Category Archives: Grief Support
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.
Obituary: Prominent Kenyan Oromo Scholar and Anthropologist Professor Abdullahi Shongolo Dies at 68
Professor Abdullahi Shongolo, whose decades of research on Borana Oromo culture, customary law, and history brought international recognition to the community’s heritage, passed away on 20 October at Nanyuki Hospital in Kenya following an illness. He was 68.
Born in 1958 in Moyale, Kenya, Professor Shongolo completed his education in Kenya and went on to serve in the country’s Ministry of Education, rising to the position of Assistant Director of Education. But it was his later turn to scholarship that would define his legacy.
Jaatani Diidaa, a cultural and historical researcher, told Addis Standard that Professor Shongolo devoted much of his life to in-depth research, making significant personal sacrifices to bring the educational and cultural heritage of the Oromo of Kenya and Ethiopia to international attention.
Professor Shongolo made substantial contributions to anthropological research, serving as a senior researcher at Germany’s renowned Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology for more than two decades, from 1999 to 2019. During the 2000s, he also served as an Associate Research Fellow in the Department of Social Anthropology at the University of Gothenburg in Sweden, where he pursued research and academic work.
Among his major scholarly contributions were books co-authored with prominent German scholar Professor Günther Schlee, including Pastoralism and Politics in Northern Kenya and Southern Ethiopia and Islam and Ethnicity in Northern Kenya and Southern Ethiopia. He also documented traditional Borana oral literature and proverbs in Boran Proverbs in Their Cultural Context. These works helped bring greater international recognition to Oromo history, pastoral life, religious traditions, and customary systems of governance, particularly the Oromo customary governance system, the Gumii Gaayo Assembly.
Professor Shongolo’s passing “has brought profound grief and shock to the Borana Oromo community, the wider Oromo community across the world, and people in Kenya and Ethiopia, as well as to scholars in the international academic community,” Jaatani said.
His funeral was held on 21 October in Nanyuki, Kenya.
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.
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!!
Irreechaa: A Billion Hearts, One Festival of Light
Across continents and generations, the Oromo nation celebrates the victory of light over darkness — a festival that unites, sustains, and inspires
(MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA, 27 September 2026) — This week, more than a billion people around the world are celebrating Irreechaa, the cultural festival celebrating the victory of light over darkness. It’s an important time for the Oromo nation. Across states, regions and cities, it fostered unity, sustainability, and joy, illuminating paths to prosperity and peace.
From the sacred shores of Hora Arsadi in Bishoftu to the riverbanks of the Awash, from the bustling streets of Addis Ababa to the quiet parks of Melbourne, Minneapolis, and London, the sounds of shaggooyyee and the colors of calanchi have once again filled the air. Irreechaa has returned — and with it, a message that transcends borders, generations, and circumstances.
A Festival Rooted in Gratitude
At its heart, Irreechaa is a thanksgiving. It marks the end of the rainy season and the beginning of the harvest, a moment when the Oromo people gather at the water’s edge to offer thanks to Waaqa (God) for the gift of life, fertility, and renewal. The festival is celebrated twice a year: Irreechaa Hiyyessa (the small Irreechaa) and Irreechaa Guddaa (the great Irreechaa), with the latter drawing millions to sacred sites across Oromia and beyond.
But Irreechaa is more than a ritual. It is a philosophy. The triumph of light over darkness is not merely a seasonal metaphor — it is a declaration of hope. It reminds us that even after the longest night, the sun rises. Even after the heaviest rain, the land blooms. Even in the face of adversity, a people united by faith and tradition can find their way forward.
Unity Across Divides
This year’s celebrations carried particular weight. In a world often divided by politics, religion, and geography, Irreechaa stood as a powerful counter-narrative. In cities across Ethiopia and the diaspora, people of all ages, backgrounds, and walks of life gathered side by side. Elders passed down blessings. Mothers sang songs of gratitude. Children danced in celebration. And for a moment, the divisions that so often define modern life seemed to dissolve.
In Melbourne, where the Oromo community has grown into a vibrant and organized presence, Irreechaa was celebrated with the same reverence as it is in the homeland. Families dressed in traditional wandaboo and uffannaa aadaa, exchanged greetings of “Happy Irreechaa!” and shared meals that tasted of home. The event was a testament to the resilience of a people who, even thousands of miles from their ancestral land, refuse to let their culture fade.
Sustainability: A Legacy of Respect for the Earth
Irreechaa is also a reminder of humanity’s relationship with nature. The festival is intrinsically tied to the land, the rivers, and the changing seasons. It teaches that gratitude must be accompanied by stewardship — that the earth is not ours to exploit but to protect.
In an era of climate crisis, this message could not be more urgent. The Oromo people’s reverence for water, land, and life offers a model of sustainability that the world would do well to heed. Irreechaa is not just a celebration of what we have received; it is a commitment to preserve it for those who come after us.
