Category Archives: Sirna Oromo
Beyond Separatism: The Six Pillars of Oromo Identity and the Transformative Vision for Ethiopia
In the turbulent theatre of Ethiopian political discourse, few narratives are as polarising as the aspirations of the Oromo people. Too often reduced to a simplistic caricature of ethnic nationalism or separatist ambition, the Oromo political project is frequently misunderstood.
Yet, underneath the surface of party politics and electoral calculations lies a deeper, more cohesive reality. Regardless of political function, ideological leaning, or generational gap, there exist critical political common denominators shared and protected by the Oromo people. These are not revolutionary slogans designed to dismantle a nation; they are foundational principles intended to reshape, support, and sustain Ethiopia into the future.
They are Oromia, Afaan Oromo, Gadaa, Oromummaa, Finfinnee, and Dirree Dhawa.
To understand these six pillars is to understand the soul of modern Oromo political consciousness—and to recognise that the Oromo quest is fundamentally a quest for a more equitable, federal, and democratic Ethiopia.
Oromia: The Territorial Bedrock
For the Oromo, Oromia is far more than an administrative region drawn on a map; it is the historical and political homeland. Spanning vast swathes of the Ethiopian highlands and lowlands, it anchors the collective memory of a people who have inhabited these lands for millennia.
Oromia embodies the historical struggle for autonomy and self-determination. It is the territorial foundation upon which claims to political representation, federal restructuring, and resource control are built . In the current constitutional era, the debate surrounding Oromia is central to Ethiopia’s federal future. For the Oromo, the protection of Oromia’s territorial integrity is non-negotiable—not as a fortress against the rest of Ethiopia, but as a recognised base from which the Oromo can contribute equally to the national fabric.
Afaan Oromo: The Linguistic Unifier
If Oromia is the body, Afaan Oromo is the soul. After over a century of systemic suppression, the Oromo language has re-emerged as the strongest cultural and political bond among scattered Oromo communities . It is more than a tool for communication; it is a symbol of restored dignity and a vibrant declaration of identity.
In the political arena, Afaan Oromo serves as a practical instrument for mass mobilisation. Its expansion into federal institutions—from the parliament floor to educational curricula—is viewed not as an encroachment but as an essential correction for historical inequality. Asserting Afaan Oromo enhances Oromo political visibility and ensures that the voice of the country’s largest ethnic group is heard in its own tongue . For the Oromo, linguistic pluralism is not a threat to national unity but the very bedrock of a just and inclusive Ethiopian state.
Gadaa: The Indigenous Democratic Blueprint
While the initial prompt highlights the political pillars, the Gadaa system stands proudly among them as the indigenous democratic governance system of the Oromo people. Recognised by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, Gadaa represents a sophisticated political, social, and ritual framework that has governed Oromo society for centuries .
Gadaa is built upon principles of term limits, checks and balances, and consensus-based decision-making—ideas that resonate deeply with modern democratic values . For contemporary Oromo political thought, Gadaa is not merely an ancient relic; it is a living philosophy that informs the demand for transparent, participatory, and decentralised governance. To dismiss Oromo political aspirations is to dismiss a system that predates many modern states, and which offers profound lessons for Ethiopia’s own governance challenges.
Oromummaa: The Cultural Conscience
Oromummaa translates roughly to “Oromoness”—but it defies a simple definition. It is the collective cultural ethos, the shared moral compass, and the intricate web of values, histories, and worldviews that unite the Oromo people.
Critically, Oromummaa is historically inclusive. It is not an ethnic fortress; rather, it embodies a form of cultural nationalism that has traditionally welcomed outsiders and assimilated diverse groups . In the political sphere, Oromummaa serves as the ethical conscience of the Oromo struggle. It underscores the demand for justice not out of a desire for superiority, but out of a profound belief in equity, respect, and the fundamental dignity of all peoples. It is this cultural resilience that has sustained the Oromo through decades of marginalisation and continues to fuel their push for constitutional recognition.
Finfinnee: The National Crucible
Few spaces in Ethiopia are as contested—or as symbolic—as Finfinnee (Addis Ababa). Historically Oromo land, it has evolved into the cultural and political melting pot of the nation, serving as the seat of the federal government and the headquarters of the African Union .
For the Oromo, Finfinnee represents more than a capital city; it is a living testament to their historical rootedness in the central highlands . The political consciousness of modern Oromo movements was largely shaped within the streets and universities of Finfinnee. The governance of this city is tied inextricably to Oromo identity, the balance of federal power, and national symbolism. The Oromo claim to Finfinnee is not a call for exclusivity, but a demand for a seat at the table in deciding its future. Recognising the Oromo heritage of Finfinnee is seen as essential for healing historical grievances and fostering true federal balance.
Dirree Dhawa: The Multicultural Frontier
Finally, Dirree Dhawa stands as a testament to Ethiopia’s complex diversity and the unresolved questions of its federal architecture. As a multicultural frontier shared among Oromo, Somali, Amhara, and other communities, its administrative status is a microcosm of the nation’s broader federal challenges.
Unlike the exclusivist narratives that often dominate ethnic politics, the Oromo perspective on Dirree Dhawa symbolises a vision of inclusive governance . The city’s mixed demographic makeup and strategic economic importance require a governance model that transcends ethnic domination. For the Oromo, the resolution of Dirree Dhawa’s status represents a litmus test for whether Ethiopia can truly accommodate its diverse peoples within a single, unified federal system.
A Transformative, Not Separatist, Agenda
Taken together, these six pillars present a compelling counternarrative to the accusations of separatism often levelled against the Oromo political movement . The Oromo demand for territorial integrity, linguistic equality, cultural recognition, democratic governance, and balanced federalism is not an attempt to break up Ethiopia. On the contrary, it is an attempt to save it—to build a nation where no group is marginalised, where resources are shared equitably, and where federalism functions as originally intended.
These Oromo political common-denominator aims are not merely separatist or nationalist—rather, they are transformative, aiming to reshape, support, and sustain Ethiopia into the future . A strong Oromia is a strong Ethiopia. A recognised language is a unified nation. A respected culture is a peaceful society.
The question for Ethiopia is not whether it can accommodate these Oromo pillars, but whether it can afford not to. For in the recognition of these fundamental rights lies the potential for a new dawn—one where the Oromo, and all Ethiopians, can walk forward together.
The Oromo quest is not a call for division. It is a call for a new Ethiopia—one built on justice, equality, and the recognition that diversity is not a weakness, but the nation’s greatest strength.
Ethiopia’s Tourism Surge: A Story of Growth, Potential, and National Pride
From record-breaking visitor numbers to multi-billion dollar revenues, Ethiopia’s tourism sector is undergoing a remarkable transformation—and the world is taking notice.
Ethiopia is a land of ancient wonders and breathtaking landscapes—the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela, the obelisks of Axum, the castles of Gondar, and the dramatic peaks of the Simien Mountains. For decades, these treasures remained largely unseen by the world, their potential locked away by inadequate infrastructure and limited promotion.
That era is ending.
In a recent address, Ethiopia’s leadership laid out a compelling vision of a nation finally awakening to its tourism potential—and the numbers speak for themselves.
