Category Archives: News
When the Bokkuu Blooms Again: The Oromo Quest to Revive a Native System
FINFINNE, OROMIA — The morning mist still clings to the highlands when Jaldessa Gammadaa, 74, raises the bokkuu—a curved wooden staff wrapped in leather and beads—toward the rising sun. His weathered hands tremble slightly, not from age, but from the weight of what this simple object represents.
“The bokkuu never died,” he says softly, his voice carried by the wind sweeping across the grassy plains of Mecha, in western Oromia. “It was only sleeping. Now, we are waking it up.”
For the Oromo people, Ethiopia’s largest ethnic group, the bokkuu is more than a ceremonial scepter. It is the embodiment of the Sirna Oromoo—the Oromo system of governance, law, spirituality, and social organization that once governed millions across the Horn of Africa. And after decades of suppression, forced assimilation, and state-sanctioned neglect, the Oromo are engaged in a quiet but determined revolution: not with guns, but with memory.
They are reviving. They are rebuilding. They are strengthening.
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A System That Predates Modern Democracy
The Gadaa system—the beating heart of Sirna Oromoo—is a complex, age-grade-based democratic governance structure that has been recognized by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. Every eight years, power transfers peacefully from one generation to the next, with elected leaders known as Abbaa Gadaa presiding over legislative, judicial, and ritual functions.
Political scientists have marveled at its checks and balances. Its separation of powers. Its regular succession mechanisms that prevent authoritarian drift—all developed centuries before many European nations had abolished absolute monarchy.
“People ask me if the Oromo had democracy before colonialism,” says Dr. Worku Tesfaye, a historian at Addis Ababa University who has studied Gadaa for three decades. “I tell them no. We had something more sophisticated. Colonialism never reached Oromia in the same way it reached the coast. The Gadaa system is indigenous, organic, and astonishingly modern in its core principles.”
Yet for much of the 20th century, successive Ethiopian regimes viewed the Gadaa system as a threat. Emperor Haile Selassie’s government sought to centralize power and absorb Oromo lands, sidelining Oromo institutions. The Marxist Derg regime (1974–1991) banned what it called “feudal and tribal structures.” And even after 1991, while ethnic federalism allowed some cultural expression, Gadaa was largely relegated to folklore—performed at tourist festivals, but stripped of its governance authority.
“The system was broken,” Jaldessa recalls. “When I was a boy, the elders still met in secret under the oda tree. But the meetings grew smaller every year. Young people laughed at us. They said we were ghosts telling old stories.”
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The Revival: From Memory to Movement
Today, the ghosts are finding their voices again.
Across Oromia—and in diaspora communities from Minneapolis to Melbourne—a grassroots cultural renaissance is underway. Community elders known as hayyuus (wise ones) are holding intergenerational workshops. Local Gadaa councils, once dormant, are being reconstituted—not to replace modern government, but to complement it in matters of conflict resolution, environmental stewardship, and social welfare.
In the city of Adama, a youth group called “Dallachaa” (Growth) has documented over 200 oral histories from elders who remember the Gadaa system before its suppression. In Addis Ababa’s Oromo neighborhood of Bole, young professionals meet weekly to study the Seera (customary laws) and debate how they might apply to contemporary issues like land rights and gender equality.
“We’re not trying to turn back the clock,” says Hundaol Banti, 28, a software engineer who co-founded a digital platform cataloging Gadaa principles. “But there are things our ancestors got right—consensus-building, ecological balance, leadership rotation. Why would we throw that away just because it’s old?”
The revival has found unexpected allies. In 2016, the Oromo Protests—massive anti-government demonstrations rooted in land rights and political marginalization—took the bokkuu as their symbol. Young protesters, many of whom had never witnessed a full Gadaa ceremony, raised wooden staffs in defiance. The image of the bokkuu became a rallying cry.
“Those protests changed everything,” Worku says. “Suddenly, a new generation saw the bokkuu not as a relic of their grandparents, but as a weapon—a peaceful one—against injustice. The system was re-politicized in the best sense.”
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The Challenges Ahead
Yet revival is not without its fractures.
Some women’s groups have pushed back against Gadaa’s traditionally male-dominated leadership structures. While the system includes ritual roles for women—the Siiqqee institution, named after a staff carried by women—critical governance positions were historically held by men. Contemporary reformers are debating how to reinterpret these traditions for an era that demands gender parity.
“The Siiqqee was not just symbolic,” insists Asha Boru, a women’s rights activist and Gadaa scholar from Borana zone. “Women could veto decisions, call assemblies, and protect other women from abuse. But yes, there is work to do. The beauty of Sirna Oromoo is that it is built on debate. We are debating now.”
There are also tensions between rural and urban practitioners. In rural areas, particularly among the Borana and Guji Oromo, the Gadaa system never fully disappeared; it operated underground. In cities, revival efforts sometimes risk romanticizing a complex system that also had hierarchies and rigidities.
And then there is the state. While the current Ethiopian government, led by Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed (himself Oromo), has made conciliatory gestures—declaring the Irreecha festival a national holiday, funding cultural centers—the legal authority of Gadaa councils remains unclear. Can customary courts sentence someone? Can Gadaa assemblies collect taxes? The boundaries remain contested.
“The government is comfortable with Irreecha and folklore,” says one Addis Ababa-based analyst who requested anonymity to speak freely. “But a fully autonomous Oromo governance system? That is a different conversation. The revival is cultural for now. Whether it becomes political again—that is the question.”
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Under the Oda Tree
On a recent Friday afternoon, under a sprawling oda tree in the village of Odaa Nabee—a site of immense spiritual significance where Oromo oral tradition says the Gadaa system was formalized—Jaldessa oversees a ceremony. But this is no tourist performance.
Twenty-three young men and women sit in a semicircle, notebooks in hand. They are learning the Gadaa grades—the five eight-year stages through which every Oromo male (and now, in some communities, female) once passed. They memorize the names of the Abbaa Gadaas of the past. They practice the Jaarsummaa (eldership) protocols of conflict mediation.
“We will not all become elders overnight,” Jaldessa tells them. “But you cannot grow a tree from a dead root. We are watering the root.”
One of his students, 19-year-old Marge Waqjira, raises her hand. She wants to know whether a woman can one day hold the bokkuu as a full Abbaa Gadaa. The question hangs in the air.
Jaldessa smiles. “The law does not forbid it,” he says slowly. “The law says a leader must be wise, just, and chosen by the people. So I ask you: does wisdom have a gender?”
The students laugh. Marge writes something in her notebook. And under the oda tree, the Oromo system—rebuilt, revived, and strengthened—takes another small step into the future.
As the sun sets behind the highlands, Jaldessa plants the bokkuu into the earth. It stands upright, alone for a moment. Then he walks away, leaving it there—a promise that next time, it will be younger hands that lift it.
— Reported from Oromia
The Power of One Voice: Ambassador Dagifee Bulaa on Ethiopia’s Electoral Responsibility
By Bariisaa Newspaper
May 23, 2018
In the quiet corridors of the Federal Institute of Law and Justice, Ambassador Dagifee Bulaa speaks with the measured precision of a man who has spent decades navigating the complex intersections of justice, diplomacy, and national transformation. As the current Director of Ethiopia’s Federal Institute of Law and Justice, his voice carries the weight of experience—from serving as ambassador to Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, and the Democratic Republic of Congo to leading the Ethiopian Football Federation and media oversight.
But today, on the eve of Ethiopia’s seventh national election, his message is both urgent and timeless: “In an election, the people must understand that every single vote is decisive, and they must participate.”
Building Justice from the Ground Up
The Federal Institute of Law and Justice, under Ambassador Dagifee’s leadership, operates on four fundamental pillars: conducting research on justice sector issues, providing training to legal professionals, collecting evidence from various jurisdictions, and spearheading comprehensive reform efforts.
“We don’t just conduct research and leave it on a shelf,” Ambassador Dagifee explains from his office in the Ayat area of Addis Ababa. “Our research has directly contributed to reforming legal procedures, including the long-overdue revision of the Criminal Procedure Law that served for over sixty years.”