Joy as Resistance
Perhaps most powerfully, Irreechaa is a celebration of joy. In a world that often demands we focus on what divides us, the festival insists on what unites us. It is a reminder that joy is not frivolous — it is revolutionary. To celebrate in the face of hardship is to declare that hardship will not have the final word.
The images emerging from this year’s celebrations tell that story. A grandmother teaching her granddaughter the steps of a traditional dance. A young man helping an elder across the river. A group of friends laughing as they share a meal under the open sky. These are the moments that define Irreechaa. These are the memories that will be passed down.
Illuminating Paths to Prosperity and Peace
As the celebrations draw to a close, the message of Irreechaa lingers. Light has triumphed over darkness. Gratitude has triumphed over despair. Unity has triumphed over division.
For the Oromo nation, Irreechaa is not just a festival — it is a compass. It points toward a future built on peace, prosperity, and mutual respect. It reminds us that the path forward is illuminated not by the brightness of any single star, but by the collective light of a people who refuse to be extinguished.
And as the sun rises on another year, that light shines on — in Bishoftu, in Melbourne, in Minneapolis, and in every corner of the world where the Oromo spirit lives.
Baga Irreechaa Nagayaan Geessan! Baga Bara Haaraa Geessan!
May the light of Irreechaa guide us all toward a year of peace, unity, and abundance.
Irreechaa: A Living Memory Across Generations
“Irreechaa waggaatti naanna’e dhufa; ayyaana kana irratti yaadannoo barayyuu jiraatu dhalootaaf kahanii darbuu waanti fakkaatu hin jiru.”
Irreechaa returns year after year; there is nothing that seems to pass beyond the reach of generations when the memory of this festival lives on and is preserved.
This profound truth captures the essence of Irreechaa — a festival that refuses to be confined to a single moment in time. It is a celebration that travels with its people, crossing rivers, mountains, and oceans, carrying with it the sacred duty of remembrance.
A Festival That Travels With Its People
Irreechaa is more than a thanksgiving ceremony. It is a living testament to the resilience, faith, and unity of the Oromo people. Celebrated at the banks of rivers and lakes, it marks the transition from the rainy season to the harvest, a moment of gratitude to Waaqa (God) for the blessings of life, fertility, and community.
But when Irreechaa travels — as it has with the Oromo diaspora to cities like Melbourne — it does not lose its meaning. Instead, it multiplies. Each celebration in a new land becomes a bridge between the homeland and the heart, between ancestors and descendants, between memory and hope.
Melbourne: A New Chapter in an Ancient Story
The Irreechaa celebrations in Melbourne are a vivid reminder that distance does not diminish devotion. Under the open sky of a foreign land, Oromo families gather in their traditional attire, sing songs of praise, and perform the sacred rituals that have been passed down for centuries. The colors of the calanchi and the rhythm of the shaggooyyee echo the same spirit that fills the banks of the Hora Arsadi and the Awash River.
These gatherings are not merely cultural events; they are acts of survival. They are declarations that no matter where life takes a people, their identity remains rooted in their traditions.
The Power of Shared Memories
“Suuraalee Irreechaa Melbourne kana waliif qooduunis yaadannoo keenyatti lubbuu haa horru!”
Sharing the photos of this Irreechaa in Melbourne breathes life into our memory!
In the age of digital connection, every photograph, every video, every shared post becomes a vessel of memory. When we share these images, we are not simply documenting an event — we are breathing life into our collective story. We are telling the next generation: This is who we are. This is where we come from. This is what we carry with us.
For those who could not attend, these shared moments become a lifeline. For those who were present, they become anchors of joy. For those yet to be born, they become a legacy.
A Call to Keep the Flame Alive
We extend our deepest gratitude to Yadeta Lemu, Kasahun Soboka, Aliye Geleto, Dhabessa Wakjira, and Yadesa Bedhasa for their dedication in capturing and sharing the spirit of Irreechaa Melbourne. Their efforts ensure that the memory of this celebration does not fade with time but grows stronger with each passing year.
Their work reminds us that preserving culture is not a passive act. It requires effort, commitment, and love. It requires people who understand that when we share our traditions, we are not just looking back — we are building forward.
Conclusion: Irreechaa as a Bridge
Irreechaa is a bridge. It spans the distance between generations, between homelands, between hearts. It teaches us that as long as we remember, we are never truly far from home. As long as we celebrate, we are never truly alone.
So let us continue to share. Let us continue to remember. Let us continue to breathe life into our memories — for in doing so, we ensure that Irreechaa will indeed return, year after year, carrying our stories to generations yet to come.
Irreechaa fi yaadannoo keenya — dhalootaaf kahanii darbuu hin danda’u!
Irreechaa and our memory — they cannot pass beyond the reach of generations!
