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Contributed Articles AA: 
Despite decades of internal strife in the surrounding countryside,
the Eritrean capital of Asmara still maintains strong architectural
and cultural connnections with its Italian colonial past.
I clearly remember my astonishment when I first landed
in Asmara in 1991, the first year of peace for Eritrea which, for over
30 years, had been fighting for its independence. I remember it well,
because I would see it on the face of everyone who arrived at this unique
and amazing city. The airport taxi was an ancient, shiny, rusty-blue
Fiat 1100. (In Italy we hadn't seen one for at least 30 years.) The
obliging taxi-driver halted in front of a corner cafe. 'Bar Duca d'Aosta',
the sign announced. In Italian, I ordered a cappuccino and a bun. In
Italian, the barman said 'Welcome'. Surely I was dreaming.
The Fiat continued its trip into the city centre, skidding
towards a petrol station which looked like an aeroplane taking off.
'Fiat -- Officine Tagliero', was inscribed in red lettering high over
the central tower. It was the former branch office of Italy's largest
car manufacturer, a truly astonishing building erected in 1939. Somebody
told me that on the day before its inauguration, the designer had to
put a gun to the builder's head. The builder was incredulous; he couldn't
believe that once the wooden pillars were removed, the 'wings' would
stay up. Nobody had ever seen such a daring building in the whole of
Africa.
That evening I found myself strolling up and down the city's
main avenue and discovered the Asmara passeggiata. Old men wearing stiff
grey cloth hats, broad-striped shirts, waistcoats and bulky ties under
three button pin-striped suits were slowly strolling among the palm
trees. Women wrapped up in white shawls were walking more quickly and
talking animatedly. This passeggiata filled up the hours before sunset.
I also discovered the Cinema Impero with its clean, geometric lines
and porthole windows. (During Ethiopian domination, an attempt was made
to rename it Cinema Ethiopia, but once the Eritrean people were free
again, they inscribed, in white lettering over the purple frontage,
its original colonial name.) Further revelations included the tall towers
of the Orthodox church of Nda Mariam, the Rationalist villas of the
Villini district and the white marble Great Mosque, a 1938 project by
Guido Ferrazza, a famous Italian colonial architect.
I spent my first night in Asmara in the tennis-court sized
room of the Hotel Hamasien, built in an almost Nordic style in 1919.
My bed linen still boasted the golden embroidery of 'Ciaao' (Compagnia
Italiana Alberghi Africa Orientale). I was sure now. This was Asmara,
and it was, as the partisans of Eritrean independence (whom I had met
when they were a resistance force in the mountains) had described it
to me for years. Asmara, city of the sun, luminous, and Mediterranean,
in the middle of Africa.
Asmara is planned for its people, for their commerce,
for their life and needs, for meeting each other and taking it easy.
It was as if the lost-paradise climate had infected and inspired generations
of Italian architects and town planners. Away from the imperial rigidities
of Fascism, they built, with great enthusiasm and passion, this remarkable
town on a 2000m high plateau on the edge of the Red Sea. Naigzy Gebremedhin,
architect and director of the Eritrean government's heritage programme,
has no doubts: 'Asmara is a virtual museum of Italian Art Deco. And
the Asmarinos love their town. They have always wanted to preserve the
Italian colonial architecture, and they still do. They know their town
is beautiful and pleasant, built for the good life. We are not going
to destroy it, as colonial masterpieces have been destroyed elsewhere.'
Asmara is essentially a place of details, of light and
shade, of curves and lines. No one building stands out from the others.
The city's soul is revealed in the coloured majolica, in the unusual
reflections of Art Nouveau glass windows, in the fading tesseras of
a mosaic that suddenly appears behind a house corner, in the colourful
tiles of a fountain, in the stone statues holding up a small balcony,
in the wroughtiron balustrade of a gate, in the elegant entrance to
a brewery.
Asmara's urban landscape is thrilling.