A National Responsibility: Promoting Ethiopia to the World
“From a promotional perspective, much work is expected of us,” the Prime Minister acknowledged. “We know that a lot of promotional work remains, and our friends tell us the same.”
This honest self-assessment is accompanied by a call to action: every Ethiopian citizen has a responsibility not just to work, but to present their country with pride, creativity, and dignity. Promotion of Ethiopia is not the sole duty of government—it is a national project requiring coordinated effort from every sector of society.
“Ethiopia is Africa’s diplomatic capital,” the Prime Minister noted, emphasizing the unique advantages the country possesses. “People in Africa and beyond are eager to come to Ethiopia.”
The message is clear: when promotion is done in a coordinated way, the benefits multiply exponentially.
Record-Breaking Growth: The Numbers That Tell the Story
The transformation of Ethiopia’s tourism sector is reflected in remarkable statistics that demonstrate tangible progress.
Economic Growth
Ethiopia is expecting 10.2% GDP growth this year—a figure unmatched not just in Ethiopia but across the African continent. This growth is a testament to the success of the Homegrown Economic Reform Agenda, which has identified tourism as one of five key pillars of national economic transformation.
Export Revenue
$10.8 to $11 billion in exports are projected for this year—a dramatic increase from just $3 billion two to three years ago. This exponential growth reflects the expanding economic base of the nation.
International Visitors
More than 1.4 million foreign tourists have visited Ethiopia this year—a 300,000 increase from the year before last and a 100,000 increase from last year. These visitors have generated over $5.4 billion in revenue from international tourism alone.
Domestic Tourism
Remarkably, 50.16 million Ethiopians have explored different parts of their own country—a 9.4 million increase from the year before last and a 1.8 million increase from last year. Domestic tourism generated over 79 billion Birr in revenue, demonstrating the growing appetite among Ethiopians to discover their own heritage.
International Conferences
204 international conferences were held in Ethiopia this year—a 50-conference increase from last year and a 166-conference increase from the year before last. More than 166,000 participants attended MICE (Meetings, Incentives, Conferences, and Exhibitions) events in Ethiopia this year alone.
Tax Revenue
Ethiopia is projected to collect 1.5 trillion Birr in tax revenue this year. Before the reforms, the annual collection capacity was merely 200-300 million Birr—a transformation that underscores the scale of economic progress.
Infrastructure: Building the Foundation for Growth
Tourism requires more than beautiful sites—it requires accessibility, connectivity, and modern facilities.
In just the past few months, seven airports have been inaugurated across Ethiopia, improving access to previously remote destinations. Numerous roads have been constructed, connecting heritage sites to urban centres and reducing travel times. Digital access and visitor services have been strengthened to meet the expectations of modern travellers.
The “Dine for Sheger,” “Dine for the Nation,” and “Dine for a Generation” projects have fundamentally reshaped Ethiopia’s tourism map. These initiatives have:
- Transformed the heart of Addis Ababa through Unity Park, Sheger Park, and Entoto Park
- Developed destinations like Halala Kela, Chebera Churchura, and Wenchi
- Created modern resorts including Dembi Eco Lodge, Nein Le Palm Lodge, Shebelle Resort, and Lake Logo Resort
- Restored historical heritage, including the Castle of Fasilides in Gondar and the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela
These projects have been executed with remarkable speed and quality, setting new standards for Ethiopian tourism infrastructure.
The Private Sector: An Indispensable Partner
The private sector has played an indispensable role in the tourism transformation. Through active participation in the “Dine for Sheger,” “Dine for the Nation,” and “Dine for a Generation” projects, private enterprises have contributed expertise, investment, and innovation.
This public-private partnership model has proven to be a powerful engine for growth, combining government vision with private sector efficiency and creativity.
A Shared Vision: Tourism as an Economic Engine
The Prime Minister’s message goes beyond statistics. It speaks to a fundamental understanding of what tourism truly means:
“Tourism is not just about heritage. Having heritage does not automatically mean tourism will flourish. Tourism is not just about natural resources. Tourism is about experience.”
For a visitor to truly benefit Ethiopia—and for Ethiopia to benefit from the visitor—the experience must be complete. The Prime Minister’s simple but profound definition captures this perfectly:
“Tourism, in short, means someone who comes to visit us should leave with their heart delighted and their wallet lighter.”
This encapsulates the dual purpose of tourism: creating memorable, meaningful experiences for visitors while generating economic value for the nation.
The Road Ahead
The numbers are impressive, but the journey is far from complete. As the Prime Minister acknowledged, much promotional work remains. Every Ethiopian—from airport staff to hotel workers, from taxi drivers to tour guides, from artists to citizens—has a role to play in presenting the true, beautiful Ethiopia to the world.
The foundation has been laid. The infrastructure is being built. The world is being invited. And Ethiopia is responding with a tourism sector that is finally realising its immense potential.
Ethiopia is rising—and the world is taking notice. The ancient land is becoming a modern destination, and the story is just beginning.
Beneath the Odaa: A Gathering of Peace and Unity at Bulluq
Eight years ago, under the sacred shade of the Odaa Bulluq tree, Oromo youth gathered to seek peace. Today, that moment remains a powerful symbol of what dialogue, respect, and unity can achieve.
There is a tree that stands as a witness to history—a silent guardian of the Oromo people’s most sacred traditions. It is the Odaa, the sycamore fig tree, a symbol of justice, reconciliation, and the enduring spirit of the Gadaa system.
Beneath its sprawling branches, the most important decisions are made. Disputes are resolved. Peace is sought. Unity is forged.
At Odaa Bulluq, one of the five sacred Odaa trees of the Oromo people, a powerful gathering took place eight years ago. On Adoolessa 1, 2018 (according to the Oromo calendar)—August 10, 2018—a group of young Oromo freedom fighters (Qeerroo) came together beneath its shade to seek peace for their land and people.
Today, as tensions once again threaten the region, the memory of that gathering offers a lesson—and a call to action.
The Odaa: A Sacred Symbol
For the Oromo people, the Odaa tree is far more than a tree. It represents:
- Justice: The Gadaa system, UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, is centred on the Odaa. It is where elders, leaders, and community members gather to make decisions that shape the future .
- Reconciliation: When conflicts arise, the Odaa is the place where peace is negotiated, disputes are settled, and harmony is restored .
- Unity: The Odaa’s branches reach out in all directions, symbolising the interconnectedness of the community and the shared destiny of all Oromo people .
- Continuity: The Odaa is the link between ancestors and future generations—a living testament to the enduring wisdom of the past .
The Odaa Bulluq is one of the five most significant Odaa trees in Oromia, each with its own history and purpose. Together, they form a network of sacred sites that anchor the cultural and spiritual life of the Oromo people.
The Gathering of 2018: A Moment of Unity
Eight years ago, on Adoolessa 1, 2018, a remarkable gathering took place at Odaa Bulluq. Young Oromo activists—known as Qeerroo, meaning “young bulls”—assembled beneath the sacred tree to seek peace.
They had travelled from far and wide. Some had journeyed over 320 kilometres to be there. They came despite the challenges—despite threats, despite surveillance, despite the divisions that had been sown by years of conflict and tension.