What sets the Institute apart is its three-tiered training approach—a comprehensive system designed to transform theoretical legal education into practical, applied justice. Newly appointed judges and legal professionals undergo nine months of intensive training before ever hearing a case. Sitting judges receive five-to-ten-day refresher courses. And practicing lawyers must complete five days of paid continuing education annually to maintain their licenses.
Perhaps most striking is the Institute’s embrace of technology. “We have now implemented E-learning platforms,” Ambassador Dagifee notes. “Judges and legal professionals can complete their assignments from wherever they are, receiving their certifications without disrupting their court schedules.”
A Dictionary for Justice
One of the Institute’s most ambitious projects has been the creation of the first-ever comprehensive Oromo language law dictionary—the “Walabu Law Dictionary”—alongside an updated Amharic version completed two years ago.
This was no academic exercise. Ambassador Dagifee recounts the urgent need: “For too long, legal terminology has been interpreted inconsistently across different regions. A term that works in Shawa might cause confusion in Wallagga, Boorana, Gujii, Arsi, or Hararge. When a judge’s decision affects someone’s property and very life, precise understanding of legal terms is not optional—it is essential.”
The dictionary took two and a half years to complete, bringing together legal scholars, linguists, and practitioners from across Oromia. “This is unprecedented in Ethiopia,” he says with pride. “Not just in quality, but in scope. And it is available in both print and soft copy, ensuring accessibility for judges, lawyers, police, and anyone working in the justice system who works in Oromo.”
The Justice Sector’s Electoral Duty
As Ethiopia prepares for its seventh national election, Ambassador Dagifee emphasizes the critical role of justice sector institutions in ensuring the process is democratic, fair, peaceful, and free.
The Institute recently convened a symposium for judges and legal professionals specifically focused on their electoral responsibilities. “The role of four key institutions—NEBE, police, prosecutors, and courts—is paramount,” he explains.
The electoral board creates the enabling environment. Police ensure security around polling stations. Prosecutors investigate and refer any electoral disputes to the courts. And the courts adjudicate based on electoral law.
“The election has proceeded peacefully so far,” Ambassador Dagifee observes. “Both parties and individuals have been given the opportunity to compete wherever they wish. Even those who have stepped back, perhaps doubting their chances of victory, must remain engaged.”
On Federalism and National Unity
Some political parties have argued that Ethiopia’s federal system divides rather than builds. Ambassador Dagifee disagrees—but with an important qualification.
“Twenty-eight countries worldwide, including the United States, Canada, Germany, and Nigeria, operate under federal systems. There is nothing unique about Ethiopia’s federalism that makes it inappropriate for our context.”
He continues: “Properly implemented, federalism allows regions to govern themselves while uniting under a national framework. The problem has never been federalism itself, but how it has been implemented. We have not adequately focused on what binds us as one nation.”
A Final Appeal
As our interview concludes, Ambassador Dagifee returns to the eve of the election with a final message to every Ethiopian holding a voter card.
“The election belongs to all the people of this country. Every citizen who holds a voter card must cast their vote. Our hope is that tomorrow’s election will be peaceful, democratic, fair, and free for every Ethiopian.”
His words echo through the Institute’s modern facility—a 10,000 square meter campus built with 3.5 million Euros of European Union support, complete with training halls, dormitories, cafeteria, library, E-learning studio, and a 40 million Ethiopian birr borehole.
But the most important resource, Ambassador Dagifee would argue, is not in the buildings or the technology or even the new law dictionary. It is in the hands of millions of Ethiopian voters, each holding a single vote, each deciding to make their voice heard.
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This feature story was developed from an interview conducted by Bariisaa Newspaper’s Natsaannat Taaddasa on May 23, 2018
Bonds Beyond Borders: AMES CEO Reflects on Reconciliation, Resilience, and the Welcome to Country
By Dabessa Gemelal
As Australia marks National Reconciliation Week alongside the Islamic festival of Eid al-Adha, the CEO of AMES Australia, Melinda Collinson GAICD, has offered a powerful reflection on a question that has stirred debate across the nation: When, where, and how often should we hold Welcome to Country ceremonies?
“We’ve heard a lot of commentary recently about the appropriateness of welcome to country ceremonies or recognitions,” Collinson said. “The competing narratives talk about when, how often and where these recognitions should take place.”
For Collinson, however, the answer lies not in a calendar or a rulebook, but in the lived experience of the very people her organisation serves. AMES Australia, a leading provider of settlement services for refugees and migrants, works daily with two communities who understand displacement better than most: Indigenous Australians and newly arrived newcomers.
“Recognising bonds to country is particularly important to us at AMES Australia because we work to support both Indigenous and refugee and migrant communities,” she explained. “Many of our colleagues and the people and communities we work with have been forced to leave the lands of their ancestors and so we understand the important connections that exist between land, culture and identity. This ancestry is shared through language, stories, song and dance.”
It is this dual perspective—walking alongside both First Nations peoples and those who have fled conflict or hardship—that gives Collinson’s voice a unique authority during Reconciliation Week. She points to an often-overlooked truth: immigrant and Indigenous people frequently share profound bonds, born from parallel experiences of displacement, cultural marginalisation, and shared barriers to education and employment.
“We’ve learned from hands-on experience working with both communities that immigrant and Indigenous people often share profound bonds around things like parallel experiences of displacement and cultural marginalisation; as well as barriers to their aspirations around education and employment.”
These are not abstract observations. Across regional Australia, Collinson notes, migrant and Indigenous groups have increasingly become natural allies, advocating together for human rights, land sovereignty, and social inclusion. The most impactful collaborations, she says, have emerged not in the major capitals but in the regions—where culture, education, sport, and art have forged unexpected and powerful alliances.
Evidence from the Regions
A recent study led by the University of Wollongong, and supported by AMES Australia, provides compelling data to support this view. The research found that newly arrived refugees and migrant families settling in regional Australia are largely building successful lives, and their host communities are benefitting from their presence.
The numbers are striking: approximately 97 percent of families surveyed said their experience of settling in a regional town had been positive, and 76 percent said they intended to remain long-term.
But beyond satisfaction rates, the study uncovered something deeper. It found strong connections between regionally settled refugees and migrants and First Nations people. Survey respondents identified similarities in cultural orientations toward land, soil, and the significance of place. Many migrants and refugees shared their own place-based traditions—practices rooted in the lands of their birth—and saw clear parallels with Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultures.
“The settlement of migrants and refugees enriches regional cultural life through diverse practices, food and festivals, and this is amplified when there is cultural interaction between migrant and Indigenous communities,” Collinson said.
A Harmony Day in Mildura
To understand what this looks like in practice, Collinson points to Mildura, a regional city on the Murray River. Earlier this year, at a Harmony Day event, she witnessed something remarkable. Migrant, Indigenous, and established communities gathered together to celebrate the city’s vibrant diversity. A local elder conducted the Welcome to Country ceremony, and Collinson describes it as “heartfelt and truly welcoming.”
“It was so great to see a local government that is whole-heartedly invested in its multicultural and Indigenous communities,” she said. “What this tells us is that engagement and understanding of First Nations issues and barriers among Australia’s migrant communities is critical to achieving the goals of reconciliation and everything we have seen so far suggests that our multicultural communities are strong supporters and advocates for First Nations aspirations.”
A Shared Future
Collinson is unequivocal about the responsibility that comes with Australia’s multicultural identity. She believes it is vital that migrant communities understand the history, culture, and contributions of Indigenous Australians, as well as their ongoing struggles. This, she says, is part of AMES Australia’s core mission.
Across the country, evidence of growing solidarity is already visible. Young Asian, Arab, Pasifika, and African Australians have become an increasingly common presence at Indigenous events. Peak migrant organisations have emerged as staunch supporters of reconciliation and of the aspirations of First Nations peoples.
