Category Archives: freedom
The Passing of a Pillar: Professor Abdullahi A. Shongolo and the Enduring Legacy of Oromo Indigenous Knowledge
By Dhabessa Wakjira
On October 20, 2026, the scholarly and cultural world lost a towering figure. In Nanyuki, Kenya, Professor Abdullahi A. Shongolo—a distinguished anthropologist, social scientist, and resolute advocate for Oromo intellectual heritage—passed away at the age of 68. In a formal statement of condolence released on October 23, the Oromo Studies Association (OSA) announced his passing, describing it as “a profound loss to the Oromo community in Kenya, the wider Oromo nation, and the international scholarly community.”
For those who knew his work, Professor Shongolo was not merely an academic; he was a bridge. Born in 1958 in Moyale—the very border town where the sacred wells of the Borana have faced generations of political siege—he spent his life ensuring that the sophisticated governance, oral literature, and customary laws of his people were not just preserved, but globally recognized as vital contributions to human civilization.
From the Classroom to the Global Stage
Professor Shongolo’s journey began in education. Before establishing a distinguished research career, he served in Kenya’s Ministry of Education, eventually rising to the position of Assistant Director of Education. This foundational experience shaped a career defined by a dual commitment: rigorous academic inquiry and the practical upliftment of his community.
From 1999 to 2019, his intellectual home was the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology in Germany. He also served as an Associate Research Fellow at the University of Gothenburg in Sweden. Yet, despite his extensive international footprint, his research gaze never strayed far from the Horn of Africa.
His scholarship was deeply rooted in the lived realities of the Oromo people. He made enduring contributions to the study of Oromo history, pastoralism, religion, and oral literature. His meticulous research on the Gumii Gaayyoo assembly—a central institution of the Borana Gadaa system—illuminated the remarkable sophistication of Oromo indigenous governance. At a time when colonial and post-colonial narratives often dismissed African traditional systems as primitive, Shongolo’s work provided irrefutable evidence of a highly structured, democratic, and consensus-based political order, and he expertly examined how this system interacted with modern state institutions.
Safeguarding the “River of Blessings”
Professor Shongolo understood that a culture survives through its language and its stories. Beyond his formal academic publications, he was deeply committed to the meticulous documentation of Borana proverbs, customary practices, and historical experiences.
In recent years, as the Oromo people have faced systemic marginalization and violence, Shongolo’s work served as a vital anchor. By archiving the intellectual traditions of the Oromo, he ensured that future generations would inherit a robust cultural identity. His life’s work demonstrated the absolute necessity of studying, preserving, and valuing indigenous African knowledge systems.
His dedication to the Oromo nation was recognized just a year prior to his passing. In 2025, he served as the distinguished speaker at the OSA’s midyear conference in Nairobi, where he continued to challenge and inspire a new generation of Oromo scholars and activists.
A Legacy That Endures
The passing of Professor Shongolo comes at a critical juncture for the Oromo people. As the Oromo Studies Association fights to center Oromo voices in global human rights discussions—often countering biased narratives promoted by state-aligned institutions—the loss of a scholar of Shongolo’s stature is deeply felt.
Yet, as the OSA noted in their statement, his work has laid a foundation that cannot be erased. “His extensive documentation of Borana proverbs, customary practices, and historical experiences helped safeguard an invaluable cultural heritage,” the statement reads, “while bringing Oromo intellectual traditions into broader scholarly conversations.”
The Oromo Studies Association extended its heartfelt condolences to his family, colleagues, the Borana Oromo community, and the Oromo people worldwide. In mourning his passing, the organization reaffirmed its commitment to preserving and advancing the intellectual heritage to which Professor Shongolo dedicated his life.
Professor Abdullahi A. Shongolo is gone, but the Gumii Gaayyoo he studied, the proverbs he recorded, and the dignity of the Gadaa system he brought to the world’s attention will continue to echo. He ensured that the intellectual wealth of the Oromo nation is no longer a hidden treasure, but a beacon for generations to come.
May his memory be honored, his contributions remembered, and his legacy endure.
Dhabessa Wakjira is a writer covering Horn of Africa affairs and Oromo cultural heritage.
Celebrating Oromia Media: The Unyielding Voice of a People
By Dhabessa Wakjira
In a country where the state maintains a near-monopoly on the levers of national and international media, the existence of independent Oromia media is nothing short of an act of defiance. To celebrate Oromia media today is to celebrate the resilience of a people who, for over a century, have seen their history distorted, their language suppressed, and their struggles silenced.