Their purpose was simple but profound: to seek reconciliation, to embrace one another, and to call for peace in their region.
As one participant, Dechasa Wirtu, recalled in a recent reflection:
“The Odaa is a place where great decisions are made, where reconciliation is enacted. To gather in such a place signifies respect for law, culture, and the pursuit of peace and security. The reconciliation that happens at Odaa Bulluq is a significant and respected pledge.”
“Eight years ago today, on Adoolessa 1, 2018, when the Qeerroo of Oromia gathered at Odaa Bulluq to negotiate peace for our region, listening to the elders of the land—it was a renewal of unity.”
The atmosphere was one of hope. Elders spoke. Young people listened. Differing perspectives were shared. And out of that dialogue came a commitment: to reject hatred, to embrace reconciliation, and to build a future of peace.
A Call for Today: Remembering the Lesson
Today, eight years later, Dechasa Wirtu has issued a renewed call, reflecting on the gathering’s significance:
“Today, if our young people stop harming each other and embrace unity, they have enough strength to protect themselves from the Amhara extremists who are currently crossing borders and encroaching upon them.”
“My message today is the same as eight years ago at Odaa Bulluq: if we come together and resolve our problems through peace, dialogue, and our cultural traditions—beneath the shade of the Odaa—it will bring a lasting solution.”
He also shared a personal commitment to the cause:
“I believe in what I said then. I traveled over 320 kilometres to be there, to participate in that dialogue. I organised and prepared for it alongside many other young people.”
This message comes at a time of heightened tension, as conflict once again threatens the region. Dechasa’s reflection is not just nostalgia—it is a warning and a hope.
The Power of Dialogue
What made the gathering at Odaa Bulluq so powerful was not just the location—it was the commitment to dialogue.
In Oromo culture, dialogue is not optional; it is essential. It is how communities survive and thrive. It is how disagreements are resolved without violence. It is how wisdom from the past is applied to the challenges of the present.
The Gadaa system is built on this principle. Power is not seized—it is transferred through consensus and ceremony. Conflicts are not escalated—they are mediated and resolved. The voice of every member of the community matters .
When young people choose dialogue over confrontation, they honour that tradition. They demonstrate maturity and wisdom beyond their years. And they build the foundation for a society that can endure even the most difficult challenges.
Odaa Bulluq: A Living Legacy
The Odaa Bulluq is not just a symbol of the past—it is a living legacy that continues to inspire today.
As Ethiopia and Oromia face ongoing political and social challenges, the example of the 2018 gathering offers a model for how to move forward. It demonstrates that:
- Unity is possible, even in the face of deep divisions.
- Dialogue works, even when it seems difficult.
- Youth have a crucial role to play, as agents of peace and change.
- Cultural traditions, like the Gadaa system and the sacred Odaa, remain relevant in the modern world.
The gathering at Odaa Bulluq was a powerful reminder that beneath the shade of the Odaa, enemies can become friends, and the future can be reshaped.
A Lesson for All
Dechasa Wirtu’s reflection is a reminder that the values of the Odaa—peace, unity, justice, and reconciliation—are not just Oromo values. They are universal human values.
In a world that often seems divided, where conflict and misunderstanding appear to dominate the headlines, the Odaa tree offers a quiet but powerful alternative.
Under its shade, we are reminded that we are all connected. That dialogue is stronger than division. That peace is not a luxury—it is a necessity.
The Call Remains the Same
Eight years ago, the youth of Oromia gathered at Odaa Bulluq and said: “We choose peace. We choose dialogue. We choose unity.”
Today, that call remains as urgent as ever.
“Peace and unity for everyone!”
This was the message that echoed beneath the Odaa eight years ago. And it is the message that must echo today—across Oromia, across Ethiopia, and across the world.
“Odaan seenaa fi sirna Gadaa keessatti bakka itti murteen gurguddoon murteeffamu, araarri itti bu’udha.”
The Odaa tree in history and the Gadaa system is where great decisions are made, where reconciliation takes place.
May its shade continue to shelter those who seek peace.
Key Insights
| Aspect | Significance |
|---|---|
| Odaa Bulluq | One of five sacred Odaa trees of the Oromo people; a symbol of justice, peace, and reconciliation |
| The Gathering (2018) | Young Oromo activists (Qeerroo) assembled under the Odaa to seek peace and unity |
| Gadaa System | UNESCO-recognised indigenous governance system based on consensus and dialogue |
| Dialogue | Essential to Oromo culture; conflicts are resolved through discussion, not violence |
| Relevance Today | The same principles—peace, unity, dialogue—are urgently needed in the face of current tensions |
Under the Odaa, we are all equal. Under the Odaa, we are all one. Under the Odaa, peace is possible.
Celebrating Muhuba: A Story of Kindness in Crisis
When a labouring patient arrived alone, unable to speak English, ISS placemaker Muhuba didn’t hesitate. She was on her way home from a cleaning shift at The Royal Women’s Hospital when she got a call—and she turned around without a second thought.
It was the end of a long shift. Muhuba had spent her day cleaning at The Royal Women’s Hospital in Melbourne—ensuring that rooms were sanitised, surfaces were spotless, and the environment was safe for patients, families, and staff. She was tired. She was heading home.
Then her phone rang.
On the other end was a voice from the hospital, asking if she could help. A labouring patient had arrived alone. She was scared. She couldn’t speak English. And staff had just discovered that Muhuba spoke her language.
Muhuba didn’t hesitate. She turned around and came straight back.
“I just wanted to help,” she said.
A Labour of Love
What happened next would change a woman’s birth experience—and inspire people around the world.
Muhuba was quickly thrown a pair of scrubs and rushed into the operating theatre. For the next five hours, she stayed by the patient’s side. She held her hand. She spoke to her in her own language. She calmed her fears.
She was not a midwife, a nurse, or a doctor. She was a placemaker—a cleaner. But in that moment, she was the only person who could truly communicate with a terrified mother about to bring a new life into the world.
The woman gave birth safely, comforted by the presence of someone who spoke her words, understood her heart, and gave her the dignity of being heard.
The Kind of Care That Transcends Job Titles
At The Royal Women’s Hospital, patient safety and comfort are paramount. But sometimes, the most profound care comes from unexpected places. Muhuba’s story is a testament to the fact that compassion does not require a clinical degree—it requires a human heart.
In her five hours in the theatre, Muhuba was not just translating words. She was translating trust. She was bridging the gap between a foreign medical system and a terrified mother. She was giving that woman the single most powerful gift a caregiver can offer: the feeling that she was not alone.
When the award nomination was announced, those who know Muhuba were not surprised. Her act was not a one-time gesture—it is a reflection of who she is. Every day, staff at the Women’s see the quiet dignity and dedication of workers like Muhuba, who clean rooms, deliver meals, and ensure the hospital runs smoothly, often without recognition.
Recognition Across the World
Muhuba’s extraordinary kindness did not go unnoticed.
Last year, she was recognised with a state-wide award from ISS—the global facility services company that employs her. Her act of going above and beyond stood out as an example of the power of compassion in healthcare.
