On a recent afternoon in Addis Ababa’s Friendship Park, rows of glass vessels glimmered under museum lights. Round-bodied, long-necked, and unmistakably Ethiopian, the Berelé once carried honey wine to emperors, warriors, and wedding guests. Today, it sits in a museum case—its curves recalling centuries of feasting, ritual, and memory.
The bulbous, vase-shaped glass vessel, has long been an enduring emblem of Ethiopian heritage. Once central to communal gatherings and ritual celebrations, it is most closely associated with tej—the country’s traditional honey wine.
Historians trace its origins to the Aksumite Empire, where tej was reserved for royalty and the elite. Over the centuries, the vessel made its way into households and tej betoch—specialized honey-wine houses—its form inseparable from the ancient craft of fermenting honey with gesho, a bittering plant that defines the drink’s flavor.
The Berelé’s distinctive shape is not merely decorative: its wide bowl and narrow neck are thought to concentrate the wine’s floral aroma, turning a simple sip into a ceremonial act. “It was more than just a drinking vessel—it was part of a traditional Ethiopian living,” said Abel Assefa, director and curator of the Yimtubezina Museum and Cultural Centre.
But with shifting social practices and the spread of modern customs, the Berelé slowly receded from everyday life. Today it is more often prized as a cultural symbol than as a household necessity. Still, it endures—as a fixture at weddings and festivals, a sought-after souvenir, and increasingly, an object of scholarly and artistic attention.
That shift is the focus of a new exhibition, Neger Bemessale, Taj be Berelé: The Story of the Birillé in Ethiopia as told by Ian Campbell, now on view at the Centre in Addis Ababa’s Friendship Park. Running from Sept. 30 through Jan. 18, 2025, the exhibition presents a sweeping view of the vessel’s relatively recent history through the lens of Campbell, a historian and consultant in cultural heritage management.
The show brings together more than 150 Berelé, 100 of them distinct in shape, texture, and design, each with its own historical associations. Nearly 20 paintings by four contemporary Ethiopian artists accompany the glassware, visualizing the vessel’s place in everyday life and memory.
For Abel, these artworks underscore how deeply woven the Berelé once was in Ethiopian life.
The exhibition is also a story of collection. Campbell’s assemblage, amassed over more than 35 years, began as an act of curiosity. That spark grew into a lifelong pursuit fueled by travel across Ethiopia, visits to Addis Ababa’s sprawling Merkato, and the historic city of Harar, gifts from friends, and trades with local merchants.
Now, for the museum’s eleventh major exhibition, that archive is on public view. Organizers say the show has drawn both local and international visitors: casual enthusiasts eager to understand Ethiopia’s traditions, and scholars seeking primary material for cultural and historical study. For the public, it is a reminder that the Berelé—once a vessel for honey wine—remains, in form and spirit, a vessel for memory.
For Abel, the Berelé is a witness to history. Imported over centuries from glassmaking centers across the world, the vessels carried with them layers of symbolism. Some were decorated with political emblems, others with royal insignia, only to be repurposed as power shifted in Ethiopia.
“During the reign of Haile Selassie I, several Berelés now in the museum featured the image of the Italian royal family,” Abel said. “These were later altered by etching a cross over the glass.” The same pattern of revision followed the tides of politics: vessels adorned with the Imperial Crown were subsequently reworked by the Derg regime to display its ruling committee.
Though the Berelé’s presence in Ethiopia dates back to the 14th century, Campbell’s collection reflects a more global journey. Many of his rarest pieces came from Bohemia, a region once part of Czechoslovakia and now in the Czech Republic. One Bohemian flask, in particular, holds deep personal significance for Campbell, who has spent decades building his collection.
Campbell, a historian best known as the author of The Plot to Kill Graziani, traces his fascination with the Berelé to a chance encounter in the late 1980s. Browsing a shop in the capital, he noticed several flasks on display and asked why the dealer was selling them at all.
“I thought to myself, ‘They’re not Ethiopian,’” he recalled. “Glass isn’t made here, so why are they in the market? Why would anyone buy them?” That moment of skepticism turned into curiosity. If there was a market for these “funny-looking” flasks, Campbell reasoned, there had to be a reason.
What began as a casual purchase soon became a lifelong pursuit. “At first, I didn’t know the history,” Campbell said. “But the more I collected, the more I realized there’s a story behind the Berelé.” Unlike manuscripts, crosses, or paintings—objects that already drew collectors—he found himself charting unexplored territory.
Abel, the museum director, stressed that Campbell’s work went beyond acquisition. “It wasn’t only about gathering pieces,” he said. “It was about understanding the full story of the Berelé up to the present day.”
That story, told through glass, is one of continuity and transformation. From its beginnings as an Aksumite royal chalice, to a politicized canvas marked by crowns and crosses, and now a museum centerpiece, the Berelé is more than an artifact. It is a fragile but enduring archive of Ethiopia’s shifting empires, its contested identities, and its communal rituals—silent yet eloquent in the weight of its history.
