YEHA, Ethiopia — Inside a tent that doubles as a humanitarian shelter and a makeshift café, the scent of roasting coffee mingles with trails of incense. Across the table, Atkilt Gebrekirstos looked pensive, his frustration as visible as the steam rising above it.
His ancestral village, Yeha, is home to the ruins of the Grat Beal Gebri palace and the Temple of Yeha, a structure dating back to the 7th century B.C. and considered Ethiopia’s oldest surviving architecture. Rock-hewn tombs nearby once made the area one of the country’s most visited historical destinations.
Today, the echoes of that glory are muted. Years of conflict, hunger, and staggering unemployment have left the province hollowed out, its people struggling to rebuild. For Gebrekirstos, 27, the question is no longer how to share his village’s rich history, but whether it has a future at all.
“The tourists that once came in numbers are gone,” he said. “Since the war started almost five years ago, the few who visit only stop long enough to snap photos before rushing back to their cars.”
For longtime guide Kiros Asegedom, the decline is heartbreaking. Once, he says, there were promises: paved roads, guesthouses, a vibrant tourism economy. None of them materialized. “The only activity we see now are German architects working on restorations,” he said, gazing over the village. “But there are no visitors. Yeha looks like a ghost town. Young people have already left to look for opportunities elsewhere.”
The German Archaeological Institute, renowned for its global research and preservation efforts, has been active in Yeha since 2009. Its teams have been restoring ancient structures with modern technology, expertise, and training. In 2018, Germany’s then-ambassador to Ethiopia, Brita Wagener, wrote that the project was meant to “stimulate tourism … and reveal this outstanding cultural heritage to a wider public.”
But war put those ambitions on hold. For more than three years, restoration efforts were suspended during the Tigray conflict. Though the institute has now returned, residents remain skeptical that archaeology alone can bring back life to a village many feel is being left behind.
“We have history, yes,” said Million Gebremedhin, a public transport driver. “But our young people, who proudly guided tourists and worked here, are gone. Yeha was supposed to be revived so we could stand on our own. Instead, it is now a ghost town of old men.”
Forty kilometers from Yeha, the ancient city of Axum, once the seat of the Aksumite Empire, is facing its own crisis of survival.
Its famed obelisks — granite towers recognized by UNESCO as world treasures — still pierce the sky. But the crowds that once gathered at their base have thinned to almost nothing. Hotels are shuttered, young people are leaving, and those who remain are abandoning tourism for whatever livelihood they can find.
One of the most ambitious ventures was Atranos Fantasy, a boutique hotel that opened in 2020 just before the Tigray war. With 83 rooms, a small pool, and a spa, it was meant to be a beacon to Axum’s growing hospitality scene. Now, its lobby sits mostly empty, its Wi-Fi attracting more idle young people than paying guests.
“We are certainly the best hotel in Axum,” said an employee, who spoke on condition of anonymity. “But our rooms are rarely occupied. Our restaurant sees little traffic. Reservations are canceled by guests outside Axum, worried about new outbreaks of conflict. The only people staying here are staff from humanitarian organizations.”
Across the city, the mood is one of exhaustion. The war, locals say, has drained not just the economy but the very spirit of Axum. Conversations turn less to its millennia-old past than to the recent devastation.
The city’s most iconic monument, the Axum Obelisk — returned from Italy in 2005 after being looted by Mussolini’s troops — now attracts few visitors. Trash and tall grass surround the site, a symbol of how far the city has fallen. “Before the war, the obelisk brought in many tourists,” said Biniam Hagos, a resident. “Now we mostly see Ethiopians from other regions or aid workers. The site looks abandoned.”
For people like Dawit Tekle, a local photographer, the collapse of tourism has meant hunger and desperation. “We are desperate, we are hungry,” he said. “We have always lived by serving tourists. Now there are none.”
Photographers, once proud cultural ambassadors for Axum, now linger near the monuments, hoping to earn a few birr by snapping portraits for the rare visitor. “We look more like beggars than professionals,” said Biniam.
Even the palace said to belong to the Queen of Sheba — a central figure in Ethiopia’s religious and cultural history — lies in near-total ruin. Its crumbling remains blend more with the surrounding mud huts than with the grandeur of the queen’s legend.
Axum, once a living testament to Ethiopia’s ancient civilization, now feels like a city stranded between past and present — a world heritage site in danger of being forgotten.