This year, she has been named one of four international finalists in a global awards program. In May, ISS will fly her to Denmark for the awards ceremony, where she will represent The Royal Women’s Hospital—and Australia—on the international stage.
It is a remarkable journey for a woman who was simply heading home after a shift and answered a call for help.
The Placemaker’s Role: More Than Cleaning
ISS describes its role as “placemaking”—creating environments where people thrive. Muhuba’s story exemplifies this mission. In a hospital setting, the role of cleaning staff is often invisible, taken for granted. Yet without them, the hospital could not function. They are the quiet guardians of hygiene, the unseen hands that ensure safety, and, as Muhuba proved, sometimes the most compassionate voices in a time of crisis.
Muhuba’s willingness to drop everything and stay for five hours speaks to a deeper philosophy: care is not confined to job descriptions. It is a human duty, a moral impulse, and a gift that can be given by anyone, regardless of their title.
A Hospital Community That Cheers Her On
The Royal Women’s Hospital has expressed profound pride in Muhuba’s recognition. In a social media post celebrating her achievement, they wrote:
“We are incredibly proud of Muhuba and the compassion she brings to our hospital community. Join us in cheering her on as she represents the Women’s on the international stage.”
The post resonated widely—drawing thousands of reactions, comments, and shares. People from around the world responded with admiration. They saw in Muhuba’s story something universal: the power of one person to make a difference when it matters most.
One commenter wrote: “This is what true compassion looks like. Thank you, Muhuba, for showing the world that kindness has no boundaries.”
Another said: “She may not have a clinical degree, but she has a degree in humanity. This is the kind of care we all need.”
The Language of Kindness
Muhuba’s act of kindness also highlights a broader issue in healthcare: the importance of language access and culturally safe care.
Australia is one of the most multicultural nations in the world, yet language remains a significant barrier to equitable healthcare. Patients who cannot speak English are often at risk of miscommunication, misdiagnosis, and poor health outcomes. They may feel isolated, frightened, and unable to advocate for themselves.
Muhuba’s presence in that theatre was more than comfort—it was clinical necessity. She ensured that a mother could understand what was happening, could express her fears, and could consent to her care with full understanding. In doing so, she helped deliver not just a baby, but a safer, more dignified birth experience.
Her story reminds us that health systems must invest in language services, translation support, and cultural safety training—and that sometimes, the most effective support is the person who simply speaks your language and holds your hand.
From Melbourne to Denmark
In May, when Muhuba boards a plane for Denmark, she will carry with her the hopes of her colleagues, her community, and the thousands of people who have been moved by her story.
She will stand on an international stage, not as a doctor or a nurse, but as a placemaker—a cleaner—who proved that compassion is the highest qualification of all.
Her recognition is not just personal. It is a tribute to all the invisible workers in hospitals around the world: the cleaners, the porters, the kitchen staff, the administrative workers—everyone who contributes to healing without wearing a white coat.
They are the backbone of healthcare. And Muhuba has shown the world just how powerful their contribution can be.
A Message to Us All
Muhuba’s story is a challenge—and an invitation.
It challenges us to recognise that kindness is always possible, even when we are tired, even when we are heading home, even when it is not “our job.”
It invites us to see the humanity in everyone, to reach out when someone is in need, and to understand that the smallest gestures—a held hand, a spoken word, a calm presence—can change a person’s entire experience.
As one commenter wrote: “Not all heroes wear capes. Some wear scrubs and hold hands.”
Muhuba is one of those heroes. And soon, the world will have a chance to celebrate her.
Join Us in Cheering Her On
The Royal Women’s Hospital is inviting everyone to join in celebrating Muhuba’s international recognition.
“We couldn’t be prouder of Muhuba,” the hospital said. “She represents the very best of who we are—people who care, who go above and beyond, and who make a difference when it matters most.”
When Muhuba heads to Denmark in May, she will be carrying more than her own story. She will be carrying the stories of countless patients who have been comforted by someone like her—someone who chose compassion over convenience, kindness over exhaustion.
She is an inspiration to the entire hospital community. And now, she is inspiring the world.
Muhuba, we are so proud of you. Your kindness has already changed lives—and it will continue to do so as your story travels around the world. Congratulations on this well-deserved recognition, and thank you for showing us all the power of a compassionate heart.
The Royal Women’s Hospital is Australia’s largest specialist women’s hospital, providing care for women and newborns across Victoria and beyond. Founded in 1856, the hospital is committed to excellence in clinical care, research, and advocacy for women’s health.
The Ceremony of Nyaachisaa: A Sacred Rite of Humanity and Renewal at Ardaa Jilaa Daawwitii Borbor
In the heart of Borana, the ancient Gadaa tradition comes alive as the community gathers to celebrate the Nyaachisaa ceremony—a profound rite of passage that honours brotherhood, culture, and the sacred bonds that unite the Borana people.
At Ardaa Jilaa Daawwitii Borboritti in East Borana Zone, Dhaasii district, a powerful cultural ceremony is unfolding. The sons of Guyyoo Gobbaa Bulee—the revered elder and former Abbaa Gadaa—are conducting the Nyaachisaa ritual, a sacred feast that embodies the values of brotherhood (waloomaa), mutual respect, and cultural preservation .
“Nagaan Gooroo marmaaraa ga’aa, gammee buufadha!”
This invocation—”Peace to the Gooroo Marmaaraa, enter the assembly!”—echoes across the gathering, summoning participants to a celebration that is both ancient and vibrantly alive.
Understanding Nyaachisaa: More Than a Feast
The Nyaachisaa ceremony is far more than a simple communal meal. It is a sacred rite within the Borana Gadaa system, marking important transitions and reaffirming the social fabric of the community. The ritual is closely tied to the Gadaa cycle, the indigenous democratic system that has governed the Borana people for centuries .
The Gadaa system, recognised by UNESCO as an Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, is a sophisticated form of governance that operates in eight-year cycles . Every eight years, power is transferred from one Abbaa Gadaa (customary ruler) to his successor, a process that involves elaborate ceremonies and rituals . The recent installation of the 72nd Abbaa Gadaa, Guyo Boru Guyo, demonstrates that this tradition remains vibrantly alive .
The Nyaachisaa ceremony is one of the rituals associated with this system. The term nyaachisaa refers to the ritual of “feeding” or “causing to eat”—a symbolic act that carries deep meaning.
The Meaning Behind the Ritual
When the sons of Guyyoo Gobbaa Bulee conduct the Nyaachisaa ceremony, they are participating in a tradition that has been passed down through countless generations. The ritual involves:
- Communal Slaughter: The slaughter of a bull (sangaa) is central to the ceremony. The bull is not just a source of food—it is a sacrificial offering that carries profound spiritual and symbolic meaning . The Borana believe that before slaughtering, they must first bless the animal through a ritual called ariracha, asking for blessings to prosper both people and livestock .
- Food as Social Bond: The meat from the slaughtered bull is shared according to customary rules. The act of sharing meat—called jiffu—reinforces kinship ties and social obligations, strengthening the bonds between families, clans, and the broader community .
