High in the mountains of Ethiopia there is a town called Lalibela, and something astonishing is hidden there.
Eight hundred years ago, people decided to build churches. But they did not stack up stones the way you might expect. Instead they started at the top of the rock and carved downward, cutting away everything that was not a church, until eleven churches stood in the ground with the sky above them.
They are still there today. You can walk down into them and put your hand on walls that someone shaped by hand, long before your grandparents' grandparents were born.
Once a year, in January, something joyful happens. It is called Timkat.
The whole town wakes early. People wear white shawls with bright woven edges. Priests carry beautiful cloths and hold golden umbrellas that spin and shimmer in the sun. Drums keep a slow, happy beat, and everybody walks together, singing, down to the water.
And then comes the best part for the children. The water is blessed, and it is splashed and sprinkled over everyone, and there is laughing and shrieking and running about, and everyone gets happily, gloriously wet.
Afterwards, when the sun goes down over Lalibela, the town grows quiet. The umbrellas are folded. The drums are put away. The old stone churches sit cool and still in their deep green shadows.
And everybody sleeps, tired and glad.
Goodnight.