While the government in Finfinnee projects a façade of progress to the international community, the reality on the ground—as documented by human rights organizations—is a landscape scarred by violence, displacement, and systemic marginalization. In this environment, Oromia media serves as the vital, beating heart of the Oromo nation’s quest for truth and self-determination.
The Battle Against Erasure
The importance of an independent Oromo press cannot be understood without acknowledging the historical context. As the Oromia Support Group (OSG) notes in its submissions to the UN Human Rights Council, the Oromo people were subjected to the neftenya-gabbar system of subjugation, and while formal slavery was abolished, the culture of supremacy continued. Even today, the OSG warns that the gains in autonomy and the adoption of the Oromo language within the 1995 constitution are in danger of being lost as power is centralized.
For decades, mainstream Ethiopian media has been complicit in this erasure. It has often served as a mouthpiece for the state, demonizing Oromo organizations, masking state-sponsored atrocities, and amplifying biased narratives. When international human rights organizations are sometimes duped into publishing poorly researched reports that wrongly attribute massacres to the Oromo Liberation Army (OLA), independent Oromia media becomes the essential corrective mechanism. It is the platform that documents the drone strikes in East Wallega, the mass displacements in West Showa, and the forced conscription of children.
Oromia media does not just report the news; it archives the truth. It ensures that the 7,862 civilian killings documented since 2018 are not reduced to mere statistics, but are remembered as the mothers, fathers, and children lost to a brutal conflict.
Amplifying the Culture of Gadaa
To view Oromia media solely through the lens of conflict is to miss its profound cultural significance. The Oromo people possess a rich, vibrant heritage rooted in the ancient Gadaa system—a democratic, egalitarian, and consensus-based governance model recognized by UNESCO as a World Heritage treasure.
Oromia media is the guardian of this heritage. Through music, poetry, literature, and broadcasting in Afaan Oromoo, it nourishes a language that was once forbidden in schools and public life. It carries the voices of the Borana elders reciting the blessings of the Tuula Saglan Booranaa (the Nine Sacred Water Wells) across the diaspora. It celebrates the resilience of the Qerroo youth, who have stood at the forefront of demanding justice.
In a world where the government and its allies abuse their influence in global media and institutions to demonize Oromo people, these independent platforms offer a counter-narrative of dignity. They remind the world that the Oromo are not merely victims of a geopolitical crisis, but a proud nation with a sophisticated history of compromise, power-sharing, and democracy.
The Courage of the Diaspora
Much of this vital work is shouldered by the Oromo diaspora. Fleeing the violence that has created a global refugee crisis—with Oromos facing xenophobia in South Africa, detention in Egypt, and extortion in Yemen—the diaspora has weaponized media as a tool for survival.
Organizations like the Oromia Support Group (OSG) and various independent Oromo media outlets operate under immense pressure. They face digital surveillance, smear campaigns, and the constant threat of being discredited by state-aligned actors. Yet, they persist. They bridge the gap between the isolated villages of Oromia and the halls of the United Nations in Geneva.
A Voice for the Future
As the Horn of Africa faces increasing instability, the role of Oromia media will only grow in importance. It is the vehicle through which the Oromo people can demand accountability for the crimes committed against them, and it is the medium through which they articulate their vision for the future—a future built on self-determination, human rights, and the revival of their indigenous democratic values.
The existence of a free Oromia media is a testament to the fact that no amount of state repression, drone strikes, or media manipulation can extinguish the spirit of a people. To celebrate Oromia media is to celebrate the journalists, the poets, the citizen reporters, and the diaspora activists who refuse to let the world look away.
It is the sound of a nation reclaiming its own story. And it is a sound that will not be silenced.
Dhabessa Wakjira is a commentator on Horn of Africa affairs and human rights.
A Nation Behind the Façade: Inside the Oromo Crisis Ahead of the UN Human Rights Council
By Dhabessa Wakjira
When the 63rd Session of the UN Human Rights Council convenes in Geneva from 7 September to 9 October 2026, diplomats will debate frameworks, resolutions, and language. But beneath the procedural veneer lies a brutal reality documented by the Oromia Support Group (OSG) in its submission to the Council: a nation where the state’s monopoly on violence has been turned against its own people, and where the international community’s attention remains dangerously fragmented.
