Category Archives: Finfinne
The Thirst of Moyale: How Politics and Power Threaten the Sacred Wells of the Borana
By Daandii Ragabaa*
In the dry, unforgiving expanse of the Ethiopia-Kenya borderlands, water is not just a resource; it is the architecture of existence. For the Borana Oromo people, water is life, identity, and law. It is enshrined in the Tuula Saglan Booranaa—the Nine Sacred Water Wells—whose sanctity is still invoked in public blessings and whose historical significance was meticulously archived by British colonial anthropologists as “vital for the survival of the Borena tribes.”
Yet today, these ancient lifelines are at the center of a bitter, decades-long geopolitical struggle. Through the lens of a book written two years before the fall of the EPRDF regime by Obboo Alaka Simbiru, a former Governor of the Borena Zone, a troubling narrative emerges. It is a story of how the manipulation of borders, the politics of identity, and the heavy hand of the military eroded Borana autonomy and facilitated the capture of sacred resources by immigrant Somali groups.
A Border Drawn in Sand and Blood
The origins of the current crisis in Moyale can be traced back to the arbitrary drawing of colonial borders. As the book documents, the 1907 Anglo-Ethiopian treaties artificially divided the Borana people, splitting their traditional grazing lands and water sources between Ethiopia and Kenya. Moyale, located exactly 770 kilometers from Addis Ababa, became a divided town—a “twin city” straddling two nations.
For decades, this division was navigated through traditional governance. According to historical records and oral traditions cited in the text, the Borana managed their water sources through a deeply democratic system, rooted in the Gadaa system and governed by councils of elders. Under Emperor Haile Selassie and later the Derg regime, special administrative arrangements (like the Dembi Dollo and Goba systems) allowed the Borana to maintain relative control over their wells and grazing lands.
But the ascension of the TPLF-led EPRDF regime brought a seismic shift. The new government reorganized the country into ethnic federalism, redrawing internal boundaries and creating a volatile administrative reality on the ground.
The Anatomy of Dispossession
In 1991 and 1992, Moyale found itself at the center of a regional power struggle. The TPLF, consolidating its control over the south, established new administrative boundaries that placed the Borana and Somali communities in fierce competition for resources.
According to Simbiru’s account, the TPLF government did not merely redraw maps; it altered the demographic and political reality through force. The text highlights how the government systematically disarmed the local Borana population—leaving them defenseless—while allegedly arming and supporting immigrant Somali tribes, including groups crossing from neighboring countries.
The result was catastrophic for the Borana. As the book explicitly outlines, under the watch of TPLF military generals who controlled the region, two of the nine sacred Tuula Saglan Booranaa wells fell into the hands of these immigrant groups. This was not a natural migration, but a politically engineered displacement.
A Well is Cattle. A Well is Wife. A Well is Family.
To an outsider, the loss of two wells might seem like a minor logistical setback. But in Borana cosmology, the wells are sacred. They are the physical manifestation of a covenant between the people, their cattle, and Waaqa (God). “The well is cattle. The well is wife. The well is family,” the Borana say.
Access to these wells is governed by nagaa Boran—the peace and moral order of the Borana—which demands that no one is denied water. However, the political capture of the wells by rival groups, backed by military force, shattered this order.
The text details how the TPLF’s “divide and rule” tactics weaponized water and land. Borana politicians and elders who attempted to advocate for their people were systematically marginalized. The text notes that the Ethiopian government of the time pursued a deliberate strategy of “population settlement” and administrative gerrymandering to weaken the Borana demographic majority, thereby ensuring that the region’s resources were controlled by groups aligned with the central government.
The Echoes of LAPSSET and the Fight for the Future
Today, Moyale is no longer just a pastoral backwater; it is a strategic geopolitical node. The town is slated to be a major hub in the LAPSSET (Lamu Port-South Sudan-Ethiopia Transport) corridor. The promise of oil pipelines, highways, and international trade has made control of Moyale and its surrounding lands immensely valuable.
The historical grievances documented by Simbiru provide the necessary context for the intermittent violence that continues to plague the region. When communities feel that their sacred sites have been stolen and their traditional governance dismantled by state-backed forces, peace becomes elusive.
The River of Blessings, an essay written in honor of the late British anthropologist Dr. Paul Baxter, documented the resilience of Borana culture. But resilience has limits.
The story of Moyale is a cautionary tale about what happens when state power ignores traditional sovereignty and tramples on sacred ecology. As the Borana elders continue to recite the blessings of the Nine Sacred Wells, two of those names are now spoken with a sense of mourning and dispossession. The water still flows, but for the Borana, the moral order of the land remains broken.
Until the grievances of the past—the arbitrary borders, the militarized disarmament, and the stolen wells—are addressed with historical honesty, Moyale will remain a powder keg on the edge of the Horn of Africa. The thirst of the Borana is not just for water; it is for justice.
Daandii Ragabaa is a journalist covering the Horn of Africa, with a focus on land, water, and conflict in borderland communities.
The Thirst of Moyale: How Politics and Power Threaten the Sacred Wells of the Borana
By Daandii Ragabaa
In the dry, unforgiving expanse of the Ethiopia-Kenya borderlands, water is not just a resource; it is the architecture of existence. For the Borana Oromo people, water is life, identity, and law. It is enshrined in the Tuula Saglan Booranaa—the Nine Sacred Water Wells—whose sanctity is still invoked in public blessings and whose historical significance was meticulously archived by British colonial anthropologists as “vital for the survival of the Borena tribes.”
Yet today, these ancient lifelines are at the center of a bitter, decades-long geopolitical struggle. Through the lens of a book written two years before the fall of the EPRDF regime by Obboo Alaka Simbiru, a former Governor of the Borena Zone, a troubling narrative emerges. It is a story of how the manipulation of borders, the politics of identity, and the heavy hand of the military eroded Borana autonomy and facilitated the capture of sacred resources by immigrant Somali groups.