- Cultural Preservation: Through the Nyaachisaa ceremony, the Borana preserve not just their culinary heritage but also the values of solidarity, mutual support, and respect for elders .
The Sacred Setting: Ardaa Jilaa and the Odaa Tree
The ceremony takes place at Ardaa Jilaa Daawwitii Borboritti—a sacred site of immense cultural significance to the Borana people. In Borana tradition, ardaa jilaa refers to a sacred gathering place, often associated with the odaa tree (sycamore fig tree) .
The odaa tree holds profound symbolic meaning in Oromo culture. Most Gadaa rituals are performed in the shade of this tree, and both the tree and the surrounding area are fully protected as sacred spaces . The tree represents life, wisdom, and the continuity of tradition across generations.
At these sacred sites, cultural ceremonies like Nyaachisaa reaffirm the community’s connection to their ancestors and the land.
The Role of Abbaa Gadaa and Elders
The involvement of Guyyoo Gobbaa Bulee and his sons in the Nyaachisaa ceremony is particularly significant. Guyyoo Gobbaa Bulee was a retired Abbaa Gadaa who, along with Guyyo Boru, served as a main speaker during the Gumi Ganyo Assembly—a traditional gathering where community issues are discussed and resolved according to custom (aada) and law (seera) .
The elders play a crucial role in Borana society:
- Preserving Knowledge: Elders are the keepers of oral history, laws, and rituals .
- Teaching the Next Generation: They train young initiates about history, laws, and the function of the Gadaa system .
- Resolving Conflicts: The Abbaa Gadaa is responsible for solving feuds and disputes, often related to cattle-raiding and access to resources .
The Nyaachisaa ceremony is therefore not just a celebration—it is an educational moment where younger generations learn the values and traditions that define their identity.
Food as Identity: The Significance of Koche
One of the central elements of the Nyaachisaa ceremony is the preparation and sharing of koche, a traditional meat dish that has deep cultural significance .
What is Koche?
Koche is a nutritious and rich food made from meat, fat, and other ingredients. It is highly regarded in Borana culture and is:
- A Symbol of Hospitality: Koche is prepared for important guests and during ceremonies. It is a sign of respect and generosity .
- An Expression of Love: Beyond its nutritional value, koche is also a food of passion. Women would prepare it for their lovers—even secret ones—as an expression of love. If discovered, the lover would be fined a cow to appease the husband .
- A Measure of Status: Among Borana women, it was considered embarrassing for their traditional storage container (dhibe) for meat to be empty. Women of substance were expected to have koche in their dhibe at all times .
Communal Preparation
The preparation of koche is a communal affair involving elders, women, herders, and villagers. The process takes days of careful planning :
- Women fetch water and firewood and prepare a mat-like structure called sage for holding the meat.
- Men are involved in the slaughter and butchering of the bull.
- The community comes together to share in the meal, strengthening social ties and reaffirming collective identity.
This communal effort reflects the Borana belief that food is not just fuel for the body but nourishment for social relationships.
The Values of Waloomaa and Obbolummaa
The Nyaachisaa ceremony embodies the Borana values of waloomaa (cohesion) and obbolummaa (siblinghood). The sharing of meat is a physical expression of these values. As one analysis of Borana culture explains, eating together (commensality) is more than just sharing and consuming food—it strengthens kinship ties and friendship.
When the sons of Guyyoo Gobbaa Bulee conduct the Nyaachisaa ceremony at Ardaa Jilaa Daawwitii Borboritti, they are not just feeding the community. They are:
- Honouring their father: Guyyoo Gobbaa Bulee’s legacy as an elder and former Abbaa Gadaa is celebrated and passed on.
- Reinforcing brotherhood: The act of sharing meat reminds everyone of their obligations to one another.
- Preserving culture: The ceremony ensures that ancient traditions continue to have meaning in the present.
The Bigger Picture: Gadaa and Cultural Preservation
The Nyaachisaa ceremony at Ardaa Jilaa Daawwitii Borboritti is part of a broader cultural renaissance among the Borana and Oromo peoples. Despite centuries of pressure and challenges, the Gadaa system has survived:
- UNESCO Recognition: In 2016, the Gadaa system was added to UNESCO’s list of Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity, acknowledging its significance as one of Africa’s oldest democratic governance systems .
- Cross-Border Significance: The Gadaa system unites Borana communities across national borders—in both Ethiopia and Kenya .
- A Living Tradition: The Gadaa system is not a museum piece but a living, dynamic tradition that continues to evolve while maintaining its core values .
As one Borana elder explained, the age-set system (hariya) may end when members die, but the generation-set system (luba) continues forever—a cycle of renewal that keeps the community alive .
Conclusion: The Feast That Feeds the Soul
The Nyaachisaa ceremony at Ardaa Jilaa Daawwitii Borboritti is a powerful reminder of what makes the Borana people unique—their commitment to brotherhood, their respect for elders, their connection to the land, and their ability to preserve their culture across generations.
“Nagaan Gooroo marmaaraa ga’aa, gammee buufadha!”
Peace has come to the Gooroo Marmaaraa—the ritual journey from one sacred site to another . The assembly is called. The bull is slaughtered. The koche is shared. And through this ancient rite, the Borana people reaffirm who they are and what they stand for.
In a changing world, the Nyaachisaa ceremony remains a source of identity, solidarity, and hope. It is a feast that feeds not just the body but the soul—a testament to a people who refuse to forget their past even as they face the future.
The Nyaachisaa ceremony honours the wisdom of elders, the strength of community, and the enduring values of humanity, respect, and cultural pride.
The Land They Call Theirs: Finfinnee, Sacrifice, and the Unyielding Oromo Spirit
In the shadow of glass towers and concrete jungles, a people fight for a place to rest their heads—and a generation is called to rise.
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FINFINNEE — To the world, it is Addis Ababa, the diplomatic pulse of Africa and the seat of the African Union. To the Oromo, however, this city is Finfinnee—the “fountain of hot springs”—the ancestral heart of their nation, a land soaked in history, blood, and an unbreakable bond of identity.
But walk through the bustling streets of this sprawling metropolis today, and you will witness a profound paradox. Amidst the towering condominiums—the kumaa fi kitiloota that pierce the sky—and the maze of modern high-rises, the average Oromo finds themselves a stranger in their own heritage. As the poignant refrain of the community goes: “Oromoon lafa rooba itti dheeffuu fi gaaddiisa aduu jalaa itti goru hin qabu.” (An Oromo has no plot of land to catch the rain or find shade from the sun.)
Every inch of earth their feet touch, they must claim with their voice. The struggle for recognition, for belonging, and for the very Gullallee—the cherished, sacred ground of their forefathers—is not a passive memory. It is a living, daily confrontation.
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The Torchbearers of Resistance
In this crucible of resilience, certain names rise above the din of daily oppression. Figures like Jaal Daawud Ibsaa, the leader of the Adda Bilisummaa Oromoo (ABO), and Jaal Abdii Raggaasaa stand as defiant pillars. They are not merely politicians; they are the living embodiments of the Oromo quest for self-determination.