“It’s clear that the lived experience of migrants and refugees is informing their decisions to support and embrace reconciliation and Indigenous aspirations,” Collinson said. “It’s also clear that Indigenous Australians are among the most supportive and welcoming of newly arrived migrants and refugees.”
For Collinson, the final word belongs to a simple but profound truth about belonging.
“A sense of belonging to this country is vitally important and is cherished by our migrant and refugee communities; and it is an integral part of our Indigenous communities’ sense of identity.”
She pauses, then adds:
“We can never have too much recognition of this.”
As Reconciliation Week continues and as families gather for Eid al-Adha, the sentiment lingers: that the ceremonies, the welcomes, and the quiet acknowledgments of ancient and new ties to this land are not empty rituals. They are the very fabric of a nation learning, slowly and imperfectly, to recognise itself in all its faces.
ABO Thanks Election Partners as It Pushes Forward in 7th National Election
By Daandii Ragabaa
FINFINNEE – In a statement released on May 28, 2026 (Caamsaa 28, 2026), the Oromo Liberation Front (ABO) has publicly expressed its deep gratitude to all stakeholders who have contributed to the success of its election campaign. The announcement marks a significant moment in the ABO’s ongoing journey from armed struggle to peaceful political competition.
The ABO’s path to this election has been anything but straightforward. It is a story of return, resilience, and the difficult transition from battlefield to ballot box.
The Return: From Peace Deal to Political Party
Following the wave of political change that swept Ethiopia in 2018, the ABO entered into formal negotiations with the Ethiopian government on August 07, 2018 (Hagayya 07, 2018). These talks culminated in a peace agreement, and on September 15, 2018 (Fulbaana 15, 2018), the ABO leadership made a historic return from exile to Finfinnee.
For a movement that had spent decades in the armed struggle, the return was momentous. Thousands of Oromo welcomed their leaders home. The expectation was that the ABO would now transition seamlessly into a peaceful political force, competing openly for the hearts and minds of the Oromo people.
But the road was not smooth.
Obstacles and Perseverance
According to the ABO’s statement, the political space that was supposed to open after the peace deal was quickly constricted. Obstacles and blockages emerged from various directions.
“For over five years,” the statement reads, “the party’s activities were suppressed. Yet, steadfast members continued to work under extremely difficult conditions, advancing the party’s agenda step by step.”
The ABO does not hide its frustration. It acknowledges that “unnecessary obstacles and blockages created realities that no one can deny.” But rather than retreat, the party waited. It organized quietly. It kept its structures alive.
Then, on June 22, 2025 (Waxabajjii 22, 2025), a breakthrough occurred. The ABO’s central office in Gullallee was officially reopened following a long-overdue reorganization. With this new breath of life, the party resumed its peaceful political activities in earnest.
Entering the 7th National Election
With its structures reactivated, the ABO made a decisive choice: to participate in Ethiopia’s 7th national election. This would be the party’s first major electoral test since its return.
The ABO notes that its branches, though closed for years, had not been dormant. Once the decision to participate was made, the party threw itself into intensive preparation. It presented its candidates, organized public debates to explain its Manifesto and Ideologies, and launched a full-scale election campaign across polling stations in Finfinnee, Shagarri City, and various zones and woredas of Oromiya.
The statement emphasizes that the party has been working hard to meet all electoral requirements and continues to do so.
A Thank You to Election Partners
The core of the ABO’s May 28 announcement is a heartfelt thank you to all those who have supported the party’s election efforts.
Specifically, the ABO expresses gratitude to:
- The Election Board for facilitating the process.
- The Administrative Structure (Caasaa Bulchiinsaa) for its role in enabling the campaign.
- The Oromia Police – to whom the ABO extends special thanks – for maintaining security and order during the campaign period.
- The ABO Security Body (Qaama Nageenyaa ABO) for its work in protecting party activities.
The ABO also notes that it is actively working to secure the release of individuals who have been “unnecessarily detained,” signaling ongoing concerns about political freedoms.
Acknowledging the Hard Times
Beyond institutional partners, the ABO takes a moment to thank its own members—both within the party structure and outside of it—who have remained loyal during times of difficulty and hardship.
“Those who stood with the ABO during difficult times and times of crisis,” the statement says, “we thank you.”
The party also extends its gratitude to the Oromo people themselves, whose enduring support has been the bedrock of the movement’s survival.
And in a rare gesture of acknowledgment, the ABO thanks the various media outlets that covered its election campaign, specifically naming OBN, AMN, OMN, HNN, and others whose names are not mentioned—but whose contributions are not forgotten.
A Clear Message: No Other Agenda
The ABO takes care to clarify its position in the current political landscape.
“The ABO has no agenda other than peaceful political competition on the political field, with its own ideas and platform,” the statement declares.
It is a pointed message directed at both the government and rival political forces. The ABO wants to be seen as what it claims to be: a political party, not a shadow military structure. It seeks victory through votes, not bullets.
A Call for Unity Against Division
The statement concludes with a warning and a call to action.
“The enemies of the Oromo people,” the ABO asserts, “are working harder than ever to break us as a people, as Oromo. They are determined to divide us.”
To counter this, the ABO calls on all its members and supporters to set aside political differences and ideological disagreements. The immediate task, the party argues, is to strengthen Oromo unity.
“Let us put aside our political and ideological differences,” the statement urges, “and fortify our solidarity.”
Victory for the Broad Public
The ABO ends its announcement with its enduring slogan:
Injifannoo Ummata Bal’aaf! – Victory for the Broad Public!
As the 7th national election approaches, the ABO is on the ground, campaigning, presenting candidates, and asking the Oromo people to vote for its representatives. Whether the party will translate its historical legitimacy into electoral success remains to be seen. But one thing is clear: the ABO is no longer a distant memory of struggle. It is a present reality of politics.
And it intends to be counted.
Adda Bilisummaa Oromoo (ABO) – April 28, 2026 – Finfinnee
“The ABO has no agenda other than peaceful political competition.”
A New Chapter for Borana Heritage: Cultural Centre Inaugurated in Yabelo Town
By Daandii Ragabaa
YABELO, BORANA ZONE – In the expansive, sun-baked plains of southern Oromia, where the ancient Gadaa system still governs the rhythm of life and the cattle herds stretch to the horizon, a new monument to culture has risen from the earth. The Borana Cultural Center, a long-awaited dream for the Borana people, was officially inaugurated today in Yabelo town.
The centre is not merely a building. It is a fortress of memory, a school of philosophy, and a bridge connecting the deep wisdom of the Borana past to the uncertain future of their children. For a community that has preserved its traditions through centuries of change—often under immense pressure—this inauguration is a victory.
A Foundation Laid by the First Lady
The story of the Borana Cultural Center began years ago. In 2013 according to the Ethiopian calendar (2020/2021 Gregorian), the foundation stone was laid by none other than First Lady Zinash Tayachew. At the time, the gesture signaled a rare moment of high-level state recognition for Oromo cultural heritage—particularly the Gadaa system of the Borana, which is widely regarded as one of the most intact and functional indigenous governance systems in the world.
Today, that promise has been fulfilled. The centre, now complete and open for public service, stands as a testament to what is possible when resources are mobilized for cultural preservation.
Built by the People, Through “Medemer”
What makes the Borana Cultural Center particularly remarkable is its financing. The entire project was built using proceeds from the sale of the book Medemer (Synergy), written by Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed. The book, which advocates for unity and cooperation across Ethiopia’s diverse communities, has generated significant revenue—part of which was channeled into this cultural project.
The centre sits on an expansive 57.6 hectares of land in Yabelo town, making it one of the largest dedicated cultural sites in the region.
Designed to Showcase the Gadaa System
The Borana people are renowned worldwide for their adherence to the Gadaa system—a sophisticated, egalitarian, time-based governance structure that rotates power every eight years among age-graded classes. UNESCO has recognized Gadaa as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.
The new cultural center has been specially designed to showcase this system. Every architectural detail, from the layout of the grounds to the interior spaces, reflects Borana philosophy and social organization.