A Border Drawn in Sand and Blood
The origins of the current crisis in Moyale can be traced back to the arbitrary drawing of colonial borders. As the book documents, the 1907 Anglo-Ethiopian treaties artificially divided the Borana people, splitting their traditional grazing lands and water sources between Ethiopia and Kenya. Moyale, located exactly 770 kilometers from Addis Ababa, became a divided town—a “twin city” straddling two nations.
For decades, this division was navigated through traditional governance. According to historical records and oral traditions cited in the text, the Borana managed their water sources through a deeply democratic system, rooted in the Gadaa system and governed by councils of elders. Under Emperor Haile Selassie and later the Derg regime, special administrative arrangements allowed the Borana to maintain relative control over their wells and grazing lands.
But the ascension of the TPLF-led EPRDF regime brought a seismic shift. The new government reorganized the country into ethnic federalism, redrawing internal boundaries and creating a volatile administrative reality on the ground.
The Anatomy of Dispossession
In 1991 and 1992, Moyale found itself at the center of a regional power struggle. The TPLF, consolidating its control over the south, established new administrative boundaries that placed the Borana and Somali communities in fierce competition for resources.
According to Simbiru’s account, the TPLF government did not merely redraw maps; it altered the demographic and political reality through force. The text highlights how the government systematically disarmed the local Borana population—leaving them defenseless—while allegedly arming and supporting immigrant Somali tribes, including groups crossing from neighboring countries.
The result was catastrophic for the Borana. As the book explicitly outlines, under the watch of TPLF military generals who controlled the region, two of the nine sacred Tuula Saglan Booranaa wells fell into the hands of these immigrant groups. This was not a natural migration, but a politically engineered displacement.
A Well is Cattle. A Well is Wife. A Well is Family.
To an outsider, the loss of two wells might seem like a minor logistical setback. But in Borana cosmology, the wells are sacred. They are the physical manifestation of a covenant between the people, their cattle, and Waaqa (God). “The well is cattle. The well is wife. The well is family,” the Borana say.
Access to these wells is governed by nagaa Boran—the peace and moral order of the Borana—which demands that no one is denied water. However, the political capture of the wells by rival groups, backed by military force, shattered this order.
The text details how the TPLF’s “divide and rule” tactics weaponized water and land. Borana politicians and elders who attempted to advocate for their people were systematically marginalized. The text notes that the Ethiopian government of the time pursued a deliberate strategy of “population settlement” and administrative gerrymandering to weaken the Borana demographic majority, thereby ensuring that the region’s resources were controlled by groups aligned with the central government.
The Echoes of LAPSSET and the Fight for the Future
Today, Moyale is no longer just a pastoral backwater; it is a strategic geopolitical node. The town is slated to be a major hub in the LAPSSET (Lamu Port-South Sudan-Ethiopia Transport) corridor. The promise of oil pipelines, highways, and international trade has made control of Moyale and its surrounding lands immensely valuable.
The historical grievances documented by Simbiru provide the necessary context for the intermittent violence that continues to plague the region. When communities feel that their sacred sites have been stolen and their traditional governance dismantled by state-backed forces, peace becomes elusive.
A River of Blessings, an essay collection published in honor of the late British anthropologist Dr. Paul Baxter, documented the resilience of Borana culture. But resilience has limits. Climate variability has forced pastoralists to dig deeper and modify use rules, abandoning less productive wells. Land use changes, settlement in dry-season grazing areas, and the expansion of cultivation have shrunk the grazing lands that sustain the well system. And now, the political capture of wells themselves—if Simbiru’s account is accurate—adds a dimension of dispossession that no amount of rainfall can remedy.
The Blessing That Endures
In the verses of Borana blessing ceremonies, the nine wells still live. They are recited in public gatherings, their names carried across generations like a covenant. The Tuula Saglan Booranaa are not merely infrastructure. They are kinship, cattle, family, and peace itself.
The Borana blessing verses still name the nine wells. They still recite their sanctity. But a blessing recited over water one no longer controls is a haunting thing. It is the sound of memory contending with loss.
For the Borana, the nine wells are not negotiable. They are the physical manifestation of a covenant between people, cattle, and the divine. To lose two is to lose a part of the whole. To recite the blessing while another holds the water is to live inside a contradiction that no peace agreement has yet resolved.
What Comes Next
Moyale’s future hinges on whether the deeper issues—who controls water, who belongs to the land, and whose history is written into the landscape—can be addressed before the next round of violence. The Gadaa system, with its customary laws for managing water and pasture, once worked efficiently across these borderlands. Elders from both sides have mediated conflicts before. But as one field monitor observed after the 2014 clashes, “I don’t think things will change in Moyale as long as the same community leaders who are warlords are also the peacemakers.”
The story of Moyale is a cautionary tale about what happens when state power ignores traditional sovereignty and tramples on sacred ecology. As the Borana elders continue to recite the blessings of the Nine Sacred Wells, two of those names are now spoken with a sense of mourning and dispossession. The water still flows, but for the Borana, the moral order of the land remains broken.
Until the grievances of the past—the arbitrary borders, the militarized disarmament, and the stolen wells—are addressed with historical honesty, Moyale will remain a powder keg on the edge of the Horn of Africa. The thirst of the Borana is not just for water; it is for justice.
The River of Blessings flows still—in verses, in memory, in the stubborn hope that what was sacred will be restored. But rivers can be diverted. And wells, once captured, are not easily returned.
Daandii Ragabaa is a journalist covering the Horn of Africa, with a focus on land, water, and conflict in borderland communities.
Feature News: Death of 13-Year-Old Oromo Girl in Moyale Exposes the Human Cost of a Frozen Border Conflict
The killing of a teenage girl during a flag dispute in Moyale has reignited protests and grief in Borana, laying bare a decades-old territorial fracture between Oromia and Somali Region that neither federal intervention nor peace conferences have managed to heal.
