Travnik, Bosnia and Herzegovina

The first woman I stopped at the bus station to ask how to get to the center of town spoke fluent English. And so she was able to fully convey to me the surprise she felt at the sight of a tourist in Travnik, the ancient town that served as the hub of Ottoman authority in its Bosnian holdings.

"You want to stay here for the night?" she asked in her British English, before offering me some of her "crisps."

"Yeah.....is that no good?"

"No, it's fine," she said. "It's just that I don't know if you'll be able to find a place to stay."

Great decision, Billy.


Luckily, she was wrong. I did find a place to stay ... but only after walking across half of Bosnia, my feet getting heavier by the step, thanks to the HUGE pack on my back that gets heavier with every book that I buy.


When I finally found the one motel in the entire city -- at least a 30-minute walk from the station -- I checked in, and praised Jah that I had a, gasp, television set inside. Traveling on a shoe string like I am, getting a TV in my room is about as common as seeing a lunar eclipse. Tired as hell, I dropped my pack, plopped down on the chair, and immediately turned it on to see if I could remember how a remote control works.

After only a few clicks, I came upon quite a pleasant surprise: A BBC special about a British anthropologist's search for the real queendom (is that a word?) of Sheba.

Most people are semi-familiar with the tale that is recorded in two books of the Old Testament: The Queen of Sheba visits Jerusalem, meets Solomon, is bedazzled by his wisdom, blah blah blah, and returns home. I've read those stories, too. They are boring.

If you're interested in something a little spicier, don't look through any books you find in your bedside drawer at Motel 6. Try and find an ancient Ethiopian text, originally recorded in the Ge'ez language, called the Kebra Nagast (Glory of Kings). The Kebra takes the Sheba-Solomon story one step further. And it is this addendum that serves as the foundation for the belief shared by Ethiopian Christians and the worldwide Rastafarian community: That Solomon and Queen Makedah got it on.

Their illegitimate son, known as Menyelik, grew up in the land of Sheba (Ethiopians and Rastas believe it to be modern day Ethiopia; the BBC anthropologist contends that it is in fact modern day Yemen, which is separated from the Horn of Africa by a stretch of water narrower than the Channel separating Britain from France). One day, sick of getting teased by his friends on the playground about the fact that his momma, the queen, had gotten knocked up without a wedding band on her finger, Menyelik demanded that his mother tell him where it was that he could find his dad.

She pointed to the Kingdom of Judah, and to Jerusalem.

So Menyelik took a little road trip to the Land of Milk and Honey. The legend has it that he was a dead ringer for his grandfather, King David. But he also brought with him a ring, given to his mother by the wise Solomon, that may not have been a wedding band, but it was evidence enough to fully convince Solomon that Menyelik was who he claimed to be. Inscribed upon the ring was the insignia of David and Solomon's specific tribe of Israel -- the Conquering Lion of the Tribe of Judah. Solomon took one look at the ring and embraced his son. He was glad to have him home.

But Menyelik wasn't trying to stay forever -- he just wanted to meet his dad, say what's up, nice to meet you, and go home to Africa. Solomon was distressed, wanting badly for a more capable son than the one he had fathered legitimately to succeed him on the throne. But he couldn't force Menyelik to stay. So he settled for the next best thing: Spread his royal lineage to the land of Sheba, by crowning Queen Makedah's son the King of Ethiopia. Menyelik even got a new name: King David II.

But Solomon wanted to make sure that the new branch of Judan royalty would live a life expected of a one-God-fearing Israelite. So he demanded that all the first born sons of his closest coterie in the royal court of Jerusalem be sent back to Sheba with the newly-crowned King of Ethiopia. Naturally, these Israelite youngsters were less than thrilled. Picture their reactions: "Africa??? You want me to move from ZION to a land SOUTH OF EGYPT?? Why in the hell did we spend forty-freaking-years wandering through the desert, then, if we have to move all the way down there now?"

They were determined to stick it to Solomon -- so they hit him where it hurt the most. They stole the Ark of the Covenant, which coincidentally was the only reason that Jerusalem was a holy city. The Ark didn't represent God; the Ark was God. And they viewed the fact that God allowed them to take Him away to a new land as evidence that Ethiopia was destined to be the "New Zion."

The New Jerusalem, if you will.

I really enjoy history -- all types. American Revolutionary period, the Balkans and its effect on WWI, the formation of the modern Middle East, even current stuff that may not qualify as "history" yet. But there is no story that has fascinated me more than this one from the Kebra Nagast.

For the simple fact alone that I got to watch this documentary on television in Travnik, I am glad I went there. And it made me want to travel to Ethiopia even more -- even though I heard from Bino last night that Somalia has just recently declared "jihad" on the country whose citizenry still claims to be the depository of the mysteriously vanished Ark.


I'm sure you are waiting for me to make the link between this long, rambling story about Menyelik and the photos here from Travnik. Honestly, there really isn't one. I guess I could make the link between Somalia being an Islamist-run "country" at the moment, and the fact that I was in a Muslim city. But that is clutching at straws. There is no link. Just look at the pretty pictures.