To the diaspora and the youth, these men represent the unwavering voice that refuses to be silenced. They walk a tightrope where every word is a potential weapon against them, yet they continue to champion the cause of Bilisummaa—freedom. Their presence sends a clear message to the establishment: the Oromo struggle is not a fleeting trend; it is a generational covenant.
The Waajjiira and the Galma—the historic meeting grounds and the dawn campaigns of resistance—are etched into the collective memory of the community. Though the enemy may have sealed off physical spaces, they cannot quarantine the spirit. The determination displayed in these spaces carries a meaning far greater than bricks and mortar; it is the architecture of a nation that refuses to be erased.
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The Cost of a Dawn
The Oromo struggle is defined by its staggering calculus of sacrifice—aarsaa fi wareegama (offering and commitment). How many lives have been laid down so that the sun of justice might rise over Finfinnee? How many mothers have wept for sons who dared to demand the rights enshrined in their own indigenous governance systems?
Yet, from these sacrifices, the movement draws its profound strength. The daily defiance, the quiet refusal to bow, and the bold resistance in the face of a caged dawn—barii ganamaa diinni cufe—is what gives the struggle its hiika guddaa (great meaning). It is the understanding that freedom is not given; it is taken through unyielding obsaa fi kutannoo (patience and determination).
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The Mandate of the Youth
This brings us to the most urgent call of all—a plea to the dhaloonni (the young generation).
The elders and the current leadership are clear in their message: “Kutannoo fi cichoomina kana sinirraa dhaaluu qaba!” (This resilience and steadfastness must be inherited by you!)
The youth of today are the custodians of tomorrow. The land, the history, and the dreams of those who came before rest squarely on their shoulders. They are called not just to remember, but to act. To take the torch from the hands of the Daawud Ibsaas and the Abdii Raggaasaas of the world and carry it forward with equal vigor.
In a city where the Oromo must prove their claim to every footstep they take, the youth are the living proof of the nation’s survival. They are the ones who must turn the Gullallee—the beloved land—from a symbol of ancestral loss into a foundation of future sovereignty.
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Land, Love, and Legacy
For the Oromo, Finfinnee is more than a geographical location. It is the soul of their identity. The love for this land—Lafa akka Oromootti qabnu (The land we hold as Oromo)—is not born of mere proximity; it is born of millennia of history, culture, and shared suffering.
As the city continues to modernize and globalize, the Oromo people are sending a clear and resolute message to the world and to their adversaries: We are the owners, and we are the lovers. We have the leaders, and we have the spirit. And we will not stop until the rain of justice falls on our own soil, and the sun of freedom shines on our own shade.
The names may change, the tactics may evolve, but the mission remains eternal. For the Oromo, the land of Finfinnee is, and always will be, Lafa Seenaa—a land of history. And history, as they know all too well, is written by those who refuse to give up the fight.
“Nu Xiiqessitan Malee, Nu Hin Xiqqeessine”: The Unbreakable Spirit of a People
“You may have belittled us, but you have not made us small.” These words carry the weight of generations—a defiant declaration that no amount of oppression can diminish the worth of a people.
There are phrases that transcend language. They are not merely words—they are testimonies. They are the cries of ancestors, the whispers of resistance, and the battle cries of those who refuse to be broken.
“Nu xiiqessitan malee, nu hin xiqqeessine.”
(You may have belittled us, but you have not made us small.)
This is one such phrase. It is a declaration of dignity in the face of humiliation. It is a refusal to accept the diminished status that oppressors have tried to impose. It is a reclaiming of pride, identity, and humanity.
The Weight of Belittlement
To be belittled is to be made to feel small. It is to have your language dismissed as backward, your culture labelled as primitive, and your humanity denied. Throughout history, colonisers, empires, and dominant groups have used belittlement as a weapon—not just to control bodies, but to crush spirits.
For the Oromo people, this experience is deeply familiar. For generations, they have been subjected to marginalisation, cultural suppression, and political exclusion. Their language, Afaan Oromo—one of the most widely spoken languages in the Horn of Africa—was systematically excluded from education and public life for decades. Their identity was erased through forced assimilation and the imposition of labels they never chose for themselves.
Yet, despite all of this, they endured. And they are not small.
The Power of Refusal
“Nu xiiqessitan malee, nu hin xiqqeessine.”
This phrase is not a plea—it is a refusal. It refuses the narrative that oppression defines the oppressed. It refuses to accept the oppressor’s verdict. It insists that worth is intrinsic, not bestowed by those in power.
There is profound wisdom in this refusal. It recognises that belittlement is a reflection of the oppressor’s cruelty, not the victim’s inadequacy. It understands that attempts to diminish a people are ultimately attempts to justify injustice—but they do not change the truth of who that people is.
This is the kind of resistance that sustained enslaved peoples, colonised nations, and marginalised communities throughout history. It is the quiet dignity of a grandmother who speaks her mother tongue despite being told it is worthless. It is the courage of a young person wearing traditional clothing in a world that demands conformity. It is the determination of a community that continues to celebrate its festivals, sing its songs, and tell its stories, even when the world tries to silence them.
The Danger of Internalising Belittlement
The most insidious effect of oppression is when the oppressed begin to believe the oppressor’s lies. When a people internalise the message that they are inferior, the battle is already half-lost.
This is why “nu xiiqessitan malee, nu hin xiqqeessine” is so powerful. It draws a clear line: the belittlement is their action, but the smallness is their fiction. We refuse to internalise it. We refuse to carry it. We will not let your judgment become our identity.
In psychology, this is known as maintaining a positive sense of self in the face of external devaluation. It is the resilience that allows individuals and communities to thrive despite systemic discrimination. And it is essential to survival.
A Call to the Diaspora
For Oromos living in the diaspora, this phrase carries particular resonance. Far from the homeland, the challenges are different but the stakes are just as high. In foreign lands, the pressures to assimilate, to forget, to become “invisible” can be immense.
Yet the message remains: “Nu xiiqessitan malee, nu hin xiqqeessine.”
You may not see us on the news. You may not hear our language in the halls of power. You may not know our history or our struggles. But we are here. We exist. We matter. And we refuse to be made small by your ignorance or indifference.
The diaspora is not a place of forgetting—it is a place of remembering. It is where language is preserved, culture is celebrated, and the next generation is taught who they are. It is proof that even when a people are scattered across the globe, they remain connected by blood, memory, and the unshakable bond of identity.
The Global Resonance
This phrase is not unique to any one people. Its echo can be heard across the world:
- “We may be a small nation, but we are a proud one.”
- “They tried to bury us, but they didn’t know we were seeds.”
- “You can kill the dreamer, but you can’t kill the dream.”
- “You may have conquered us, but you have not made us slaves.”
These are the words of every people who have been told they are lesser but refused to believe it. They are the words of Indigenous communities fighting for land rights. They are the words of minority languages resisting extinction. They are the words of women who have been told their voices don’t matter—and speak anyway.
“Nu xiiqessitan malee, nu hin xiqqeessine” is a universal truth dressed in the specific language and experience of the Oromo people. But its meaning belongs to all who have ever been told they are not enough—and refused to accept that verdict.
Living the Words
To say “nu xiiqessitan malee, nu hin xiqqeessine” is not just to speak—it is to act. It is to live in a way that defies the oppressor’s narrative. It is:
- Teaching your children your language, even when the world tells them it is useless.