By the time the gunfire stopped on 18 October, Diqqoo Jaataan Aagaa was dead. She was 13 years old.
According to residents who spoke to Addis Standard, the violence began when authorities from the Somali Region opened a new administration office in Moyale town, located in the Borana zone of Oromia regional state, and raised the Somali regional flag . Oromia local militia members and Somali Region police exchanged fire. The Ethiopian National Defense Force intervened to halt the shooting, but not before the girl was struck.
The accounts diverge sharply. Residents on the Oromo side accuse Somali Region police of shooting the child directly, with one resident describing the act as “cruelty and lawlessness” and claiming officers accused her of throwing stones . Residents from the Somali side insist she was caught in crossfire and that Somali forces did not target her. A security official who spoke to Addis Standard sided with the Oromo account, saying Somali Region security forces killed the girl in connection with the flag dispute .
Shuraa Waariyoo, the girl’s uncle, told Addis Standard that her body had not been buried as of Tuesday. He alleged that Somali Region forces had taken the body, and the family was still negotiating for its return .
The killing triggered immediate protests. Transport services were disrupted, businesses shuttered, and bus stations closed as security fears gripped the town . Elders and security officials reportedly agreed on Monday to remove the Somali Region flag, but that decision itself prompted counter-demonstrations from Somali residents, particularly in Kebele 02, deepening the standoff .
For the people of Moyale, the pattern is agonizingly familiar. Mallicha Diida, a resident of Kebele 02, told Addis Standard: “In Moyale, human blood has been spilled year after year” .
The roots of the recurrent violence lie in a border dispute that has never been fully resolved. Moyale sits at the frontier between the traditional territories of Somali and Oromo communities, both with vested interests in the area’s pastoral resources . A 2004 referendum was meant to settle the boundary between Oromia and Somali Region, but its implementation remains contested, and the underlying competition over land, pasture, and water continues to fuel clashes .
The scale of the suffering is staggering. Tensions intensified in July and August 2025 after the Somali Regional State approved an administrative restructuring plan creating new woredas and zonal administrations in contested territories. Subsequent clashes along the Oromia-Somali border displaced more than 288,000 people .
The death of a 13-year-old girl in a dispute over a flag is, in one sense, a singular tragedy. In another, it is the inevitable arithmetic of a conflict that has been allowed to fester for generations—where the symbols of administrative control carry life-and-death weight, and where the bodies of children become the price of unresolved boundaries.
The funeral arrangements for Diqqoo Jaataan Aagaa remain incomplete. Her family is still waiting for her body. In Moyale, the flags still fly, the militias still watch, and the question of whose land this is remains as unanswered as ever.
53 Years of Oromo Freedom Struggle, 53 Years of Impact
Half a century after a small band of nationalists took up the Oromo cause, the movement has transformed the political landscape of Ethiopia—even without achieving the independent state it once sought. Its deepest impact lies not in territorial control, but in the irreversible awakening of a people who can no longer be governed as before.
The Oromo Liberation Front was founded in 1973, emerging from the ferment of Oromo student activism and the memory of the banned Mecha-Tulama Self-Help Association . What began as a clandestine project among intellectuals would, over five decades, become the central axis of Ethiopian political contestation—not because it won, but because the questions it raised about identity, land, and power could never again be buried.
The early years were defined by armed insurgency and brutal repression. The OLF established itself as a guerrilla force operating across Wollega, Bale, and Hararghe, drawing recruits from peasants who had watched the imperial and then Derg regimes dispossess and marginalize them . The Derg’s response was predictable and catastrophic: mass arrests, executions, and a campaign of terror that killed thousands accused of harboring OLF sympathies. Yet repression produced what it so often does—martyrdom, recruitment, and an enduring sense of grievance that outlasted the gun.
The movement’s most significant impact, however, came not on the battlefield but in the realm of consciousness. The OLF’s founding vision articulated something that had been suppressed for generations: that the Oromo were a nation, not merely a labor force or a demographic majority to be managed. This idea, once planted, proved impossible to uproot. Even after the OLF was pushed out of the transitional government in 1992 and reduced to a marginal political actor, the seeds of Oromo nationalism continued to grow underground .
The eruption came in 2014, when the Qeerroo—Oromo youth—took to the streets over the Addis Ababa master plan, a policy they saw as another chapter in a long history of land dispossession. The protests spread, intensified, and by 2018 had forced the ruling coalition to install Abiy Ahmed, an Oromo, as prime minister . It was a remarkable inversion: a ruling party that had once sought to contain Oromo nationalism now depended on Oromo street power to survive.
The human cost of this struggle has never been abstract. In 2020, the assassination of Hachalu Hundessa, a musician whose lyrics had given voice to a generation’s anger and longing, triggered days of unrest that left at least 166 people dead, according to police figures . Hachalu’s music had become an instrument of the movement itself—his songs were sung at protests, his death a rallying cry. The violence that followed exposed how fragile the gains remained and how deeply the wounds of marginalization had festered.
Fifty-three years on, the struggle’s landscape is fractured. The OLF split in 2018, with its political wing entering legal politics and its armed wing—the Oromo Liberation Army—continuing an insurgency that the government has designated as terrorism . Peace talks between the government and the OLA have repeatedly collapsed, with Addis Ababa accusing the rebels of “unrealistic demands” and the OLA charging the government with seeking co-optation rather than addressing root causes . Meanwhile, the regional government in Oromia pursues a dual track: encouraging surrender through elders and Abba Gadas while waging military operations against those who refuse .