The center features two major components:
- A conference hall capable of accommodating up to 2,000 people at one time. This hall is intended for Gadaa assemblies, community meetings, and major cultural events.
- A heritage museum that will house artifacts, oral histories, regalia, tools, and documents tracing the long journey of the Borana people.
A Key Role for Generations to Come
Beyond its physical infrastructure, the Borana Cultural Center is expected to play a transformative role in the cultural life of the community. According to officials involved in the project, the center will focus on:
- Preserving Borana culture (aadaa): Traditional music, dance, attire, and rituals will be documented and taught.
- Teaching Borana history (seenaa): The center will serve as a repository for the collective memory of the Borana people, including their migrations, their heroes, and their struggles.
- Transmitting Borana philosophy (falaasama): The ethical and spiritual worldview of the Borana—rooted in concepts of nagaa (peace), safuu (moral order), and walaloo (solidarity)—will be studied and passed to younger generations.
“The youth of Borana have grown up in a rapidly changing world,” one elder present at the inauguration told Daandii Ragabaa. “Many of them have never seen a full Gadaa ceremony. They have not learned the names of their clans. This centre will be their classroom. It will remind them who they are.”
A Long-Awaited Dream Realized
For decades, the Borana people—like other Oromo communities—faced cultural marginalization. Their language was pushed out of schools, their Gadaa system was dismissed as primitive, and their elders were often ridiculed for maintaining “backward” traditions.
But the tides have turned. The establishment of this cultural center, on prime land in Yabelo, signals a new era of official embrace—or at least tolerance—for Oromo cultural expression.
As the ribbon was cut and the doors swung open for the first time, a crowd of elders, women, youth, and government officials erupted in applause. For many, it was an emotional moment.
“We have waited a lifetime for this,” said a Borana grandmother wrapped in a traditional huuboo (shawl). “My grandchildren will not forget where they came from. This centre will make sure of that.”
Challenges Ahead
Despite the celebration, challenges remain. A cultural center, no matter how beautiful, is only as valuable as the commitment to fill it with life. Staff must be trained. Artifacts must be collected and preserved. Programming must be consistent and accessible.
Moreover, the Borana people themselves are facing contemporary pressures: climate change is altering traditional grazing patterns, youth migration is emptying villages, and the allure of urban life is pulling young people away from ancestral knowledge.
The center alone cannot solve these problems. But it can serve as a gathering point, a place to strategize, and a reminder that culture is not static—it must be actively lived.
A New Dawn for Borana
As the sun sets over Yabelo, casting long shadows across the 57.6-hectare site, the Borana Cultural Center stands illuminated—not just by electric lights, but by the hopes of a people.
It is a place where the Abbaa Gadaa will speak. Where the Qallu will bless. Where the youth will learn to chant the praise poems of their ancestors.
And where the world, if it wishes, can come to understand one of Africa’s most enduring indigenous civilizations.
Gadaa ni jiraata. Aadaan lubbuu ni qabaata.
—The Gadaa lives. The culture endures.
Giddugala Aadaa Oromoo Booranaa: A Living Monument to Oromo Borana Heritage in the Heart of Yabello
By Daandii Ragabaa
FINFINNEE – In the bustling Negelle Borena, Yabelo, where skyscrapers jostle with ancient churches and modern traffic chokes colonial-era roads, there exists a quieter, more deliberate space. It is a compound where the whispers of qerroo (youth) mix with the wisdom of jaarsaa (elders), where the Oromo language is not a whisper of resistance but a roar of celebration.
This is the Giddugala Aadaa Oromoo Booranaa – the Oromo Boreana Cultural Centre.
For decades, the Oromo people—the largest ethnic group in Ethiopia—saw their language suppressed, their history marginalized, and their identity pushed to the periphery. But in the 21st century, a new chapter opened. One of the hard-won victories of the Oromo struggle was the establishment of this very center in Finfinnee. Today, it stands not merely as a building, but as a testament to survival, a library of resistance, and a bridge between generations.
More Than a Museum: A Fortress of Identity
The Giddugala Aadaa Oromoo Booranaa is a multi-functional complex. It is a museum, a library, a training centre, and a conference hall all rolled into one. Visitors entering the compound are often struck first by the tranquility: lush trees line the walkways, offering shade that invites reflection.
But the true treasures lie inside.
The center houses a museum containing hundreds of carefully preserved artifacts (hambaalee) representing the diverse clans of Oromia. From the pastoral regalia of the Borana to the agricultural tools of the Macca and Tuulama, the exhibits span the geographical and cultural breadth of the nation. According to the center’s official documentation, artifacts totaling 987 items were selected and arranged in seven display cases, crafted specifically to meet international preservation standards .
“We did not just throw things into boxes,” a curator at the center explained. “Every gadamoo (ritual stick), every xawwee (spear), every piece of traditional pottery has a story. Our job is to ensure that the story is told correctly—in Afaan Oromoo.”
The Library: 10,000 Volumes of Oromummaa
Perhaps the most critical weapon in the fight against cultural erasure is the center’s library. Housing over 10,000 books across various genres and languages, the library serves as the intellectual heart of the Giddugala .
Here, students and scholars can find:
- Academic research on Oromo history, Gadaa governance, and folklore.
- Linguistic texts, including works on the standardization of the Qubee alphabet.
- Diaspora publications that were once smuggled into the country as contraband literature.
The library also boasts a growing digital archive, providing internet access to real-time information and connecting Oromo youth to global scholarship about their own heritage.
Celebrating Dialects: The Diversity of One People
A significant focus of the Giddugala is linguistic diversity. The Oromo language is not a monolith. It breathes differently in the highlands of Arsi than it does in the lowlands of Guji or the plains of Borana.
The center actively recognizes and studies the major dialects (looga) of Oromo, including Borana, Guji, Macca, Tuulama, Arsi, Hararge, Karrayyu, and Wallo (Raayyaa) . Far from viewing these differences as divisive, the centre celebrates them as a richness. In a world where languages are dying at an alarming rate, the Giddugala stands as a bulwark, ensuring that the specific idioms of the Borana cattle herder are preserved alongside the urban slang of Finfinnee.
The Borana Exhibit: A Window to the South
The search for “Giddugala Aadaa Oromoo Booranaa” often leads visitors to the specific wing dedicated to the Boorana (or Borana) clan. The Borana Oromo, known as Boraan Guttuu, inhabit the southern reaches of Oromia, the borderlands of Kenya, and parts of Somalia .
Within the Giddugala, the Borana exhibit highlights the Gadaa system, specifically the Gumi Gaayo—the “meeting of the multitude” held every eight years at the ritual site of Gaayu. This assembly is not just a festival; it is a legislative body that adapts or repeals the Seera (law) and Aadaa (custom) .
Visitors can view artifacts related to the Qallu (ritual leaders) and the Luba Basa (customary law experts). The center explains how Borana society resolves conflicts, from local disputes settled by the Kora Gossa (clan assembly) to the ultimate sanction of the Nagaa Boran (“the peace of the Boran”)—a form of social quarantine reserved for those who break the sacred trust of the community.
The Visitor Experience: Beauty and Growing Pains
Since its inauguration, the Giddugala has drawn thousands of visitors, from international tourists to local school children. Reviews consistently praise the “originality and cultural authenticity” of the exhibits . For many Oromo youth raised in cities far from their ancestral villages, the center is a profound homecoming.
“The compound is incredibly awesome,” wrote one visitor. “I really had an amazing time. I’ve learned a lot” .
However, the center is not without its challenges. Some visitors have noted issues with architectural accessibility, noting that the steep steps pose difficulties for the elderly and disabled . Others have pointed out the lack of visible tour guides, which can leave non-Oromo speaking visitors struggling to understand the context of the art .
There have also been isolated reports of aggressive security protocols at the entrance, which visitors suggest detracts from the welcoming atmosphere the culture represents.
A Bridge to the Future
Despite these growing pains, the Giddugala Aadaa Oromoo remains a success story. It operates as an official institution under the Oromia Regional Government, tasked specifically with promoting Afaan Oromoo as a language of science and technology, as well as a language of daily work .