- Celebrating your culture, even when you are a minority in a foreign land.
- Insisting on your history, even when textbooks omit or distort it.
- Demanding your rights, even when the system is stacked against you.
- Walking with dignity, even when others try to make you feel small.
A Future Built on Worth
The ultimate rejection of belittlement is not just survival—it is flourishing. It is building a future where Oromo children grow up knowing their history with pride. It is creating institutions that serve Oromo communities with dignity and respect. It is achieving political and economic empowerment that makes the old narratives of inferiority obsolete.
The oppressors wanted to make the Oromo small—small in ambition, small in voice, small in presence. But they failed. Because dignity cannot be taken—it can only be surrendered. And the Oromo people have not surrendered.
“Nu xiiqessitan malee, nu hin xiqqeessine.”
You may have belittled us. You may have tried to erase us. You may have told the world we are nothing.
But we are not nothing. We are a people. We are a history. We are a future. And we are not small.
In the end, the measure of a people is not what their oppressors say about them—but what they say about themselves. And the Oromo people have spoken: “We are not small.”
Nu hin xiqqeessine. We are not small. And we never will be.
Oromia is My Blood: The Unbreakable Bond of Identity, Land, and Memory
“Oromia is my blood” is more than a phrase. It is a declaration of belonging that runs deeper than politics—an ancestral connection that cannot be severed by distance or time.
For the Oromo people, identity is not something that can be chosen or changed like a political affiliation. It is something you are. It is carried in the language you speak, the customs you observe, and the land that shaped your ancestors. As one reflection on Oromo identity puts it: “A child born to Oromo parents carries Oromummaa in their blood whether they know politics or not. Oromummaa, in this sense, is sacred and unshakable.”
But what does it truly mean to say that Oromia is in one’s blood? It is a claim to history, to culture, to a homeland that has endured centuries of change and challenge—and to a people who have never stopped asserting their right to exist on their own terms.
A Land of Vastness and Significance
To understand why Oromia is so deeply woven into the identity of its people, one must first understand the land itself. Oromia is Ethiopia’s largest region, covering more than 350,000 square kilometres—an area larger than Italy or Côte d’Ivoire . It makes up 34% of Ethiopia’s landmass and shares borders with every other Ethiopian region except Tigray, as well as international boundaries with Sudan, South Sudan, and Kenya .
Its capital is Finfinne—also known as Addis Ababa—which serves both as the regional capital and the seat of Ethiopia’s federal government and the African Union .
The region is a powerhouse. Its fertile soils produce about half of Ethiopia’s total crop production, including coffee, teff, maize, and barley. Its mines yield gold, platinum, and iron ore. Its industries produce textiles, pharmaceuticals, and construction materials. In the 2021-2022 financial year alone, Oromia generated US$324 million from mining . For Oromos, this is not just statistics—it is the land of their fathers and mothers, the soil that has nourished generations.
Identity Forged Through Struggle
Yet the relationship between Oromia and its people has never been simple. For much of modern Ethiopian history, Oromos have been described as “always on the outside looking in” . The Ethiopian state, historically shaped by Amhara aristocracy, defined the terms of belonging—permitting Oromos to enter public life only as individuals, not as a collective .
The 20th century saw the rise of pan-Oromo consciousness. Scholars trace the emergence of Oromo nationalism and the assertion of the self-identifying name “Oromo”—replacing the externally imposed label “Galla”—as a powerful reclamation of dignity and identity . The formation of the Oromo Liberation Front and the growing force of Oromo ethno-nationalism reflected a people demanding to be seen and heard .
This struggle is not merely political—it is existential. It is about the right to speak Afaan Oromo without fear, to celebrate Irreecha openly, and to walk proudly in clothing that bears the red, black, and white of Oromo identity . As photographer Elias Badhaasaa put it: “I want us to be visible in the Horn of Africa and beyond” .
Culture as the Pulse of Identity
In recent years, a cultural renaissance has taken hold. Young Oromos are increasingly expressing ethnic pride through fashion, music, and art . Designers are modernising traditional Oromo garments, incorporating the iconic Odaa tree—a sacred symbol—into their creations .
The annual Irreecha thanksgiving festival, once a celebration that drew millions, has grown in national profile. In 2020, it was held in Addis Ababa for only the second time in history—a milestone that reflects the growing visibility of Oromo culture . Though tragedy struck the festival years earlier, the spirit of Oromo resilience has endured.
At the heart of this cultural awakening is Oromummaa—the essence of being Oromo . It is not a political ideology or a man-made theory. It is something older than the modern state itself. As one writer explains: “Oromummaa is seen in the way we respect elders, the way we greet with ‘Akkam?’, the way we celebrate Irreecha, and how we uphold principles of fairness (nagaa, araara, safuu)” .
Solidarity Beyond Ethnicity
Remarkably, the cry of “Oromia is my blood” has also resonated beyond the Oromo community. During mass protests in 2015 and 2016, Amhara protesters in Gondar chanted: “Oromo blood is our blood!” and “The killing of our Oromo brothers should stop!” . In Shambu, Wollega, demonstrators proclaimed: “Oromo blood is Amhara blood and Amhara blood is Oromo blood and we are inseparable” .
This solidarity threatened the ruling party’s long-standing strategy of pitting ethnic groups against one another. As one analysis observed: “The blood flowing in Oromia is our blood too”—these words are not just slogans but actions that exist as words, actions that threaten to unsettle the myths that hold together the ideological edifice of the system” .
For a moment, it seemed that shared suffering and shared hope could bridge historical divides. Whether that promise has been fulfilled remains an open question—but the sentiment itself speaks to the power of identity as a unifying force.
The Diaspora: Blood That Spans Oceans
For Oromos living in the diaspora—in the United States, Canada, Australia, Europe, and beyond—the phrase “Oromia is my blood” takes on a particular resonance. Far from the homeland, identity becomes both a lifeline and a burden. Political conditions in Ethiopia have encouraged exiled communities to construct “imagined landscapes” that evoke nostalgia and maintain engagement with homeland affairs .
These landscapes are not mere fantasy—they are integral to enduring memory. Most forced emigres involve themselves in the social and economic issues of their place of birth, rather than focusing only on their routines in host countries . The nexus between origin and host countries sustains a powerful form of transnationalism—a proof that home is not just a place, but a bond that travels.
Blood as Memory, Blood as Future
When Oromos say “Oromia is my blood,” they are saying something profound. They are claiming a history that precedes modern borders, a culture that has survived attempts at erasure, and a future that they intend to shape.
It is not about hatred of others. It is not about exclusion. It is about affirmation. It is about the right to speak a language, to tell a story, to honour ancestors, and to pass on a legacy.
As the reflection on Oromo identity concludes: “Let us celebrate it in its purest form—as the unshakable mark of a people who have endured, resisted, loved, and hoped through centuries” .
Oromia is not just a region on a map. It is blood memory. It is the rhythm of the shagoyyee drum. It is the poetry of Ali Birra. It is the wisdom of proverbs. It is the sacred Odaa tree. It is the land that gives life—and the people who give that land meaning.