The OSG’s submission, drawing on Reports 73 and 74, paints a portrait of Ethiopia that stands in stark contrast to the narrative of progress and development promoted by the government in Finfinnee. It is a portrait of a country where at least 7,862 civilians have been killed since September 2018—a figure the OSG acknowledges is only a fraction of the total. Since April 2026 alone, at least 245 civilians have been killed, 38 of them by Amhara Fano militants.
The Anatomy of a Massacre
The numbers, however staggering, cannot capture the human cost. In early March 2026, 32 villagers—including women and children—were slaughtered in a single attack by Fano in Abee Dongoroo district, Horo Guduru. On 30 June and 1 July, at least 12 were killed in Agamsa, Horo Guduru. On 24 July, 11 or more were killed in Hanger Gutin, East Wallega, where they had gathered for a football tournament.
These are not isolated incidents. They are part of a systematic campaign of violence that has engulfed Oromia, driven by a confluence of forces: government security forces, Amhara Fano militants, and government operatives masquerading as Fano or as the Oromo Liberation Army (OLA) to sow hatred between communities.
The OSG submission is explicit: “Government forces masquerading as Fano and OLA are deployed against Amhara, Oromo and Gumuz communities with the sole purpose of fomenting hatred between them.” This is not a byproduct of war; it is a strategy of division, a modern iteration of the zero-sum, supremacist culture that has haunted Ethiopia for over a century.
Displacement, Destruction, and the Vanity of Development
Beyond the killings, the OSG documents a systematic campaign of displacement and destruction. Since March 2026, artillery barrages and drone strikes have killed people and animals in East Wallega, North Showa, and East Showa. Homes have been burned and villagers displaced across North, West, and Southwest Showa, Wollo, Hararge, Bale, Arsi, Qellem, West Wallega, and Buno Bedele zones.
This violence is not merely a security operation; it is deeply intertwined with economic interests. The OSG notes that displacement continues for “corridor and vanity projects and clearing of land for foreign investors.” The government’s vision of modernization, it seems, is built on the ruins of Oromo homes and the graves of Oromo farmers.
The submission also highlights the lawlessness and extortion by government militias, the forced conscription of youngsters—often under 17 years of age—into national defense forces, and more recently, into the Sudanese Rapid Support Forces (RSF) based in Asosa zone. Older and infirm men are press-ganged into local militia. Refusal of conscription leads to detention, torture, and killing.
The Weaponization of Rape and the Corruption of Aid
The OSG submission reiterates previous findings: the rape and murder of young girls and women continue with impunity. But it also raises a troubling new dimension: the weaponization of these crimes in the international media.
“Even Amnesty International has been duped into biased and inflammatory propaganda against OLA,” the submission states, “singling it out as almost the sole perpetrator of sexual violence against women in West Wallega, despite this being the opposite of the conclusions drawn by the UN Independent Commission of Human Rights Experts in Ethiopia.”
This is a damning indictment of the international human rights community’s ability to be manipulated by state actors. Massacres committed by government forces masquerading as OLA have been attributed to OLA itself in poorly researched and biased reports. The result is a global narrative that legitimizes state violence while demonizing those who resist it.
Meanwhile, behind the façade of progress in Finfinnee and other major cities, the OSG paints a picture of a destitute and hungry population, heavily dependent on foreign aid—aid whose distribution is “once again rife with corruption and discrimination.” The government and its allies, the submission notes, abuse their connections in national and international media, NGOs, and institutions to demonize Oromo people and their organizations.
The Refugee Crisis: From Bad to Worse
The violence has created a refugee crisis of staggering proportions. Oromo civilians, displaced by government and Fano forces, constitute the bulk of Ethiopian refugees fleeing to neighboring countries and beyond—to Egypt, Yemen, South Africa, and further afield.
But the world is not welcoming them. The OSG documents a global shift away from treating refugees with dignity and compassion. In Egypt, hundreds of Oromo and Sudanese refugees have been detained, and many, including registered asylum-seekers, have been returned against their will. At least one Oromo died in detention in Cairo on 22 July 2026. In Cape Town, South Africa, at least two Oromo registered asylum-seekers were killed by xenophobic mobs in early July. Thousands are trapped in Sana’a, Yemen, unable to escape because of forced conscription by Houthi militia and violence and extortion by traffickers. UNHCR offices are closed and unable to help. Migrants who survive lethal violence by border guards are liable to summary justice and execution for minor offenses in Saudi Arabia.