As the sun sets over Finfinnee, the centre continues its mission. It is a place where the Godambaa Oromoo (the Oromo Gallery) displays the soul of a nation. It is a place where the past is not locked behind glass, but is instead invited to walk beside the present.
For the Oromo people, the Giddugala is no longer a dream. It is a reality. And it is their greatest treasure.
If you are in Finfinnee, the Giddugala Aadaa Oromoo is located in the city center and is open daily from 8:30 AM to 5:30 PM . It is a must-visit for anyone seeking to understand the authentic heartbeat of Oromo culture.
The One Who Stayed: Jaal Dawud Ibsa and the Courage of Constancy
By Daandii Ragabaa
Author’s Note on Attribution: The following feature story is based on a reflection written by Giiftii Waaqoo. Daandii Ragabaa has engaged with that reflection as a commentator, and the present feature draws substantially from the themes, observations, and framing originally articulated by Giiftii Waaqoo. This story is offered as a synthesis and expansion of that shared conversation, with full acknowledgment of the original source.
In an age of fleeting loyalties and fair-weather friends, there is a quality so rare that when we encounter it, we almost do not recognize it. We have become accustomed to leaders who rise on waves of enthusiasm and vanish at the first sign of storm. We have learned to expect that today’s champion may be tomorrow’s deserter.
But then there are those who refuse to follow that script. They do not leave when the road gets rough. They do not silence themselves when the applause fades. They simply stay. They keep moving. They keep believing. And no matter what—no matter the betrayal, no matter the setback, no matter the exhaustion—they show up.
Giiftii Waaqoo, in a reflection that has moved many, names such a man. And Daandii Ragabaa, as commentator, amplifies that recognition. The subject of this reflection is Jaal Dawud Ibsa, chairman of the Oromo Liberation Front.
But this feature story is not merely about one leader. It is about the quality of leadership that his life exemplifies—a quality that the Oromo people, in their long struggle, have desperately needed and too rarely received.
The Simple Thing That Sets Him Apart
Giiftii Waaqoo begins with a striking claim: “What sets him apart is simple.”
Not complex. Not mysterious. Not hidden in secret strategies or charismatic performances. Simple.
He stayed the course. He kept moving. He kept believing. He always showed up—no matter what.
In a political culture where leaders often emerge from nowhere, burn brightly for a season, and then disappear into comfortable exile or cynical silence, Jaal Dawud Ibsa has done something almost unremarkable in its description yet extraordinary in its execution: he has remained.
He has seen it all. The victories that lifted spirits and the setbacks that crushed them. The betrayals—those wounds inflicted not by enemies but by those who once stood beside him. The storms that threatened to uproot everything. And the stillness—those long, quiet periods when the world seemed not to be listening, when the struggle seemed to have stalled, when every day required a fresh decision to continue.
Through every moment—the high and the low, the loud and the silent—he kept going.
Not because it was easy. Giiftii Waaqoo is careful to name this. The easy path would have been to stop, to retreat, to claim exhaustion and rest on past laurels. He kept going because he stayed true to his commitment. Not to popularity. Not to comfort. To commitment.
Beyond Applause
There is a particular temptation that haunts public figures: the hunger for applause. It is a seductive drug, the sound of crowds cheering your name, the sight of hands raised in your honor. Many leaders begin their journeys with genuine conviction, only to find themselves, years later, performing for approval rather than acting from principle.
Jaal Dawud Ibsa, Giiftii Waaqoo observes, never chased applause. He never sought attention for its own sake. Instead, he focused on something larger than himself—a belief that the Oromo nation deserves better.
That belief is not a slogan. It is a fire that has sustained him through decades of struggle. It is the answer he gives himself in the dark hours when no one is watching. It is the compass that has kept him oriented when every external marker of success—recognition, power, safety—pointed in the opposite direction.
The Stamina to Behold
Giiftii Waaqoo uses a striking phrase: “His stamina is something to behold.”
To behold means to see with wonder, to regard with awe. Stamina, in the context of political struggle, is not merely physical endurance. It is the capacity to absorb disappointment after disappointment and still rise the next morning with purpose. It is the ability to forgive betrayals without becoming cynical. It is the discipline of continuing to do what is possible under difficult circumstances, even when the ideal remains out of reach.
Jaal Dawud Ibsa has been fighting for the Oromo people for longer than many of his critics have been alive. He has outlasted regimes that imprisoned him. He has outlasted factions that splintered from him. He has outlasted the patience of those who expected quick victories.
And he is still standing. Still giving. Still mentoring. Still coaching. Still holding the fort.
The Wisdom Carried Through Years
There is a kind of wisdom that cannot be learned from books. It cannot be downloaded from the internet or acquired through workshops. It is earned slowly, painfully, through years of experience—through mistakes made and owned, through losses absorbed and transcended, through the slow accumulation of small, hard-won insights.
Giiftii Waaqoo notes that Jaal Dawud Ibsa carries such wisdom. And he does not hoard it. He gives it away—to the young, to the aspiring, to anyone who will listen. He mentors. He coaches. He shapes the next generation of Oromo leaders not through grand speeches but through patient investment in individual human beings.
This is perhaps the most underappreciated aspect of his leadership. While others seek the spotlight, he has quietly been building the bench—training those who will lead after him, ensuring that the struggle does not die with his generation.
The Gratitude of a People
Giiftii Waaqoo concludes with words that many Oromos, whether they agree with every political decision of Jaal Dawud Ibsa or not, would recognize as true:
“For that, we are grateful.”
Gratitude is a rare virtue in politics, where criticism is constant and appreciation is often withheld until after death. But Giiftii Waaqoo names what deserves to be named: a man has given his life to a cause. He has sacrificed comfort, safety, and the ordinary joys of family life. He has endured imprisonment, exile, and the particular pain of being attacked by those who once called him comrade.
He has not done it perfectly—no human being has. But he has done it persistently. Faithfully. Courageously.
And so the reflection ends with a blessing: “May God continue to bless you and protect you, Jaal Dawud Ibsa, chairman of the Oromo Liberation Front.”
What His Example Teaches Us
For those who read Giiftii Waaqoo’s reflection and Daandii Ragabaa’s commentary, the example of Jaal Dawud Ibsa offers several lessons.
First, that commitment is not a feeling. It is a decision made daily, renewed each morning, often in the absence of any emotional reward.
Second, that leadership is not about being the loudest or the most visible. It is about being the most reliable—the one who shows up, who does not flee when the situation turns difficult, who can be counted on when counting is all that remains.
Third, that the Oromo struggle, like all liberation movements, requires not only warriors but also elders—people who have accumulated wisdom through decades of experience and who are willing to transmit that wisdom to the young.
Fourth, that gratitude, properly expressed, is not weakness. It is recognition. It is the acknowledgment that no one achieves anything alone, and that those who have carried the heaviest burdens deserve to hear, while they can still hear, that their labor has been seen and valued.
The Unfinished Work
Jaal Dawud Ibsa, at this stage of his journey, is still working. He is still holding the fort. He is still doing what is possible under difficult circumstances.
The Oromo nation has not yet achieved its full liberation. The struggle continues. There will be more setbacks, more betrayals, more storms.
But there will also be more moments of victory, more acts of solidarity, more mornings when the sun rises on a people still determined to be free.
And through it all, if Giiftii Waaqoo’s reflection holds true, Jaal Dawud Ibsa will be there. Not because he needs applause. Not because the path is easy. But because he made a commitment—and he stayed the course.
Conclusion: The Courage to Stay
In a world that celebrates the new, the young, the freshly emerged, there is a special kind of courage in staying. Staying when the spotlight has moved elsewhere. Staying when younger, louder voices have captured the public imagination. Staying when your body is tired and your heart has known too many betrayals.
Jaal Dawud Ibsa has that courage. He has stayed. He has kept moving. He has kept believing. He has shown up, no matter what.
For that, the Oromo people owe him something that cannot be repaid in a single feature story or a single moment of recognition. They owe him the continuation of the work—the completion of the struggle to which he has given his life.