Although its name has changed several times, the marvels of the Viale
della Liberazione left me speechless. (Originally named after Mussolini
by the Italian Fascists, it was then changed to the Negus Haile Selassie
during the years of the Ethiopian Empire, and then again after the Revolution
during the dark times of the tyrannical Mengistu Haile Maryam, the 'red'
dictator of Ethiopia.) Here a shell-shaped fountain divides the two
flights of stairs leading to the sumptuous entrances of the Asmara Theatre,
frescoed with veiled Art Nouveau ballerinas. A tower, as tall as the
Alexandria lighthouse, unbalances the Cubist geometry of the Ministry
for Education building, an old Casa di Fascio built in 1928. Asmara
town hall, built between 1951 and 1957 to a 1930s design is a puzzle
worthy of the most daring Cubist genius with a facade of green majolica
mosaic.____________________________ ____________________________ By
Corinne Archer, ICON magazine, Fall 06 issue Jan 07
A soaring plane, a surging ship, a swirling
staircase. Disconnected as they may seem, these elements all come together
in Asmara, capital of Africa's newest country Eritrea, in a veritable
Aladdin's Cave of architectural riches. The symbolism characterizes
the eclectic buildings of this extraordinary city, which is now slowly
revealing itself to the outside world.
For more than three decades, Asmara's
hidden wonders were kept secret as civil war raged through the craggy
mountains, narrow valleys, and desert plains of Eritrea -then a province
of Ethiopia. Guerrilla fighters struggling for independence from successive
oppressive rulers finally marched into their newly liberated capital
in 1991 and, with peace, Asmara's unique architecture was at last brought
out into the open.
Straddling
a plateau over two kilometers high, the "city in the clouds" houses
one of the highest concentrations of modernist buildings anywhere in
the world. It was an experimental playground for the Italian colonizers
of the early twentieth century, whose architects and builders were given
free reign to dabble to their heart's content.
The result is a mishmash of inspired engineering,
packed into an area of four square kilometers, which fits together in
the most charming way imaginable. Futuristic buildings depicting the
new fascination with machines in the early 1900s stand alongside the
simple rationalist styles of the 1930s and the austere monumentalism
of the fascist era.
As fascism
waned, this too was reflected in the architecture with a return to rustic,
classical villas. Intermingled with these various styles are fabulously
ornate buildings, such as the Asmara Theatre, the former palace and
the Roman Catholic cathedral -neo-classical designs, with touches of
Gothic and flourishes of art deco.
But all this
history requires preservation, a fact that was quickly acknowledged
by the new Eritrean authorities. After the war, hurried and unplanned
construction began sprouting everywhere to the horror of world-renowned
architects like Naigzy Gebremedhin.
Realization
of the threat dawned, and the government placed a building embargo on
Asmara's historical center. Naigzy returned to his native Eritrea in
1994 to establish a national environmental program, and became the independent
country's first director of environmental protection.
Aided by World
Bank funding, he launched an initiative known as the Cultural Assets
Rehabilitation Project (CARP) in a bid to save the buildings, many of
which had started crumbling badly due to war, isolation, and neglect.
He worked as the coordinator of CARP until his retirement in 2004, serving
without pay in recognition of the many sacrifices made by fellow Eritreans
in achieving the nation's independence.
Before liberation,
Naigzy trained as an architect and city planner at various institutions
including the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, and lectured at
the faculty of building and architecture at Haile Selassie University
in Addis Ababa. He then went into private practice and his many projects
included preparing the masterplans for campuses of the new university
system in Ethiopia. When the brutal military regime of Mengistu Haile
Mariam ousted Emperor Haile Selassie in 1974, Naigzy joined the Nairobi-based
UN Environmental Programme (UNEP) where he headed projects dealing with
urban planning and its environmental aspects. In 1994 he left the UN
and went to work for his newly independent country.