The Historical Roots of the Crisis
The OSG submission does not shy away from history. It traces the roots of the current crisis to the 19th and early 20th centuries, when the Oromo—the majority people of Ethiopia—were overrun by Amhara and Tigrayan tyrants. Although slavery was abolished by Italian invaders in 1936, serfdom within the neftenya-gabbar system continued until 1974. Amhara racist and supremacist culture, the submission argues, continues to exert itself under the Prosperity Party government.
“Although nominal Oromo are part of that government, all the gains in autonomy and the adoption of the Oromo language within the 1995 federal constitution are in danger of being lost as the incumbent Prime Minister attempts to monopolise control within a presidential system,” the OSG warns.
This is the crux of the matter: the fear that the hard-won gains of federalism, however imperfect, are being rolled back in favor of a centralized, authoritarian state that serves the interests of a narrow elite.
The Gadaa Alternative
Against this bleak backdrop, the OSG offers a vision of hope rooted in indigenous knowledge. The Oromo culture of compromise, power-sharing, consensus decision-making, and checks and balances to avoid the monopoly of power by individuals and small groups is evidenced in the ancient Gadaa system, recognized by UNESCO as of World Heritage significance.
“By enabling the emancipation and self-determination of the Oromo, it would be possible to experience again the benefits of this culture,” the submission states. “This could be the only way to restore peace, stability, and respect for human rights in Ethiopia for all its peoples.”
A Call to the International Community
As the UN Human Rights Council convenes in Geneva, the OSG submission is a stark reminder that the international community cannot afford to look away. The crisis in Ethiopia is not a distant, intractable conflict; it is a manufactured catastrophe, sustained by a government that has weaponized ethnicity, manipulated international institutions, and deployed its security forces against its own citizens.
The submission’s conclusion is unambiguous: “Without self-determination for the Oromo and other oppressed peoples of Ethiopia, there will be no stability in Ethiopia. A peaceful and prosperous Ethiopia would allow stability and peace to develop in the Horn of Africa.”
The choice before the international community is clear. It can continue to reward a government that has turned its guns on its own people, or it can stand with those who seek a different path—one rooted in the ancient wisdom of the Gadaa system, where power is shared, dissent is tolerated, and every voice is heard.
For the people of Oromia, the stakes could not be higher. They have endured over a century of subjugation, and they are now facing a government that seems determined to erase their gains and silence their demands. The world must decide whether it will stand with them—or stand aside as the slaughter continues.
The Oromia Support Group’s full submission is available at oromiasupport.org.
Dr. Taaddasaa Eebbaa (Gadaa Meelbaa): The Visionary Who Breathed Life into Ethiopia’s Biodiversity Legacy
By Dhabessa Wakjira
In the annals of Ethiopian and Oromo history, few figures embody the rare combination of scientific brilliance, political conviction, and unwavering sacrifice as profoundly as Dr. Taaddasaa Eebbaa. Known affectionately by many names—Dr. Fidoo, Doktoree, and most famously in literary circles as Gadaa Meelbaa—this remarkable scholar, freedom fighter, and author left an indelible mark on his nation’s scientific and political landscape before his passing on May 1, 2022, in Washington, D.C.
Humble Beginnings, Extraordinary Vision
Born in Najjoo, in the West Wallagga region, Dr. Taaddasaa’s journey from a young student in his hometown to an internationally recognized geneticist reads like a testament to the power of determination. He completed his primary education in Najjoo before pursuing his secondary studies in Jimma—a journey that would set the stage for an extraordinary academic career.
His first degree in agriculture from Alemaya College (now Haramaya University) marked the beginning of a lifelong dedication to understanding and preserving Ethiopia’s natural wealth. Not content with domestic excellence, Dr. Taaddasaa pursued his master’s and doctoral degrees at universities in the United States and the United Kingdom, specializing in genetics—a field that would become central to his life’s work.
The Architect of Ethiopia’s Biodiversity Conservation
The 1970s found Dr. Taaddasaa teaching at Haramaya University before joining the Ministry of Agriculture as a researcher. It was during this period that his visionary leadership would leave an enduring legacy on Ethiopian science.
As the director of a groundbreaking research project dedicated to studying Ethiopia’s plant genetic resources, Dr. Taaddasaa didn’t merely participate in scientific inquiry—he fundamentally shaped it. The institution that would eventually become the Ethiopian Biodiversity Institute (EBI) stands as a monument to his foresight and dedication.
