus of elders and youth alike, their voices tuned not by formal training, but by ancestral memory. The lead singer, a wiry elder with eyes like glowing embers, opened the performance with a slow, resonant chant that transported the audience into memory. His voice bent and soared, mimicking the rise and fall of the terrain itself.
These songs are framed in Gez poetic form, rich with metaphor and double meaning. But what made them remarkable was not just the poetry—it was the performance. In Wejerat, the singer does not simply sing; he narrates. He moves. His feet tap out rhythms older than any written script. His hands slice through the air like a calligraphy of emotion. The audience responds with chants, ululations, and synchronized shoulder dances that ripple like waves through the crowd.
The songs speak of legendary heroes who resisted invaders, of women who waited decades for lovers lost to war, of fields that refused to yield grain until blessed with song. And when they sing, they wear their story: woven white cotton kuta cloth adorned with beads and earth-toned sashes. Their costumes, like the songs themselves, are stitched with identity.
To witness a Wejerat cultural song is to understand that music here is more than sound—it is ceremony, memory, and resistance. It is the lifeblood of a people who, despite centuries of upheaval, have preserved their truth in tune.
As the final note faded and the crowd dissolved into laughter, I stood motionless, stunned by the emotional architecture of what I had witnessed. In a world racing forward, Wejerat sings backward—into the past—then forward again, guiding its people through generations.
If you ever find yourself in Tigray, follow the trail of the wind south of Mekelle. Ask for Wejerat. Ask for the music. And when you hear it, don’t just listen—feel it. Because here, in the songs of Wejerat, time doesn’t pass—it sings.