Yet the struggle’s most enduring legacy may lie elsewhere—in the cultural and intellectual infrastructure that no military campaign can dismantle. The Gada system, the indigenous Oromo governance structure that regulates political, social, and religious life through rotating eight-year cycles, was inscribed on UNESCO’s Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity in 2016 . What was once dismissed or ignored by the Ethiopian state is now recognized globally as a sophisticated democratic tradition. Oromummaa—the articulation of Oromo peoplehood and identity—has become a force in Ethiopian politics that no government can afford to ignore .
What, then, does 53 years of impact look like? It looks like a language once suppressed now spoken in parliament. It looks like a youth movement that toppled a prime minister and then grew disillusioned with his successor. It looks like a struggle that began as a separatist insurgency and became, instead, a permanent renegotiation of what Ethiopia means. The OLF’s founding dream of an independent Oromia has not been realized. But the conditions that made that dream thinkable—a people conscious of their history, their numbers, and their rights—have become irreversible.
The next chapter remains contested. The government insists the answer is peace and reintegration. The OLF’s political wing insists it is negotiation. The OLA insists it is continued resistance. The Qeerroo, who inherited a struggle they did not start, wait to see which vision will prevail. What is certain is that 53 years after a handful of nationalists took up the Oromo cause, the question they raised is no longer a question at all. It is a fact of Ethiopian life, and it will not be resolved by ignoring it.
16 Years of Advocacy for Oromia, 16 Years of Impact
Marking a Milestone of Dedication, Resilience and Progress
For 16 years, the cause of Oromia has been carried forward with unwavering commitment — through advocacy, community engagement and a steadfast belief in justice, dignity and development for the Oromo people. Today, we mark 16 years of advocacy and 16 years of impact.
What began as a shared vision among a dedicated few has grown into a sustained movement built on perseverance, solidarity and the collective voice of a community determined to be heard. Over these 16 years, advocacy for Oromia has taken many forms — raising awareness, amplifying community concerns, fostering dialogue, and championing the rights and aspirations of the Oromo people both at home and in the diaspora.
The impact of this work is reflected not only in the milestones achieved, but in the lives touched, the voices empowered and the awareness built across communities. Each year has brought new challenges, and each challenge has been met with renewed resolve. Through it all, the commitment to Oromia’s future has remained constant.
This milestone belongs to everyone who has contributed to the journey — the advocates, the community members, the partners and the supporters who have stood together over the years. Your dedication has made a difference, and your efforts continue to shape a brighter path forward.
As we celebrate 16 years of advocacy and 16 years of impact, we look ahead with hope and determination. The work continues, and so does the vision of a prosperous, peaceful and dignified Oromia.
Here’s to 16 years of dedication — and to the many years of impact still to come.
16 Years of Advocacy for Oromia. 16 Years of Impact.
IYYANNAA MAATII: BARBAACHAA ILMA ISAANII ELIYAAS WADAJOO FIDAA WAGGOTA 30F
Abdiin Maatii Hin Citu: Barbaachaan Eliyaas Waggoota Soddoma Booddees Itti Fufe
Oromiyaa, Godina Wallaggaa Lixaa, Aanaa Boojjii Coqorsaa, Ganda Fiigaa Koobbaraa 01 keessatti dhalatee guddate Eliyaas Wadajoo Fidaa, maatiin isaa waggoota soddomaa ol erga adda ba’anii abdii isaanii hin kutanne.
Eliyaas barnoota sadarkaa 1ffaa fi giddugaleessaa Mana Barumsaa Fiigaa Koobbaraatti barate; barnoota sadarkaa 2ffaa immoo Boojjii Dirmajiitti xumure. Bakkaa fi bara sirriitti isaa adda baafnee yaadachuu baannus, kolleejjii irraa eebbifamee naannoo sanatti barsiisaa ta’ee hojjechaa ture. Akkasumas hojii daldalaatiin bobba’ee jiraachaa ture.
Yeroo naannoo sanaa irraa fagaatetti dargaggeessa, nama gaa’ila hin qabne ture. Garuu, waggoota gara 30 dura, sababa sirriitti hin beekamneen naannoo dhaloota isaa irraa erga deeme kaasee, hanga har’aatti bakka inni jiru maatiin isaa hin beekan.
IYYANNAA MAATII
Waggoota dheeraaf maatiin Eliyaas isa barbaadaa jiru. Abbaanii fi haati isaa, akkasumas maatiin isaa guutuun, bakka inni jiru, haala jireenyaa isaa fi nageenya isaa beekuu hawwu. Yoomiyyuu abdii osoo hin kutatin, odeeffannoo waa’eesaa kamiyyuu dhaga’uu hawwu. Waaqayyo hin godhin malee yoo rakkoon addaa isa mudatee jiraate illee, maatiin isaa hirmii baafatanii garaa kutachuu barbaadu.
AKKATAA GARGAARSAA
Namooti kabajamoo, ergaa kana dubbisaa jirtan hundi:
- Yoo Eliyaas Wadajoo Fidaa beektan, yookaan waa’ee isaa odeeffannoo qabaattan, maaloo nuuf qoodaa.
- Yoo namoota isa beekan arguu dandeessan, ergaa kana isaan biraan ga’aa.
- Yoo odeeffannoo isaa hin qabne, maaloo ergaa kana SHARE gochuun namoota hedduu bira akka ga’u nu gargaaraa.
Odeeffannoo xiqqoon isin qabdan nama waggoota dheeraaf maatiin isaa barbaadaa jiran kana argamsiisuu danda’a. Ergaan isin qooddan tokko maatii fi ilma isaanii waggoota hedduuf addaan ba’an walitti fiduu keessatti gahee guddaa qabaachuu danda’a.
ELIYAASIIF ERGAA:
Eliyaas, yoo ergaa kana argite, maatiin kee si barbaadaa jiru. Maaloo nageenya kee beeksisi!