According to historical accounts, Dr. Taaddasaa was not just a founding member but the intellectual force behind the establishment of this crucial institution in 1978, initially named the Plant Genetic Resource Centre of Ethiopia. Professor Endashaw, a former colleague, emphasizes this point with conviction: “Everything was initiated by Taaddasaa. Nothing was added. They removed him from the institution’s history. From all of us, they bought it from there.”
The institution’s original location near present-day Embasi, Kenya, was selected under Dr. Taaddasaa’s guidance—a decision that reflected his deep understanding of Ethiopia’s ecological diversity and its importance for global food security.
When Science Met Politics
Dr. Taaddasaa’s brilliance extended beyond the laboratory. His passion for Oromo culture and identity led him to help organize the first Oromo cultural showcase at the National Theatre in the 1970s—an act of cultural preservation that foreshadowed his later political engagement.
The political repression of the Derg regime did not spare this distinguished scientist. Historical accounts document that he was imprisoned twice in 1979 for his activities. The political pressure became unbearable, forcing Dr. Taaddasaa to make the heart-wrenching decision to leave his work and family behind in Finfinne, escaping through Assosa to Sudan at the end of 1979. From there, he joined the Oromo Liberation Front (OLF), beginning a new chapter in his life of service.
Dr. Shuggux Galataa Qondaalaa, a former OLF leader who knew Dr. Taaddasaa intimately, recalls his political journey: “He was among those who participated in founding the OLF. He took part in the secret meeting held in Finfinne on June 11, 1976. Everyone who participated in that meeting continued as members of the central committee, and Dr. Taaddasaa continued the struggle from then on.”
Sacrifices Beyond Measure
The personal cost of Dr. Taaddasaa’s commitment to freedom was staggering. His wife, Aadde Addisaalem Gannat, was imprisoned for over ten years during the Derg regime, finally released in 1988. His young son, barely two years old, died from neglect—a tragedy that haunts the pages of his life story. His daughter Urjii remains as a testament to a family that paid dearly for their convictions.
“Taaddasaa is not just someone with a good mind, but someone who thinks of others. Someone who thinks of his country,” reflects Professor Endashaw. “If he had stayed in science, he would have been a star researcher. What is past cannot be returned.”
Within the OLF, Dr. Taaddasaa’s contributions were equally significant. He served as a member of the Political Bureau after the 1988 leadership transition and contributed to the Biree Diplomaasii—a foundational document for the organization’s diplomatic strategy. His journey of exile took him through Khartoum, Germany, and finally to the United States, where he lived until his death.
The Pen That Awakened a Nation
Perhaps Dr. Taaddasaa’s most enduring contribution to Oromo consciousness came not through politics or science, but through literature. In 1988, while in Khartoum, he published “Oromia”—a book that would become a cornerstone of Oromo national awakening.
Published under the pseudonym Gadaa Meelbaa, the book’s authorship remained a mystery to many for years. The text, later translated into both Afaan Oromoo and Amharic, comprehensively addressed Oromia’s resources, culture, traditions, historical oppression, and the challenges facing the Oromo people.
Bulii Ejjetaa, who was a university student when the book was published, recalls its transformative impact: “We saw that book as a ‘pill of freedom.’ It asked us clearly: What is Oromia? Where is it located? What does it have? What has it been through? We shared it and discussed it at university. After joining the struggle, we used it to educate our people.”
The book served as a consciousness-raising tool for countless young Oromos, many of whom had been disconnected from their cultural identity. “For students who didn’t know their Oromummaa, we would say, ‘Give this child that pill,'” Bulii remembers. “That book was a pill for strengthening Oromummaa and nationalism.”
Years after its publication, when Dr. Taaddasaa’s authorship became known, he transferred the book’s rights to the Oromo people and the OLF—a final act of generosity from a man who had given everything.
An Unacknowledged Legacy
Despite his monumental contributions, Dr. Taaddasaa’s role in founding the Ethiopian Biodiversity Institute has been systematically erased from official narratives. Five years after he established the institution, records began crediting someone else with its founding.
This erasure of his legacy represents a broader pattern of historical amnesia that has obscured the contributions of Oromo intellectuals to Ethiopian national development. Yet those who knew him and benefited from his work ensure his memory endures.