Naigzy's
love for Asmara and its remarkable heritage is infectious. You gaze
in awe at the old Fiat Tagliero garage constructed in the shape of a
plane with its two enormous concrete wings ready for take off. You wonder
at the sight of the Bar Zilli, built to mimic a ship whose bow juts
out into Martyrs Avenue -named after the tens of thousands who gave
their lives for the country's independence. You linger over a macchiato
in the panelled art deco interior of the Cinema Roma cafe with its zinc
top bar alongside the former projection equipment, kept in the foyer
as an exhibit.
"This is a
city where experimentation with modernism is unparalleled anywhere else
in the world," Naigzy points out.
He says much
of the Italian architecture in Asmara is Novecento and rationalist.
The designs are simple, straight lines as evidenced in the apartment
blocks dotted around the city or commercial buildings such as the Hotel
Selam -a classic example of the rationalist style.
Round the corner there are more treasures in store.
Naigzy takes you inside a delapidated, unprepossessing apartment block.
You are stunned by the sight that greets you -a perfectly preserved
spiral staircase of yellow-painted concrete swirls that make you feel
giddy as you follow them to the top of the building. An Italian experiment
with interior decoration.
The
Italians, who controlled Eritrea from 1889 until 1941, spared no expense
to create themselves a "home away from home." But the building spree
really took off in the 1930s when fascist leader Benito Mussolini decided
to use the territory as a springboard from which to expand his African
empire. Between 1935 and 1941, as Italians flooded into the colony,
Asmara's population grew tenfold.
Eritreans
were not allowed into the area now known as the "historical perimeter,"
where vast pavements were constructed for the Italian passaggiata ,
lined with plush cafes for the well-heeled colonizers to pause and take
a cappuccino. Solidly-built cinemas, hotels, and restaurants in a variety
of styles were erected for their entertainment. Pastel colored villas
surrounded by gardens overflowing with bougainvillea and frangipani
constituted the residential areas -an explosion of taste and color.
Walking down
Liberation Avenue -the palm-fringed main thoroughfare that has undergone
a series of name changes -the eclectic range of Asmara's architecture
is on full view. Rationalist blocks of flats hug the sides of imposing,
severe fascist buildings such as the former party headquarters, now
the Ministry of Education Across the road is the art deco Cinema Impero
with its nearby café terrace. Further up lie the gigantic Romanesque-style
Catholic cathedral and the Renaissance-inspired Asmara Theatre. Although
many buildings are suffering from the ravages of time and adversity,
central Asmara still has the feel of a pleasant Italian town. The altitude
means the climate is temperate and the filtered sunlight bounces off
the multi-colored buildings, creating hues of pale greens, yellows,
and pinks. And from every corner, the tell-tale sign of a cafe society
-the pervasive aroma of roasting coffee.
But Naigzy
fears that grinding poverty in Eritrea could hamper the continuation
of much-needed conservation efforts. The World Bank project is set to
expire at the end of this year. "Given the lack of financial resources,
it is likely that conservation work will be given a low priority," he
says. "The needs of architectural preservation pale in contrast to health,
nutrition, and education.
Eritrea
is one of the poorest countries in the world, with over 60 percent of
the population living below the poverty line. And the territory has
been devastated by war, occupation, and natural disasters for hundreds
of years.
Wedged in the Horn of Africa between Ethiopia,
Djibouti, and Sudan this tiny nation of nearly four million people is
strategically situated along 1,000 kilometers of Red Sea coast. Its
location has resulted in a steady stream of invaders and occupiers over
the centuries -Turks, Egyptians, Italians, British, and Ethiopians.
Each of these foreign occupiers has had a distinct impact on the creation
of an Eritrean identity, resulting in a resilient and fiercely independent
people. Eritrea, which is equally divided between Moslems and Christians,
was given its name by the Italians, taken from 'Mare Erythraeum' meaning
Red Sea in Latin.