May God bless him. May God protect him. And may the Oromo nation, one day soon, arrive at the freedom for which he has so long and so faithfully labored.
“He never chased applause. He focused on something bigger than himself. A belief that the Oromo nation deserves better.”
Surrounded by Empowerment: The Circle of Success
“Yeroo namoota si humneessan, jajjabeessanii fi deeggaraniin marfamtu, akka milkooftu shakkiin hin jiru.”
“When you are surrounded by people who empower you, encourage you, and support you, there is no doubt that you will succeed.”
—
By Dhabessa Wakjira*
The Circle of Success: Why No One Rises Alone
There is a quiet truth that survivors know, that athletes whisper before championships, that artists carry into their studios, and that revolutionaries feel in the dark hours before dawn: success is never a solitary act.
The Oromo people, with their deep wisdom of community, have long understood this. Their proverb rings like a bell across generations: “Yeroo namoota si humneessan, jajjabeessanii fi deeggaraniin marfamtu, akka milkooftu shakkiin hin jiru.”
When you are surrounded by people who empower you, encourage you, and support you, your success is not a matter of hope. It is a matter of certainty.
This feature story explores the anatomy of that circle—what it means to be empowered, what it looks like to be encouraged, and why support is not a luxury but a necessity for any human being daring to achieve something meaningful.
The Three Pillars of the Circle
The proverb names three distinct gifts that others bestow upon us. They are not the same. And each is indispensable.
Humneessan: Those Who Empower You
To empower is not merely to praise. It is to provide the tools, the resources, the access, and the authority that a person needs to act. Empowerment says, “I believe in you—and here is what you need to prove me right.”
Think of the mother who sells her last chicken to buy a notebook for her daughter. Think of the teacher who stays after school to explain a difficult lesson for the third time. Think of the community that pools its meager savings to send one promising student to university. These are acts of empowerment. They are not abstract. They are hands reaching down to lift another up.
Jajjabeessan: Those Who Encourage You
Encouragement is the oxygen of the human spirit. It costs nothing materially, yet it is often the rarest gift of all. The encourager says, “You are not alone. You are not wrong to try. You are not foolish to dream.”
In the long journey of any struggle—whether against political oppression, personal trauma, or professional failure—there are moments when the only thing keeping a person moving forward is a voice saying, “You can do this. I have seen you do hard things before. You will see the other side.”
The Oromo struggle, like all liberation movements, has been sustained not only by weapons and strategies but by songs, by poems, by whispered words of encouragement passed from cell to cell, from village to village, from mother to child.
Deeggaraniin: Those Who Support You
Support is the scaffolding. It is not flashy. It does not seek recognition. But without it, the entire structure collapses. Supporters show up. They cook meals when you are too exhausted to cook. They watch your children when you must attend a meeting. They contribute money when your resources run dry. They defend your name when you are not in the room to defend yourself.
Support is the quiet architecture of every successful life. And it is almost always invisible to the outside world.
The Myth of the Self-Made Person
Western culture, in particular, has elevated the myth of the “self-made” individual—the lone genius, the solitary warrior, the entrepreneur who pulled himself up by his own bootstraps. It is a seductive story. It is also a lie.
No one is self-made. Every successful person stands on a foundation laid by others. Every champion was once a beginner who was coached. Every leader was once a follower who was mentored. Every revolutionary was once a child who was fed, protected, and taught to dream.
The Oromo proverb cuts through this myth with the precision of a blade. It does not say “if you are strong, you will succeed.” It does not say “if you work hard enough, you will succeed.” It says: when you are *surrounded*—by empowerers, encouragers, and supporters—success is inevitable.
The focus is not on the individual. The focus is on the circle.
What Happens in the Absence of the Circle
To understand the power of the circle, one must also understand the devastation of its absence.
What happens to a child who is never empowered? They grow into an adult who does not believe they have the right to act, to speak, to claim space.
What happens to a person who is never encouraged? They become paralyzed by self-doubt, convinced that their efforts are worthless, that their dreams are ridiculous, that failure is the only possible outcome.
What happens to a community that receives no support? It fragments. It turns inward. It cannibalizes its own hope.
The absence of the circle is not merely disappointment. It is a form of slow death. It is the death of potential, the death of possibility, the death of the future.
This is why oppression is so effective. Oppressive systems do not merely take away resources. They isolate. They silence. They ensure that the empowered, the encouraged, and the supportive are removed from your side. They leave you alone—because a person alone is a person easily defeated.
The Circle in the Oromo Struggle
The history of the Oromo people is a history of circles. Under successive regimes that sought to divide, conquer, and erase, the Oromo have survived precisely because they have refused to let each other stand alone.
Think of the Gadaa system—an indigenous democracy built not on individual ambition but on collective responsibility. The Gadaa circle rotates power, shares knowledge, and ensures that no leader governs without the counsel of elders, the wisdom of the Qaalluu, and the consent of the assembly.
Think of the Siinqee institution—women gathering under the sacred staff to demand justice, to halt conflicts, to protect the vulnerable. That is a circle of empowerment, encouragement, and support.
Think of the afooshaa (burial societies) and buusaa gonofaa (savings rotations)—grassroots institutions where ordinary people pool their meager resources to ensure that no family faces death or poverty alone.
These are not charities. These are circles of survival. And they have kept the Oromo people alive through conquest, through famine, through imprisonment, and through exile.
The Modern Circle: Rebuilding What Was Broken
In the contemporary world, the forces that break circles have only grown stronger. Urbanization scatters families. Economic pressure forces migration. Social media creates the illusion of connection while eroding the substance of community.
Many Oromo today find themselves far from the villages of their ancestors, far from the elders who carry the oral histories, far from the physical presence of those who speak their language and share their struggles. The circle has been stretched thin.
But the proverb does not despair. It insists on a truth that cannot be broken: when the circle is present, success is certain. The task, then, is to rebuild the circle. To find new forms of empowerment, new voices of encouragement, new structures of support.
This is happening. In diaspora communities across the globe, Oromos are gathering in living rooms, in community centres, in virtual meeting spaces. They are teaching their children the language that was once forbidden. They are creating media, art, and scholarship that centre Oromo experience. They are sending money home, advocating for justice abroad, and refusing to let distance destroy the bonds of mutual care.
What the Circle Asks of You
If the proverb describes the conditions for success, it also implies a responsibility. To be surrounded by empowering, encouraging, supportive people, you must also be willing to be that person for others.
You cannot demand a circle that you are unwilling to join.
The circle asks: Whom have you empowered today? To whom have you spoken words of encouragement? Whose burdens have you lightened through your quiet, unglamorous support?
Success is not a trophy you receive. It is a current that flows through a network of relationships. You are either part of that current—receiving and giving—or you are standing outside, wondering why the water never reaches you.
Stories from the Circle
Consider the young Oromo woman who wanted to become a doctor. Her family had no money. Her village had no clinic. But her mother empowered her by selling the family’s only cow. Her teacher encouraged her by staying late to tutor her in science. Her community supported her by raising funds for her university application. Today, she is a physician. She did not succeed alone. She succeeded because a circle held her.
Consider the political prisoner who spent seven years in a dark cell. He was tortured. He was isolated. But he later said that the reason he survived was the letters—smuggled, infrequent, but relentless—from his wife. She empowered him by reminding him of his worth. She encouraged him by describing the future they would build together. She supported him by keeping the children alive on the outside. His survival was not his alone. It was hers, too.
Consider the artist whose work was ridiculed by critics. She nearly gave up. But a friend—just one friend—said, “This is important. Do not stop.” That friend spent months helping her find galleries, connecting her with other artists, sitting with her through rejection after rejection. Today, that artist’s work hangs in museums. The friend’s name appears nowhere. But the friend was the circle.
The Certainty of Success
The proverb ends with a bold claim: *shakkiin hin jiru* — there is no doubt.
This is not the language of wishful thinking. It is the language of empirical observation. The proverb is not saying “if you have a circle, you might succeed.” It is saying “if you have a circle, you will succeed.”