A Life of Purpose, A Legacy of Inspiration
Dr. Taaddasaa Eebbaa’s life represents the intersection of scientific excellence and political conviction—a rare combination that produced lasting change in multiple spheres. He was a geneticist who understood that preserving Ethiopia’s biodiversity was essential for the nation’s future. He was a freedom fighter who believed that the Oromo people deserved dignity, self-determination, and cultural recognition. And he was an author whose words awakened a generation.
In his final years, Dr. Taaddasaa returned to Ethiopia briefly when the OLF transitioned to peaceful political participation, serving as an advisor to the organization. His journey had come full circle—from a young student in Najjoo to an internationally recognized scientist, from a political prisoner to a freedom fighter, from an exiled author to a respected elder statesman.
He passed away on May 1, 2022, in Washington, D.C., after a long illness, leaving behind his daughter Urjii and a legacy that transcends the boundaries of science, politics, and literature.
Dr. Taaddasaa Eebbaa—Gadaa Meelbaa—reminds us that true greatness lies not in what we accumulate but in what we give. He gave his scientific genius to Ethiopia’s biodiversity, his political passion to Oromo liberation, and his literary gift to a people hungry for self-knowledge. In doing so, he became more than a scholar or a revolutionary—he became a pillar of Oromo memory, a testament to what one person can accomplish when guided by love for people and country.
His story deserves to be told, retold, and never forgotten—not merely as a historical record, but as an inspiration for generations yet to come. For in remembering Dr. Taaddasaa Eebbaa, we remember what it means to live with purpose, to sacrifice with dignity, and to leave the world better than we found it.
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This feature article honors the life and legacy of Dr. Taaddasaa Eebbaa (Gadaa Meelbaa), whose contributions to Ethiopian science, Oromo liberation, and literature continue to inspire.
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.
Dr. & Dr.: A Celebration of Love, Perseverance, and Two Doctoral Degrees
Congratulations to Haimanot Ewnetu and Nege GN Sindibin on an Extraordinary Achievement
There are milestones in life that deserve more than a passing congratulations. There are moments that call for reflection, for celebration, and for acknowledging the sheer weight of what has been accomplished. Today is one of those moments.
Today, Haimanot Ewnetu and Nege GN Sindibin graduate with their PhDs — together.
Not one doctorate. Two. Earned not in isolation, but side by side, through years of shared sacrifice, mutual encouragement, and a partnership strong enough to weather the most demanding academic journey one can undertake.
The Weight of a Doctorate
A PhD is not simply a degree. It is a test of endurance, of intellect, of patience, and of character. It demands years of rigorous research, countless revisions, long nights spent wrestling with questions that refuse easy answers. It asks for sacrifice — time with family, moments of rest, the simple luxury of certainty.
Many begin this journey. Not all finish it.
To complete a PhD is to prove something profound: that you can push the boundaries of human knowledge, that you can persist when the path is unclear, and that you can emerge on the other side not just with a title, but with a transformation.
To complete a PhD while supporting someone else through theirs — to share the burden, to celebrate each other’s wins, to hold each other up when the weight felt unbearable — that is something rarer still.
A Partnership Forged in Perseverance
Haimanot and Nege, you did not simply pursue degrees in parallel. You built something together.
You shared the quiet victories — the accepted paper, the successful defense, the moment a difficult chapter finally made sense. You shared the hard days too — the rejections, the revisions, the moments when the finish line seemed impossibly far away. And through it all, you remained each other’s greatest supporter.
That is what makes today so remarkable. This is not just a celebration of academic achievement. It is a celebration of what two people can accomplish when they refuse to let go of each other’s hands.
Years of hard work. Years of dedication. Years of choosing, again and again, to keep going — together.
And now, here you are. Dr. Haimanot Ewnetu and Dr. Nege GN Sindibin.
A Moment Worth Celebrating
Today, we celebrate not only the degrees you have earned, but the people you have become in the process. We celebrate your brilliance, your resilience, and your unwavering commitment to your goals.
We celebrate the families and friends who stood beside you, the mentors who guided you, and the community that cheered you on.
But most of all, we celebrate you — two extraordinary individuals who proved that the hardest journeys are made easier when walked side by side.
So proud of you both. So happy we could celebrate with you.
Here’s to the years of hard work behind you, the bright future ahead, and the knowledge that you did it — together.
Congratulations, Doctors! 🎓🎉👏
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.