ODEEFFANNOOF QUNNAMTII
Namni odeeffannoo waa’ee Eliyaas qabu kamiyyuu, maaloo lakkoofsa bilbilaa armaan gadii irratti nu qunnamaa:
+251 920419911
+251 945322544
+251 932920632
+251 917928869
ERGAA KANA SHARE GODHAA—MAATII WALITTI FIDUU KEESSATTI GARGAARAA
Waaqayyo nama kana haa eegu; maatii isaas haa gammachiisu!
ULFAADHAA!!
Family’s 30-Year Search for Missing Son Eliyaas Wadaajoo Fidaa
A Family’s Unwavering Hope: The Search for Eliyaas Continues After Three Decades
In the heart of Oromia, in West Wollega Zone, Bojji Chokorsa District, a family continues to hold onto hope after nearly 30 years of separation from their beloved son, Eliyaas Wadaajoo Fidaa.
Born and raised in Fiigaa Kobara Village, Kebele 01, Eliyaas completed his primary and secondary education at Fiigaa Kobara and Bojji Dirmaji schools respectively. Though the exact dates remain unclear, it is known that he graduated from college and worked as a teacher in the area before eventually venturing into business.
At the time he left his home region, Eliyaas was a young, unmarried man. However, for reasons that remain unknown, he departed from his birthplace approximately 30 years ago—and since that day, his family has had no knowledge of his whereabouts.
A Family’s Plea
For decades, Eliyaas’s family has been searching for him. His father and mother, along with his entire family, long to know where he is, how he is living, and whether he is safe. They have never given up hope, holding onto the possibility that they might one day hear news of him. Even if he has faced hardships, his family wants him to know they are waiting to embrace him with open arms.
How You Can Help
This is a heartfelt appeal to all who read this message:
- If you know Eliyaas Wadaajoo Fidaa or have any information about him, please share it with the family.
- If you know people who might recognize him, please pass this message along.
- If you have no information, please SHARE this message to help it reach as many people as possible.
Even the smallest piece of information could reunite a family that has been waiting for decades. One share could play a significant role in bringing together a family and a son who have been separated for far too long.
A Message to Eliyaas
Eliyaas, if you see this message, your family is searching for you. Please let them know you are safe.
Contact Information
Anyone with information about Eliyaas is kindly asked to reach out through the following numbers:
+251 920419911
+251 945322544
+251 932920632
+251 917928869
Share This Message—Help Reunite a Family
May God protect Eliyaas and bring joy to his family.
ULFAADHAA!!
World of Africa: Tens of Thousands Gather in Addis Ababa for Irreecha, Calls for Peace Ring Out
Africa’s largest indigenous thanksgiving festival brings a sea of white and color to the capital, as participants use the ancient celebration to demand an end to Ethiopia’s conflicts.
(WorldOfAfrica, Addis Ababa — October 3, 2026) Tens of thousands of Oromo people flooded the sacred grounds of Hora Finfinnee in Addis Ababa on Saturday morning, transforming the heart of the Ethiopian capital into a spectacular display of culture, tradition, and spiritual devotion.
The annual Irreecha thanksgiving festival, celebrated at the end of the rainy season and the beginning of the harvest, brought together participants from across Oromia, other regions of Ethiopia, and the diaspora. Dressed in vibrant traditional attire, they gathered at the water’s edge to offer prayers of gratitude to Waaqa, the Creator, through singing, dancing, and ancient rituals.
A Sea of Color and Tradition
From the early morning hours, hundreds of thousands of people converged on Hora Finfinnee, filling the celebration grounds with music, blessings, and a powerful sense of cultural pride. The festival’s sea of colors, traditional costumes, and synchronized dances created what observers described as a spectacular cultural scene in the heart of Addis Ababa.
Abbaa Gadaas — traditional Oromo leaders — elders, youth, and guests from diverse backgrounds joined the celebration, showcasing the richness and diversity of Oromo cultural heritage. The festival also reflects the enduring values of the Gadaa system, the traditional Oromo governance structure recognized by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.
Participants carried fresh green grass and yellow Adey Abeba flowers to the water, dipping them into the sacred waters and sprinkling them as blessings for the land, cattle, and people — symbols of fertility, renewal, and hope.
Calls for Peace Amid Ongoing Conflict
But this year’s celebration carried a weightier message. As the festival unfolded, participants and elders used the occasion to call for an end to the conflicts plaguing various parts of Ethiopia.
The gathering took place amid reports that federal forces had entered Mekelle, the capital of the northern Tigray region, escalating fears of renewed conflict.
“Even though peace has been disturbed in the past years, the Oromo are now celebrating Irreecha beautifully, but there are wars in various places,” said student Simert Ababa. “I say that needs to be stabilised as much as possible, and this government has a role in that. Children should not miss their education, mothers should not be harmed, children should not be harmed.”
Bilise Mohammed, another student, echoed the sentiment: “For those in the north, create an agreement so the war stops. To the government and to those who are fighting, peace comes first. The people are the ones that are dying, this won’t take you anywhere.”
Oromo elders at the festival urged those involved in the conflict to resolve their differences through dialogue, warning that internal divisions could leave Ethiopia vulnerable to external threats. Police maintained a visible presence at Meskel Square and the festival grounds to ensure security.
A Festival Beyond Celebration
Irreecha is far more than a cultural gathering. For the Oromo people — Ethiopia’s largest ethnic group — it is a spiritual cornerstone, a time of gratitude, reconciliation, and community renewal. The festival marks the transition from Ganna, the dark rainy season, to Birraa, the bright spring season.
Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, in his Irreecha message, drew a direct parallel between the natural seasons and Ethiopia’s political journey. He described how the Oromo people gather at the river for traditional thanksgiving rituals — fathers reciting “Marehoo” and mothers reciting “Araaroo” — offering gratitude to the Creator.
