A Global Celebration of Oromo Motherhood: Strength, Sacrifice, and Unbroken Love

By Dhabessa Wakjira

Happy Mother’s Day to you all, beautiful Oromo moms across the globe.

From the highlands of Oromia to the streets of Minneapolis, from the pastoral plains of Borana to the bustling suburbs of Melbourne, from the ancient soils of Jimma to the immigrant neighborhoods of Stockholm and Washington, D.C.—today, the world turns its gaze to you.

Not because the calendar demands it. But because your love demands it.

The Hands That Hold the Nation Together

An Oromo mother is not simply a parent. She is a living archive. She is the first teacher of the Afaan Oromo, the keeper of the sirba (traditional songs), the storyteller who whispers the names of heroes like Abdissa Aga, Elemo Qiltu, and Haile Fida into the ears of children who have never seen the homeland.

She is the one who cooks marqaa before the sun rises, who walks miles for water, who sits late into the night sewing uniforms for children whose school fees she can barely afford. She is the one who leaves her own plate empty so that others may eat.

And in the diaspora—far from the eebbisa (blessings) of elders and the shade of odaa trees—she becomes something else entirely: a bridge between two worlds.

The Diaspora Oromo Mother: A Bridge of Tears and Hope

For Oromo mothers raising children in America, Europe, Australia, and beyond, the journey is different but no less difficult.

She wakes up to speak Afaan Oromo to children who answer back in English. She drives them to school, then drives to her own job—perhaps cleaning offices, caring for the elderly, or working a night shift at a hospital cafeteria, just like the immigrant mother who became Dr. Iftu (Hawi) in yesterday’s story.

She carries the weight of two cultures. She wants her children to succeed in the West, but she also desperately wants them to know who they are—to understand Oromummaa (Oromo identity), to respect the Gadaa, to never be ashamed of their name or their skin or their language.

Some nights, she cries when no one is watching. The loneliness of being far from her own mother, far from her aadaa (culture), far from the familiar smell of buna (coffee) roasted by hand—it settles into her bones.

But every morning, she rises again. Because that is what Oromo mothers do.

A Legacy of Resilience

History has not been kind to the Oromo people. But Oromo mothers have never surrendered. They have buried sons and daughters in struggles for justice. They have raised revolutionaries on their laps. They have marched, sung, prayed, and persisted through regimes that tried to erase their language and deny their identity.

And still, they teach their children: “Oromo ta’uu kee hin ilaalu. Oromo ta’uu kee eenni hin beeku. Ati Oromo ti. Kunis badhaasa guddaadha.”

(“Do not be ashamed of being Oromo. Let no one make you ashamed. You are Oromo. That is a great gift.”)

Today, We Honor You

So today, on Mother’s Day, we see you.

We see you, haadha manaa (housewife) in Adama, who has never had a day off in twenty years.
We see you, single mother in Seattle, working two jobs and still attending every school play.
We see you, refugee mother in Kakuma camp, who tells your children stories of a homeland they have never seen.
We see you, grandmother in Asella, who raised your grandchildren after their parents were taken by politics or poverty.
We see you, stepmother, adoptive mother, spiritual mother—whose love chose rather than merely followed blood.

Baga Ayyaana Haadhaa! (Happy Mother’s Day!)

A Prayer for Oromo Mothers Everywhere

May your burdens become lighter.
May your children rise and call you blessed.
May your tears—whether of joy or sorrow—water the seeds of a better tomorrow.
May the world finally know the depth of what you have given.

And may every Oromo mother, whether in Finfinnee or Fargo, Haromaya or Houston, Bishoftu or Berlin, feel seen, celebrated, and deeply loved.

Because you are not just raising children.
You are raising the future of a nation.

Happy Mother’s Day to you all, beautiful Oromo moms in the globe.

With deepest respect and love,

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This feature story is dedicated to every Oromo mother who has sacrificed, survived, and loved beyond measure.

By Dhabessa Wakjira

A significant new book documenting the remarkable half-century political journey and struggle of veteran politician Mr. Lencho Leta has officially been launched. Titled “Lencho Leta: Struggle and Life,” the work was unveiled today in a ceremony that was as much a celebration of Oromo culture as it was a literary milestone.

Authored by Zufan Urga, the book is published in both Afaan Oromo and Amharic. It offers readers a deep and expansive analysis of Mr. Lencho Leta’s life—his rises and falls, his decades of political commitment, and the personal and collective sacrifices that defined his path.

A Ceremony Rooted in Ancient Tradition

The launch event was not a typical book signing. It was a powerful homage to Oromo heritage. The ceremony officially opened with a traditional blessing and recognition performed by Abba Gedas (wise elders) and Haadha Siinqee (women leaders holding the symbolic Siinqee staff), keepers of the Oromo’s ancient Gadaa system. Their presence grounded the event in values of justice, wisdom, and community—principles that have guided Lencho Leta’s own life of service.

From the outset, it was clear that this was not merely the launch of a book. It was the honoring of a living struggle.

A Panel of Witnesses

Following the official unveiling, a thought-provoking panel discussion was held, focusing on Mr. Lencho Leta’s long years of political struggle. The panel brought together notable figures—some who fought alongside him, others who have been shaped by his example. They reflected on his resilience, his consistency, and the price he paid for standing by his convictions.

The discussions moved beyond biography. They explored what Lencho Leta’s journey means for the present generation of Oromo and Ethiopian political actors, and what lessons his life offers for the future.

