0:00 In much of Ethiopia, the year isn't 2024.0:03 It's 2016.0:04 Just last week, we were listening for the snores of Iceland's sleeping stone giants among the steam vents and mossy rocks.0:14 Today, we travel to a place that follows its own calendar, a land where time itself seems to march to an ancient, different drum.0:25 Come with me, to the highlands of East Africa.0:28 The air in Lalibela is thin and smells of dust and something holy, like old stone and incense.0:36 I remember standing before a church called Biete Ghiorgis, Saint George's.0:42 It wasn't built up, but carved DOWN, a perfect cross sunk deep into the red volcanic rock.0:50 Local legend says angels helped carve these churches in a single night.0:56 And near the entrance, I met a young girl named Abeba.1:00 She wasn't looking at the church.1:03 She was staring at her own hands, a tangle of white cotton thread in her lap.1:09 Abeba’s family were weavers.1:11 For generations, they had made the beautiful, fine white shawls called shemma.1:18 Her grandmother, her Emahoy, was a master.1:21 With her old, knowing fingers, she could weave stories into the borders of the cloth.1:28 And there was one story, one pattern, that was their family's secret.1:34 It was a tiny piece of the epic tale of the Queen of Sheba, who journeyed from this land a thousand years ago to meet the wise King Solomon.1:46 And it was Abeba’s turn to learn it.1:49 But the pattern was a ghost.1:51 It wouldn't take shape.1:53 Her grandmother would show her, her own hands moving in a blur, a dance of thread and wood on the big loom.2:02 Clack-clack-clack.2:03 Then Abeba would try.2:05 The threads would knot.2:07 The symbols for the Queen’s caravan, for the star she followed, would come out looking like smudges.2:15 She felt the weight of it.2:17 All those generations, all those grandmothers… what if she was the one who let the story fade?2:25 Later that evening, the spicy, wonderful smell of doro wat stew filled their small home.2:32 But as her family scooped up the rich red sauce with pieces of soft, spongy injera bread, Abeba could barely eat.2:42 The tangled threads felt like a knot in her own stomach.2:46 That night, she sat outside, watching the REAL stars appear in the dark sky.2:53 Her grandmother came and sat beside her, but she didn't bring any thread.2:59 Instead, she brought out a small clay pot, green coffee beans, and a pan.3:05 She began the coffee ceremony.3:07 Oh, you have to smell this someday.3:10 First, the scent of the beans roasting over the coals, rich and smoky.3:16 Then, she ground them by hand, and the aroma changed, becoming deeper, earthier.3:23 Finally, as she poured the boiling water, the air filled with the most incredible, fragrant steam.3:31 As they sipped the strong, dark coffee from tiny cups, her grandmother began to speak.3:38 She didn't talk about weaving.3:40 She told a story.3:42 She told Abeba how the great Queen of Sheba must have felt, setting out on her long journey.3:49 How she was probably a little scared.3:52 How she must have looked up at these SAME stars and wondered if she was doing the right thing.4:00 She wasn't just a queen in a legend; she was a person, with worries and with courage.4:07 The next morning, Abeba went to the loom.4:11 She picked up the shuttle, the small wooden boat that carries the thread.4:17 But this time, she didn't think about the pattern.4:21 She thought about a brave queen under a blanket of stars.4:26 She thought about the smell of coffee and the warmth of her grandmother’s hand.4:32 Her fingers started to move.4:34 First slowly, then with more confidence.4:38 And there, in the white cotton, a tiny, perfect star began to appear.4:43 It wasn't just a knot of thread anymore.4:47 It was the beginning of the story.4:50 It was a piece of the night sky, caught and held, ready to be passed on.