The Prime Minister also used the occasion to call for national unity and reconciliation, citing an Oromo proverb: “The house where one sleeps is better than the one where one merely spends the evening.” He reaffirmed his government’s commitment to peace and urged armed groups to choose dialogue over prolonged conflict.
A Celebration That Continues to Grow
What began as a traditional thanksgiving ceremony has become one of the largest cultural gatherings in Africa, drawing millions to sacred sites across Oromia and capturing growing international attention.
The return of Irreechaa to Hora Finfinnee — the original sacred site in the heart of Addis Ababa — is seen as a historic reclamation of cultural space. For decades, public celebrations were suppressed, and the Oromo people were denied the right to gather at their sacred sites.
As the sun set over the capital and the crowds began their journey home, the spirit of Irreechaa lingered. The green grass may wither, but the blessings sought and the bonds forged will endure until the waters rise again next year.
Irreecha for National Consensus! Irreecha for Peace and Unity!
For World of Africa, I’m Eric Njoka, Addis Ababa.
Irreechaa 2026: “For National Consensus” — A Festival Beyond Celebration
The ancient Oromo thanksgiving festival has become the unlikely centerpiece of Ethiopia’s most ambitious political project: building a nation where dialogue replaces division, and where the discipline of reconciliation practiced at the water’s edge becomes the model for governance itself.
FINFINNE — The theme says it all: “Irreechaa: For National Consensus!”
As hundreds of thousands gathered at Hora Finfinnee in Addis Ababa this weekend, dressed in white and carrying fresh green grass and yellow Adey Abeba flowers, the traditional rituals of thanksgiving took on a meaning that extends far beyond the Oromo community. In a nation that has spent years navigating deep political and ethnic divisions, the 2026 Irreechaa has become a powerful symbol of a broader national journey — one that seeks to transform conflict into consensus, and grievance into gratitude.
A Festival With a Mission
The Irreechaa Forum, held annually in Addis Ababa ahead of the main celebrations, set the tone for this year’s observance. Under the theme “Irreechaa: For National Consensus,” the forum highlighted the festival’s values of unity, togetherness, forgiveness, and reconciliation — and explicitly connected these values to the national conversation about Ethiopia’s future.
Addis Ababa Mayor Adanech Abiebie, speaking at the forum, emphasized that Irreechaa “promotes unity, togetherness, forgiveness, and reconciliation, and carries great value for national understanding”. The mayor’s words were not merely ceremonial. They reflected a deliberate effort to position Irreechaa not just as a cultural celebration for the Oromo people, but as a national resource — a living tradition whose spiritual disciplines might offer a model for how Ethiopians can learn to live together again.
The 2026 celebrations, held on October 3 and 4, brought together Abbaa Gadaas (traditional Oromo leaders), Haadha Sinqees (women entrusted with moral order), elders, youth, and guests from across Ethiopia and beyond. At Hora Finfinnee in the heart of the capital and Hora Arsadi in Bishoftu, the sea of white garments and the sound of traditional chants created what one observer described as a “spectacle of color, culture, and togetherness”.
The Prerequisite of Peace
What makes Irreechaa unusual — and what makes its 2026 theme so resonant — is that reconciliation is not merely a value the festival celebrates. It is a requirement for participation.
Before attending Irreechaa, participants are expected to reconcile with themselves and with others, setting aside grudges, anger, and resentment. The festival’s essence as a gathering of peace and reconciliation depends on this prior work of the spirit. You cannot approach the sacred waters carrying a grievance. You cannot give thanks while your heart remains at war.
This discipline — the deliberate, conscious setting aside of conflict before approaching the sacred — is precisely what Ethiopia’s National Dialogue process has sought to institutionalize at the national level. And the timing of this year’s Irreechaa is no coincidence.
A National Dialogue Concludes, a Festival Begins
Just weeks before millions gathered at Hora Finfinnee, Ethiopia reached a historic milestone: the conclusion of its National Dialogue Conference in Addis Ababa.
The dialogue, which formally opened on July 15, 2026, brought together more than 4,000 delegates from across the country — representatives of civil society, religious groups, youth, women, and historically marginalized communities. Over 46 days of deliberations, participants undertook extensive discussions on foundational pillars of state-building, national identity, social cohesion, and the structure and form of government.
The National Dialogue Commission had spent years conducting grassroots consultations, engaging Ethiopians at home and abroad, and identifying eight core agenda pillars that reflected priorities raised during these discussions. The process was built on a deliberate departure from past political gatherings dominated by urban elites — a grassroots approach that sought to give voice to communities that had long been excluded from national conversations.
At the closing ceremony, former Nigerian President Olusegun Obasanjo delivered a keynote address in which he described Ethiopia’s national dialogue as “a historic achievement and an example for the rest of Africa.” He stressed that peace must be “comprehensive, inclusive, and complete” if it is to be sustainable, and expressed confidence that a “peaceful, secure, stable, predictable, and united Ethiopia” could double its GDP within seven years and emerge as Africa’s largest economy.
The message was clear: Ethiopia has chosen dialogue over division, consensus over conflict. And now, Irreechaa 2026 arrives to reinforce that choice.
The Prime Minister’s Message
Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed, in his Irreechaa message, drew explicit parallels between the festival’s spiritual disciplines and the nation’s political journey.
Speaking under the theme “Irreechaa is Peace! Gada is Civilization! Ethiopia’s Civilization is Inevitable!”, the Prime Minister congratulated citizens on “safely passing through the difficult rainy season and entering a period of hope.” He described how, as the winter darkness clears, the Oromo people gather at the river for traditional thanksgiving rituals — fathers reciting “Marehoo” and mothers reciting “Araaroo” — offering gratitude to the Creator.
But Abiy went further. He drew a direct comparison between the heavy rains, floods, and restricted movement of the winter season and Ethiopia’s “long-standing economic, political, and administrative struggles.” Just as the rains must eventually end and the sun must eventually return, so too must Ethiopia’s period of difficulty give way to a season of renewal.