Why such certainty? Because human beings are not islands. We are not designed to achieve alone. When the conditions of empowerment, encouragement, and support are present, failure becomes nearly impossible. Not because the path is easy—it never is—but because the circle absorbs the blows that would otherwise destroy the individual.
When you stumble, the circle catches you. When you despair, the circle lifts you. When you are attacked, the circle defends you. With such a structure around you, how could you not eventually reach your goal?
Conclusion: Building the Circle, Securing the Future
The Oromo people are engaged in a long struggle for recognition, justice, and self-determination. There will be setbacks. There will be betrayals. There will be moments when the darkness seems absolute.
But the proverb offers a strategy and a promise.
The strategy: surround yourself—and surround each other—with empowerment, encouragement, and support. Build the institutions that sustain the circle. Be the person who empowers, encourages, and supports, even when you are tired, even when you have received nothing in return.
The promise: when that circle is in place, success is not a question of *if*. It is only a question of *when*.
*Yeroo namoota si humneessan, jajjabeessanii fi deeggaraniin marfamtu, akka milkooftu shakkiin hin jiru.*
When you are surrounded by people who empower you, encourage you, and support you, there is no doubt that you will succeed.
Let the circle hold. And let the success come.
—
No one rises alone. But when we rise together, no power on earth can keep us down.
*Dhabessa Wakjira is a journalist, social worker, community worker, and interpreter who writes commentary, features, analysis, and reflections on issues that build and empower the Oromo people and their affairs. Dhabessa Wakjira can be reached at dabessa@socialworker.net
Standing Alone, Standing Proud: The Quiet Defiance of Najat Sakaye Hamza
By Dhabessa Wakjira* (based on a reflection by Najat Sakaye Hamza)
“My life is about standing for my dreams even if it means standing alone sometimes.”
—
There is a photograph that Najat Sakaye Hamza keeps on her phone, not as a screensaver but as a secret talisman. In it, she is young—perhaps nineteen—sitting on a worn suitcase in a bus station somewhere between Oromia and the unknown. Her face is tired. Her eyes are not. She is leaving something behind, though she is not yet sure what she is walking toward.
Years later, she would find the words to describe that moment. “My life,” she would write, “is about standing for my dreams even if it means standing alone sometimes.”
Najat Sakaye Hamza is not a politician. She is not a general or a public intellectual in the traditional sense. She is, by her own definition, a woman who decided that the cost of kneeling was higher than the risk of standing. And in that decision, she has become something quietly revolutionary: an example.
This is her story—not of power, but of persistence. Not of armies, but of a single voice that refused to be absorbed into the noise.
—
The Education of a Dreamer
Born into an Oromo family that valued resilience over complaint, Najat learned early that dreams require rent. They do not live in the mind for free. They demand time, sacrifice, and the ability to endure the puzzled looks of those who cannot see what you see.
She was a curious child in a world that often punished curiosity in girls. She asked questions that made elders uncomfortable. She wanted to study when marriage was the expected path. She wanted to speak when silence was the safer option. And so, early on, she learned to stand alone.
“Representing who I am everywhere I am and in any situation,” she would later reflect, “is my quiet protest and my pride.”
That quiet protest took many forms. In classrooms where her language was dismissed, she learned two more. In workplaces where her identity was questioned, she performed her duties with an excellence that left no room for debate. In social settings where Oromo women were expected to be seen and not heard, she spoke—not loudly, but clearly.
The Loneliness of the Standing Woman
There were years when standing alone felt less like courage and more like punishment. Friends drifted away, unable to understand why she could not simply “fit in.” Relatives suggested she was too proud, too political, too difficult. There were nights, she has admitted privately, when she wondered if they were right.
But she kept standing. Not because it was easy, but because the alternative—sitting down, blending in, disappearing—was a kind of death she refused to accept.
She found sustenance in her faith. Alhamdullilah, she would whisper. Thank God for this moment, for this day. Gratitude became her anchor. Not gratitude for the struggle itself—that would be romantic nonsense—but gratitude for the fact that she was still upright, still breathing, still capable of taking the next step.
And then, the steps began to lead somewhere.
A Family That Stands Together
The photograph on her phone now is different. In the newer image, Najat is not alone. She is holding a baby—her daughter, Seran—and beside her stands her husband, Sabsib. There is a softness in this picture that the bus-station photo lacks. The tired eyes have been replaced by something warmer: not rest, but purpose.
“I get to share this moment with my baby, Seran, and my amazing husband Sabsib,” she wrote. The word amazing is not casual. It is the recognition that finding a partner who does not ask you to shrink is a miracle as profound as any in scripture.
Sabsib, by all accounts, is a man who never asked Najat to be smaller. He met her when she was already standing, and he chose to stand beside her rather than in front of her. Together, they have built a home where Seran is being raised to know that her mother’s quiet protests are not embarrassments but inheritances.
The Work Behind the Dream
Najat is careful to demystify her own journey. She has no patience for the myth of the self-made dreamer who simply wished upon a star.
“Dream realization belongs to those who work to achieve it,” she insists.
The work was unglamorous. Early mornings. Late nights. Jobs that had nothing to do with her passions but paid for the rent while she pursued her passions on the side. Rejection letters. Doors that closed. People who said “no” so many times that the word lost its sting.
But she kept working. And eventually, the work began to answer back.
She found platforms to speak about the Oromo experience, about the specific weight that Oromo women carry, about the need for community and also for the courage to stand outside the community when the community is wrong. She wrote. She organized. She showed up to meetings where she was the only Oromo face in the room—and spoke anyway.
Quiet Protest as a Way of Life
There is a phrase in the Oromo language: of-beekuu—to know oneself. Najat Sakaye Hamza has made of-beekuu her compass. To represent who she is, everywhere she is, regardless of the situation, requires a deep and unshakable self-knowledge. It requires knowing what you believe before the test arrives.
That is her quiet protest. Not shouting from a rooftop (though she has done that too, when necessary). But living, daily, as a visible, proud, unapologetic Oromo woman who happens to also be a mother, a wife, a professional, and a believer.
“Pride,” she says, “is not the opposite of humility. Pride is knowing that your existence has value, and refusing to act as if it doesn’t.”
The Moment She Is Living Now
On the day she shared her reflection, Najat was not marking a major public victory. There was no award ceremony, no signed legislation, no standing ovation. She was simply pausing—with her baby in her arms and her husband nearby—to say Alhamdullilah. Thank God for this moment. Thank God for this day.
It is a radical act, in a world that demands constant striving, to stop and give thanks. To acknowledge that the dream is not only in the future but also in the present—in the weight of a child, the steadiness of a partner, the simple fact of still being here, still standing.
The Legacy of the Standing Woman
Najat Sakaye Hamza is not famous. You will not find her name in the headlines of major newspapers, nor her face on the covers of magazines. She is, in the best sense, ordinary—an ordinary woman who decided that ordinary was not the same as invisible.
And that is precisely why her story matters. Because most of us will never be revolutionaries with monuments. Most of us will never speak before the United Nations. Most of us will struggle, in quiet and unglamorous ways, to hold onto our dreams in the face of pressure to let them go.
Najat’s life is a letter to those people. It says: Stand. Even if you stand alone. Even if no one applauds. Even if the only witness to your standing is God and the child sleeping in the next room.
And then, when the moment comes, stop standing long enough to say thank you.
Epilogue: The Unfinished Sentence
At the end of her reflection, Najat does not declare victory. She does not announce the completion of her dreams. She simply shares the moment—a moment that contains her daughter, her husband, her faith, and her own still-standing self.
The sentence is not finished, because her life is not finished. There will be more lonely days. More quiet protests. More mornings when the dream feels distant and the work feels endless.
But there will also be more Alhamdullilahs. More moments of sharing. More proof that standing for your dreams, even alone, eventually brings others to stand with you.
Najat Sakaye Hamza is still standing. Her daughter, Seran, is learning to stand. And somewhere, in a bus station or a boardroom or a quiet living room, someone who reads her words will decide to stand too.