The British
took over the colony in 1941 after defeating the Italians at the Battle
of Keren. But they were never very interested in their new acquisition
and in 1952, the UN decided Eritrea should be federated with Ethiopia
as an autonomous entity. However, ten years later Emperor Haile Selassie
annexed the territory using acts of Eritrean armed resistance as a pretext.
Thus began one of the longest civil wars in African history. Eritrea's
struggle for independence was mostly fought in isolation after the superpowers
took it in turn to support Ethiopia. But the seemingly formidable foe
was defeated, the victorious Eritrean People's Liberation Front (EPLF)
entered Asmara in 1991 and two years later Eritrea's independence was
formalized in a referendum.
Eritrea
was peaceful for a while. The guerrilla leaders strove to turn themselves
into politicians and create new institutions for the fledgling state.
But in 1998, war again broke out with Ethiopia -this time with the EPLF's
erstwhile allies, the Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF) who had
taken control of Ethiopia the same year as Eritrea gained its independence.
A skirmish over the border town of Badme flared up into a full-scale
war that lasted two years with the loss of tens of thousands of lives.
The situation remains tense with the border closed and still to be demarcated.
"The current no-war-no-peace
situation will impact negatively on any initiative aiming to raise investment
funds," warns Naigzy, who is co-author of the seminal book Asmara: Africa's
Secret Modernist City , which brought the capital to the attention of
the world.
But the Eritrean
government plays down any suggestion that historical preservation is
about to take a back seat. In fact it was CARP, which is administered
by the Eritrean Ministry of Tourism, that sponsored Asmara's recent
nomination to the World Monuments Fund 2006 list of 100 Most Endangered
Sites , a move they believe will aid in their effort to harness private-sector
support for restoration of the city.
"This is an
equal priority for us, along with other programs," says Information
Minister Ali Abdu. "The past is very important in order to build the
future." The conservation project, he says, will continue with a budget
under the Ministry of Tourism.
However
private investors are now paying hard currency for empty plots both
within the historic perimeter and in urbanized parts of Asmara. Naigzy
is afraid that investors, who have paid dollars for prime land, will
want to maximize their return by building "high and wide."
"Persons who
have fought against concrete monstrosities may be in for a rude shock,"
he says. "I hope and pray that one is wrong with this dire prediction."
Ali Abdu seeks
to allay any fears in this regard. He admits there have been "one or
two mistakes," but stresses that the government is very aware of this
potential problem. "We do have a say with the private investors," he
says. "We are protecting the historical buildings and we emphasize the
importance of this to the investors.
" The government,
he says, is endeavoring to separate the old and the new by building
a modern city around the historical center.
Naigzy acknowledges
that up to now the moratorium on new construction or even substantial
modification within the historical perimeter still holds. "This is remarkable,"
he says. "Is it the result of detached and unadulterated responsibility?
Difficult to say. The economy is in stagnation mode, hence no construction."
Whatever
their politics and beliefs, Eritreans have one thing in common -an unbridled
devotion to their capital city. And the government has continued the
trend of building unusual monuments in the city center. Rather than
cultish statues or distasteful memorials to commemorate the independence
of their country, they built a monument in the form of a huge pair of
sandals -the Shidda worn by the freedom fighters.
Far from
denouncing the architecture as a colonial reminder, as in so many other
African countries, Eritreans believe their capital is unique. It is
this belief that might well propel the push for continued preservation.
"Our architecture
is like frozen music," says Ali Abdu. "It's like wine -the longer it
stays, the better it tastes. It is magnificent -very, very unique."
His favorite buildings, he says, are the art deco pastel post office
on the main square, and the former Fiat Tagliero garage.
"African countries
are very quick to destroy their architecture," he adds. "But it's not
bad to remember the past. You can't cancel history, you can learn from
it."
Naigzy agrees.
"Eritreans in general and the citizens of Asmara in particular seem
to have thoroughly appropriated the colonial architecture, to the extent
of almost perceiving it inherently as their own," he states. "There
is most definitely a feeling that Asmara is a unique city in Africa,
indeed, in the world."
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