The Prime Minister also cited an Oromo proverb — “the house where one sleeps is better than the one where one merely spends the evening” — in a call for armed groups to choose stability over uncertainty and peace over prolonged conflict. He reaffirmed the government’s commitment to peace and national consensus, urging all Ethiopians to “embrace the core values of Irreechaa — peace, reconciliation, forgiveness, and brotherhood — with the aim of strengthening unity and advancing the nation’s path toward lasting prosperity”.
The Symbolism of Water and Grass
At the heart of Irreechaa are materials that carry profound meaning: water, grass, and flowers.
Participants arrive carrying fresh green grass and bright yellow Adey Abeba, the seasonal flower associated with the Ethiopian spring. They dip the grass into the sacred waters, sprinkle droplets over themselves and others, and place grass and flowers along the shoreline. Over the course of the celebration, thousands of individual offerings gather along the water’s edge, forming a temporary green-and-yellow border that transforms the landscape.
As one participant, Guddissa Geda, who traveled from Sululta to celebrate at Hora Finfinnee, explained: “The movement of grass to water creates a connection between community practice and the landscape, embodying reconciliation, love, unity, and the relationship between people and nature”.
This ritual act — the dipping of grass into water — is not decorative. It is the physical embodiment of the festival’s spiritual logic. Water is the source of purity and the foundation of creation in Oromo cosmology. Grass is the symbol of fertility and renewal. To dip the grass into the water is to enact, in miniature, the reconciliation between the human and the divine, between the community and the earth, between the past and the future.
At a moment when Ethiopia seeks to reconcile its own divisions, the symbolism is unmistakable.
The Gadaa System and National Renewal
Irreechaa is inseparable from the Gadaa system, the traditional Oromo socio-political system recognized by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. The Gadaa system organizes society by age grades, each with defined responsibilities and transition periods, and encompasses customary law, environmental knowledge, and mechanisms for conflict resolution.
Prime Minister Abiy’s Irreechaa message emphasized the importance of the Gadaa system to Ethiopia’s national renewal. He cited “the restoration and institutionalization of Hora Finfinnee Irreechaa to its river site and the grand gatherings at Hora Harsadi in Bishoftu” as proof that “long-standing cultural questions regarding language and heritage have been fully answered”.
The return of Irreechaa to Hora Finfinnee — the sacred site in the heart of Addis Ababa from which the capital takes its Oromo name — is itself a powerful act of reclamation. For decades, public celebrations of Irreechaa at this site were suppressed. The Oromo people were denied the right to gather at their own sacred waters. The restoration of the festival to its ancestral site is, in the words of one analysis, “a powerful reclamation of space, identity, and dignity”.
But the Gadaa system offers more than historical symbolism. Its principles — Safuu (moral order), customary courts, community service, and environmental stewardship — represent an indigenous Ethiopian framework for governance and social organization that predates modern political structures. As Ethiopia seeks to build a system that draws on its own traditions while meeting contemporary challenges, the Gadaa system offers a model that is both authentically Ethiopian and profoundly relevant.
The Youth and the Future
One of the most striking features of this year’s Irreechaa was the prominent role of young people — not merely as participants but as organizers, protectors, and transmitters of tradition.
Nega Wodajo, deputy commissioner of the Oromia Tourism Bureau, explained that preparations for Irreechaa begin well before the main celebration days, with young people taking part in cultural performances, community projects, and activities marking the transition into the New Year. “The youth are taking responsibility by protecting their environment, promoting their culture and creating good relations among themselves,” Nega said. “The country belongs to the youth”.
This participation is not incidental. It is the mechanism by which tradition survives. Irreechaa is transmitted through participation — through the physical act of dipping grass into water, through the sound of chants rising at sunrise, through the experience of standing in a sea of white garments at the water’s edge. Young people who participate in Irreechaa today will carry its values into the future.
And those values — reconciliation, gratitude, unity, peace — are precisely what Ethiopia needs as it seeks to build a nation where consensus replaces conflict.
A Festival That Belongs to All
While deeply rooted in Oromo tradition, Irreechaa has increasingly become a national celebration embraced by Ethiopians of all backgrounds. This year’s gathering at Hora Finfinnee drew participants from across the country — from Oromia, from other regions, from the diaspora, and from the international community.
The festival has also attracted growing international attention. Visitors from across the globe come to witness its authenticity, the beauty of its traditions, and the collective joy of its people. Alongside iconic Ethiopian treasures such as Timket and Lalibela’s rock-hewn churches, Irreechaa showcases Ethiopia’s unique blend of cultural richness and natural wonder, offering the world an inspiring vision of harmony, heritage, and hope.
In a world that so often profits from division, Irreechaa offers a different model: a celebration that brings people together not despite their differences but because of the shared humanity that lies beneath them.
The Consensus That Begins at the Water
As the 2026 Irreechaa celebrations concluded peacefully at Hora Finfinnee, Mayor Adanech Abiebie offered a closing message that captured the spirit of the occasion: “Irreecha for National Consensus! Irreecha for Peace and Unity!”
The theme of this year’s festival is not just a slogan. It is a charge — a call to action that extends far beyond the shores of sacred waters.
The National Dialogue has concluded. Its recommendations have been presented. The hard work of implementation lies ahead. But the spiritual foundation for that work has been laid — not in conference halls or parliamentary chambers, but at the water’s edge, where millions of Ethiopians have practiced, for thousands of years, the disciplines of reconciliation, gratitude, and unity.
Irreechaa teaches that consensus is not merely a political outcome. It is a spiritual discipline. It is the deliberate act of setting aside grievance, of choosing relationship over righteousness, of approaching the sacred with open hands and a reconciled heart.
If Ethiopia can carry that discipline from the water’s edge into its institutions, its communities, and its politics, then the theme of Irreechaa 2026 will have been more than words.