Dignitaries, Artists, and Family Gather

The event drew a distinguished audience. Senior government officials, celebrated authors, artists, and intellectuals were in attendance. But perhaps most moving were the presence of Mr. Lencho Leta’s former comrades in struggle—men and women who shared the difficult roads and dark nights of political opposition. Family members and specially invited guests filled the hall, creating an atmosphere of both celebration and reflection.

More Than a Man, More Than a Book

“Lencho Leta: Struggle and Life” is not a hagiography. By all accounts, it is a measured, detailed account of a life lived in the trenches of Ethiopian and Oromo politics. It seeks to document, to teach, and to preserve a memory that might otherwise fade.

For the Oromo people and for all Ethiopians who value political courage, the book arrives at a critical moment—when remembering the past is essential to navigating the future.

As the Abba Gadaa and Haadha Siinqee opened the ceremony with their ancient blessings, they reminded everyone present: a people who do not honor their strugglers are a people without a compass.

Today, through Zufan Urga’s words, Lencho Leta’s compass points forward.

Reported by Dhabessa Wakjira, based on the launch event of “Lencho Leta: Struggle and Life.”

From an ESL Classroom to a Doctorate: A Mother’s Day Gift That Took Years to Unwrap

By Dhabessa Wakjira (based on the reflection of Dr. Bedassa Tadesse)

Today is Mother’s Day. Across the United States, families are celebrating with flowers, brunches, and handwritten cards. But for one family in Minnesota, this particular Mother’s Day will forever carry a second meaning—one written in years of sacrifice, silence, and stunning triumph.

It is the day a wife and mother of two walked across a graduation stage to receive her Doctor of Nursing Practice (DNP) degree.

This is not merely a graduation announcement. This is the story of a woman who refused to give up on herself, her family, or her dreams—even when the dream seemed impossibly distant.

A Beginning in a Downtown Duluth Classroom

The journey did not begin in a prestigious lecture hall or even inside a nursing program. It began in 2004, in a modest downtown Duluth building, where a young immigrant woman sat among other newcomers learning the most basic tools of survival: how to ask for help, how to understand, how to be understood, and how to slowly find her voice in a new country.

At that time, where the family lived, the English course was not even offered at the local college. But she showed up anyway.

Her English was very limited. She carried hope in her heart, but little else. She did not come to America with privilege. She came with humility, faith, and a quiet, stubborn belief that something better was possible.

Building a Family While Building a Future

While she learned the language of her new home, life did not pause. She and her husband, Dr. Bedassa Tadesse, were raising two young boys. They were building a life, working, surviving, and trying to find their footing in a strange land.

There were long days and late nights. There were bills to pay. There was work that was often physically exhausting—mopping floors, cleaning, standing on tired feet for hours in a hospital cafeteria.

But even while serving food and wiping tables, she never let go of the dream of becoming a nurse.

She did not begin at the top. She began with whatever honest work was available. And in the quiet hours after the children were asleep and her body ached from the day’s labor, she opened her books.

The Unseen Years

Those who only see the graduation photos will never see the thousands of unseen moments.

Her husband watched her come home exhausted and still sit down to study. He watched her doubt herself—wondering if she was too old, too slow, too far behind—and then watched her rise again. He watched her choose discipline when exhaustion would have been a perfectly acceptable excuse.

She carried so much, often silently. And still, she moved forward.

Their two boys grew up watching this. Today, one son is 19, finishing his first year of college. The other is a sophomore in high school. They did not just hear about perseverance. They watched their mother live it—day after day, year after year.

From Mopping Floors to Authoring Research

Now, the woman who once began by learning the English alphabet as a second language has earned a doctoral degree in nursing.

She is now Dr. Iftu (Hawi).

But that is not all. Beyond earning her DNP, she has also authored a published research article and an op-ed. She has not simply entered the nursing profession—she has added her voice to it. She has moved from learning the language to using that language to care, to lead, to write, to teach, and to contribute.

That is what makes this day so powerful.

A Message to Every Immigrant and Every Working Parent

Her journey is a reminder to every immigrant, every mother, every working parent, and every person who feels they started too late or too far behind: where you begin does not define where you can go.

To those immigrants who look at dreams like this—a doctoral degree, a published article, a seat at the professional table—and feel that those goals are too far away, too difficult, or even impossible, let this journey be proof that it can be done.

The road may be longer than you imagined. It may require years of sacrifice, humility, and patience that nobody sees. But do not give up on yourself.

If a woman who began in a small ESL classroom in downtown Duluth, while cleaning floors and working in a hospital cafeteria, can one day become Dr. Iftu, then your dreams are possible too.

A Husband’s Tribute

Today, on this Mother’s Day, Dr. Bedassa Tadesse honors his wife not only as a graduate, not only as a nurse, not only as a scholar—but as the heart of their family.

“She has shown our children what perseverance looks like,” he says. “She has shown me what strength looks like. She has shown all of us that dreams do not die when the road is difficult. Sometimes they simply take longer to bloom.”

As Nelson Mandela once said: It always seems impossible until it’s done.

Happy Mother’s Day, Dr. Iftu. Congratulations, Doctor.

They are proud of you. They love you more than words can say.

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This feature story is based on a personal reflection shared by Dr. Bedassa Tadesse, as told by Dhabessa Wakjira.