That is not a small thing. That is everything.
—
Alhamdullilah for this moment. For this day. For the women who stand alone and discover they were never truly alone.
*Dhabessa Wakjira is a journalist, social worker, community worker, and interpreter who writes commentary, features, analysis, and reflections on issues that build and empower the Oromo people and their affairs. Dhabessa Wakjira can be reached at dabessa@socialworker.net
A Great Tree Has Fallen: Feature Condolence for Jaal Waldee Hurrisoo (1944-2026), Founding Father of the Oromo Liberation Front
“Du’aan addunyaa irraa godaanuu Jaal Waldee… gadda guddaa itti dhagahame ibsata.” — Adda Bilisummaa Oromoo (ABO)
—
FINFINNEE– The Oromo Liberation Front has announced, with profound grief and a sense of irreplaceable loss, the passing of Jaal Waldee Hundee Hurrisoo (also known as Waldayuhaannis) – a founding pillar of the Oromo struggle, a prisoner of conscience, a teacher, a journalist, and a lifelong servant of his people. He was 82 years old.
The news, delivered on 16th Caamsaa, 2026 (May 16, 2026), has sent waves of sorrow across Oromia and the wider Oromo diaspora. For those who knew him – and for countless more who knew only his name and his sacrifice – the death of Jaal Waldee is not merely the loss of an elder. It is the falling of a great tree under whose shade generations of Oromo freedom fighters found rest and resolve.
From the Highlands of Arsii: A Humble Beginning
Jaal Waldee was born in 1944 (Ethiopian calendar 1937) in Ona Boqqojji, East Arsi, in the highlands of Oromiya. His father, Obbo Hundee Hurrisoo, and his mother, Aadde Ayeetuu Gammadaa, were simple farmers. Like any rural child of his time, young Waldee grew up herding cattle and working the land alongside his family. There was no prophecy of greatness, no early sign of the revolutionary he would become – only the quiet dignity of a people who knew their worth long before the world acknowledged it.
But even among those humble beginnings, something burned. A hunger not just for food, but for knowledge.
The Path of Education, The Call of Conscience
Jaal Waldee completed his primary education in Boqqojji and other local schools, then enrolled at the Teacher Training Institute (TTI) in Dabra Birihan, graduating in 1966. For five years, he served as a teacher in Bale Province – a region that would later become a crucible of the Oromo liberation struggle. He taught children to read and write, but the classroom could not contain him. The injustices he witnessed – land alienation, cultural suppression, the daily humiliations of the Oromo people – planted seeds that would soon sprout into activism.
In 1971, he entered Haile Selassie I University (now Finfinnee University). It was there that he found his political voice. Joining an underground student movement, he began organizing Oromo students, discussing not just grades but grievances, not just textbooks but tyranny. The university became his second battlefield – quieter than the forests, but no less dangerous.
The 1975 Campaign: Bullets and Bread
When the “Idigat Bahibrati” (Development through Cooperation) campaign was launched in 1975, Jaal Waldee volunteered to go to Wallo Province. The region was ravaged by famine, and the official response was a cruel mixture of neglect and propaganda. He did not go as a soldier. He went as a human being – distributing food, organizing relief, and bearing witness to the starvation that the state refused to see. He saw children die in his arms. He saw mothers sell their last possessions for a handful of grain. And he swore that such suffering would never be forgotten.
The Birth of the OLF: A Brotherhood of Struggle
Returning to university after the campaign, Jaal Waldee deepened his commitment to the Oromo cause. Alongside his comrade and closest friend, Magarsaa Bari, he became one of the founding members of the Oromo Liberation Front (OLF) – Adda Bilisummaa Oromoo. Together, they dreamed of an independent Oromia, a nation where Oromo children would never again be ashamed of their language, their name, or their land.
After graduation, Jaal Waldee worked as a journalist for the newspaper Bariisaa (The Dawn), eventually rising to the position of assistant editor. He understood that the pen could be as powerful as the gun. His articles gave voice to the voiceless, exposed abuses, and called Oromos to unity. But the Derg regime – the brutal military junta that had seized power – had no tolerance for Oromo journalism.
Twelve Years in Hell: The Prisoner of Conscience
In 1980 (Amajjii), Jaal Waldee was appointed to a position in the government as a continuing official. But two days later, without trial, without charge, without even the pretense of justice, he was arrested and thrown into prison.
For twelve years, he remained behind bars. Twelve years of torture. Twelve years of solitary confinement. Twelve years of watching comrades die from untreated wounds and deliberate neglect. The Derg’s interrogators wanted confessions, names, betrayals. They received only silence and the occasional smile from a man who had already decided that his body could be broken but his soul would not negotiate.
When he was finally released in May 1991 (Caamsaa), as the Derg collapsed, Jaal Waldee emerged a different man. The torture had left permanent physical damage. For the rest of his life, he would suffer from the consequences of those years – chronic pain, weakness, and the ghosts of a dozen deaths he had witnessed. But he never spoke of revenge. Only of justice.
A Brief Season in Parliament, A Lifetime of Service
After the fall of the Derg, the Transitional Government of Ethiopia was established. Jaal Waldee served as a member of parliament representing the OLF for one year. It was a frustrating time – he saw the compromises of power, the betrayals of principle, the slow strangulation of the very ideals for which he had been imprisoned. When the OLF withdrew from the transitional government, he withdrew with it.
But he never withdrew from his people. He traveled extensively through Bale and Arsi, educating communities about their rights, organizing political awareness, and reminding Oromos that liberation was not a gift to be received but a struggle to be waged. Later, he worked within the OLF’s external affairs department, helping to raise funds, build solidarity, and keep the flame alive during years of exile and repression.
The Juba Award: A People’s Gratitude
The Oromo community recognized his sacrifices. He was honored with the Juba Award, a tribute to those who have given everything to the Oromo struggle. For a man who had received nothing from the state but chains and suffering, this recognition from his own people meant more than any title.
He also left behind a written legacy – most notably a work titled “The Ten-Minute Mission,” along with many other unpublished manuscripts. He was a historian of his own times, determined that the truth of the Oromo struggle would survive even if its tellers did not.
The Final Goodbye
In recent months, Jaal Waldee’s health – already fragile from decades-old torture wounds – declined sharply. On the appointed day, 16th May 2026, he finally laid down the burden that he had carried since 1944. He left this world not as a defeated man, but as a soldier who had fought to his last breath and now, at 82, had earned his rest.
The OLF’s grief statement captures the sentiment of millions: “Addi Bilisummaa Oromoo du’aan addunyaa kanarraa godaanuu jaala keenya Jaal Waldee… dhagahutti gadda guddaa itti dhagahame ibsata.” (The Oromo Liberation Front expresses its profound sorrow upon hearing of the passing of our beloved Jaal Waldee…)
A Legacy That Will Not Fade
What do you say about a man who gave twelve years of his youth to a dungeon, who emerged with his principles intact, and who then spent the remaining decades of his life serving a people who could offer him nothing in return but love?
You say: Qabsaawaan ni kufa, qabsoon itti fufa. (A fighter may fall, but the struggle continues.)
Jaal Waldee is gone. His voice is silent. His hands, which once held chalk in a Bale classroom and a pen at Bariisaa and a smuggled manuscript in a prison cell, have finally stilled. But the Oromo nation he helped to awaken will not go back to sleep.
To his family, his friends, his comrade Magarsaa Bari (who now walks alone), and to the millions who never met him but knew that his survival was their survival – we offer the only comfort that truth allows: He lived for you. He suffered for you. And because of him, you stand taller than you would have.
Farewell, Jaal Waldee Hundee Hurrisoo. The dawn you wrote for has not yet fully broken. But your ink has made it certain.
Injifannoo ummata bal’aaf.
Victory to the broad masses.
— Adda Bilisummaa Oromoo, 16 May 2026
Rest in power, Jaal Waldee. The struggle continues.
Advocacy for Oromia 