It will have been a prophecy fulfilled.
Baga Irreechaa nagaan geessan.
May the Irreechaa arrive in peace. May the consensus it inspires endure.
Irreechaa: The Festival That Believes in the Beauty of the Human Soul
Every year, millions gather at the water’s edge to give thanks, seek forgiveness, and welcome a season of light. But the deeper story of Irreechaa is not only about a harvest or a river — it is about what humanity can become.
A Morning at the River
As the first light of Birraa — the Ethiopian spring — spills across the horizon, the banks of the Bishoftu lakes and the Awash River begin to fill. Elders in white näts’äla wraps arrive carrying bundles of fresh grass and yellow adey abeba flowers. Mothers lead daughters by the hand. Young men sing songs their grandfathers sang before them. The air smells of rain, wet earth, and gratitude.
This is Irreechaa, the great Thanksgiving festival of the Oromo people, celebrated at the end of the rainy season and the beginning of the harvest. To outsiders, it can look like a single day of celebration. To those who carry it in their blood, it is a whole philosophy of life — a yearly reminder of what it means to be human.
And at the heart of that philosophy lies a striking conviction: that the human soul is meant to be beautiful, and that beauty is not a luxury — it is a duty.
Thanksgiving as a Way of Seeing
Irreechaa begins with galata — thanksgiving. But this is not the polite gratitude of a hurried prayer. It is gratitude as a lens through which the entire world is viewed.
The Oromo elders say that the person who cannot give thanks cannot truly see. When you thank the earth for its harvest, you begin to notice the earth. When you thank the rain for falling, you begin to honor the rain. Thanksgiving, in this tradition, is the first act of a beautiful soul — the recognition that life is a gift received, not a possession earned.
At Irreechaa, gratitude is offered for the harvest, for health, for children, for peace, for the return of the rains. But it is also offered for things unseen: for forgiveness granted, for conflicts resolved, for another year of life. In a world addicted to complaint, Irreechaa stands as a radical act of remembering the good.
The Work of Restoration and Forgiveness
But Irreechaa is not naive. Its joy is not the joy of those who pretend nothing is broken. It is the joy of those who have done the harder work first.
Before the celebration comes reconciliation. In the weeks leading up to Irreechaa, families settle disputes. Neighbors ask forgiveness. Debts of the heart are repaid. The festival cannot be entered with a grudge in the chest; tradition holds that the one who carries bitterness to the riverbank carries it alone.
This is where Irreechaa’s belief in beautiful souls becomes most demanding. A beautiful soul is not a flawless soul — it is a soul willing to be restored. Forgiveness here flows in two directions: the courage to ask, and the generosity to grant. Restoration is not merely the repair of what was broken; it is the creation of something stronger than what existed before.
In a time when division is profitable and resentment is addictive, Irreechaa whispers another way: you do not have to stay wounded.
Love, Harmony, and the Living World
Standing at the water’s edge, the Oromo faithful do not see nature as a backdrop. They see a relative.
The river is not a resource; it is a mother. The tree is not timber; it is a witness. The land is not property; it is an ancestor. This is why Irreechaa is celebrated near water — because water is the clearest sign of life’s interdependence. What happens to the river happens to the people.
This harmony with nature is not sentimentality. It is a moral claim: you cannot love people while abusing the world they live in. The same soul that forgives a neighbor must also protect the forest. The same heart that gives thanks for the harvest must refuse to poison the soil that produced it.
Irreechaa thus offers a vision of humanity that is ecological at its core — not because it is fashionable, but because it is ancient. To respect nature is to respect the Creator, the ancestors, and the children not yet born. It is to understand that renewal and regeneration are not just human projects; they are the rhythm of the whole living world.
Remembering the Ancestors
No Irreechaa is complete without remembrance.
Elders speak the names of those who have passed. Libations are poured. The generations stand together in one long chain, and the living are reminded that they did not invent themselves. They are the continuation of a story.
Remembering ancestors is not nostalgia. It is accountability. It asks: What did they hand to us, and what will we hand forward? A beautiful soul, in this tradition, is one that knows it is a link, not an island.
This remembrance also gives Irreechaa its famous hope: the bright season over the dark. The rainy months of scarcity and confinement give way to harvest, color, and gathering. Darkness is not denied — it is acknowledged, survived, and then overcome. Every year, the festival reenacts the truth that winter does not have the final word.
Renewal and the Regeneration of Humanity
At its deepest level, Irreechaa is about renewal — not just of the fields, but of the person.
The waters of the lake are a symbol of cleansing. The green grass is a symbol of new life. The yellow flower that blooms at the season’s turn is a symbol of hope that appears precisely when the old season ends. The festival asks each participant: What in you needs to be renewed this year?
And the answer it offers is a whole program for the human family: a kind heart, a good spirit, right relationships with people and with nature, respect for life, love as practice, harmony as goal. These are not abstract virtues. They are the daily disciplines of a soul that has decided to be beautiful.
The regeneration of humanity, Irreechaa insists, does not begin in parliaments or palaces. It begins in the heart that chooses gratitude over greed, forgiveness over revenge, and harmony over domination.
A Festival That Believes in Us
In the end, Irreechaa is not merely a celebration of a harvest. It is a declaration of faith in the human soul.
It believes that people can be kind. It believes that old wounds can heal. It believes that the earth can be honored and the ancestors remembered. It believes that light follows dark, that love is stronger than hatred, and that a good spirit is not a weakness but the highest form of strength.
To stand at the river at Irreechaa is to be told, by a tradition older than any empire: You were made for beauty. Live like it.
And perhaps that is the festival’s greatest gift to a fractured world — not just a day of thanksgiving, but a lifelong invitation to become the beautiful soul that Irreechaa has always believed we could be.
Happy Irreechaa! May your season be bright.