“Oromia is my blood” is not just a phrase. It is a promise. A belonging. A truth that cannot be denied.
“Bariisaa Newspaper is the Heart of the Oromo Struggle” – Father of Bariisaa
In the annals of Oromo media history, few names shine as brightly as that of Dr. Mahadii Hamid Mudee—known to millions simply as “Abbaa Bariisaa” (Father of Bariisaa). He is the founder of Bariisaa newspaper, a publication that became the heartbeat of Oromo cultural and political awakening.
For decades, Bariisaa has played an extraordinary role in elevating Oromo culture, language, and history. It has championed the rights of the Oromo people, defended their dignity, and brought their struggles into the light. Dr. Mahadii Hamid Mudee stands as a towering figure in this legacy—a scholar, activist, and journalist who dedicated his life to the Oromo cause without seeking personal gain.
The following is an exclusive interview with the man himself.
Bariisaa: Dr., let’s get acquainted. When and where were you born?
Abbaa Bariisaa: My birth name is Mahadii Hamid Mudee. Later, I became known as “Abbaa Bariisaa.” Some also call me “Abbaa Dikshinarii” (Father of the Dictionary). You may call me Dr. Mahadii or Abbaa Bariisaa.
I was born in 1942 in Eastern Oromia, West Hararge Zone, in the town of Chiro. My father is Obbo Hamid Mudee, and my mother is Aadde Hamiida Ahmad.
Bariisaa: Where did you complete your primary, secondary, and higher education?
Abbaa Bariisaa: Before joining modern schools, I studied at an Islamic religious school. I then entered the formal education system starting from Grade 3. I completed my primary and secondary education at “Dajjaazmaach Waldagabir” School in Chiro town.
At that time, students could skip grades based on performance—from first to third, then to the next level. I completed both primary and secondary school in just six years. For my higher education, I studied at Addis Ababa University for three years.
During my third year studying Physics at the university, I was assigned for practical training to North Gojjam Zone in Amhara Region, at “Negus Taklahaymanot” Secondary School in Dabra Maarkos.
The school refused to rent me a room because of my religion—I am Muslim. I spent three months living in a hotel while teaching. Because of this, I decided to leave the position. But they transferred my Physics colleague to Bahir Dar and sent me there instead.
At Bahir Dar, there were many students, and I taught double sessions—morning and afternoon. In the evenings, with no other work, I began preparing textbooks in Afaan Oromoo for the children. I taught there for two and a half years until the revolution of 1966 (Ethiopian calendar) erupted.
Bariisaa: How did you start preparing Bariisaa newspaper?
Abbaa Bariisaa: At that time, there were many newspapers in various languages—but none in Afaan Oromoo. The question “Why isn’t there a newspaper in Oromo?” constantly occupied my mind. From this reflection came the desire to start an Oromo-language newspaper.
Initially, I thought preparing and publishing a newspaper in Oromo would be simple. But when I got down to work, I realized it was extremely difficult. In 1964, I approached Dr. Tasefaye Gabre’igzii, then Minister of Information, and asked for permission to publish a newspaper in Oromo. He responded with anger: “How dare you come to my office asking to publish a newspaper in Oromo? Get out!” He kicked me out of his office. I left, burning with anger.
In 1966, Ahaduu Saaburee became Minister of Information. I approached him again. He didn’t refuse me as harshly as Dr. Tasefaye, but he also didn’t give me permission.
Then, in September 1966 (Ethiopian calendar), Haile Selassie was overthrown and the Derg came to power.
In 1967, Kumalaa Girmaay Yilmaa became Minister of Information. I went to him and requested permission to publish an Oromo newspaper. Unlike those who had insulted me, Kumalaa Girmaay listened. He said to me: “You have asked for two impossible things. First, a private individual cannot publish a newspaper. Second, publishing a newspaper in Oromo is not allowed. If you had asked to publish in another language, I would have given you permission today. I cannot authorize an Oromo newspaper, but you can try asking other officials.”
Bariisaa: How did you finally get permission?
Abbaa Bariisaa: At that time, I knew people like Luba Gudina Tumsa, his brother Baaroo Tumsa, and Obbo Leencoo Lataa. We discussed the matter and decided to approach someone who supported the Oromo cause—Colonel Takkaa Tulluu, an Oromo official in the Derg government.
Together with Baaroo Tumsa and Leencoo Lataa, we went to Colonel Takkaa. He asked what we wanted. We said, “We have come to request permission to publish a newspaper in Oromo.” He asked, “Why didn’t you ask the Minister of Information?” We explained that we had asked but were refused. Colonel Takkaa said, “I will ask on your behalf.” We replied, “If you can’t get full authorization, at least ask for permission for just one day.”
Because it was the first anniversary of the Derg’s coming to power—September 2, 1968—they granted us permission to publish Bariisaa in Oromo for just one day. But we decided to seize the opportunity: “We will publish if we live; if we die, we die.” We declared that Bariisaa would be published every two weeks, and if it was stopped, we would challenge the government. And so, the first issue of Bariisaa was published in Oromo.
Bariisaa: How did you distribute the first issue?
Abbaa Bariisaa: For the first issue, we printed 20,000 copies. We donated 1,000 to the Kibur Zabanya (Imperial Guard), 1,000 to the Fourth Army Division in Finfinne near Laga Harre, 1,000 to the police, 1,000 to the Air Force in Bishooftu, and 1,000 to the Navy and Oromo farmers. The remaining copies were sold at 10 cents each.
Bariisaa: What happened after that?
Abbaa Bariisaa: When we went to the Ministry of Information to ask for permission for the second issue, they arrested us. They said, “We only authorized one issue, but you told the public it would be published every two weeks—you are inciting the people against the government.” They threw us in the “Maakelaawi” prison. But I was released soon after.
Bariisaa: How long was Bariisaa suspended, and how did it resume?
Abbaa Bariisaa: Bariisaa was suspended for five months. Then, an opportunity arose. Colonel Asraat Dastaa was the Deputy Minister of Information responsible for Public Relations. When he went abroad for training, a man named Irreessaa Fissahaa Gadaa was acting in his position.
We approached him and asked for permission to publish Bariisaa. He said, “I can’t authorize what the colonel refused. When he returns, I don’t know what will happen—you could be arrested again. But I have an idea. Go to someone more powerful than me, someone Colonel Asraat fears, and get authorization from him.” He suggested Mangistuu Hayilamaariyam (the former president of Ethiopia). We went to him, and he gave us permission.
With the authorization of Colonel Mangistu, Bariisaa resumed publication every week. When Colonel Asraat returned from abroad and heard that Bariisaa had been authorized, he said, “What kind of world is this? I leave the country for a few days, and this happens!”
Bariisaa: What were the challenges under the Derg?
Abbaa Bariisaa: They constantly looked for ways to destroy us. Bariisaa was building Oromo unity, promoting Oromo language, culture, and history, and defending Oromo rights—so it was hated by the regime.
In 1969, we organized an Oromo Cultural Exhibition in Finfinne at the “Biheraawwii Tiyaatir” Hall. The goal was to raise funds for Bariisaa. People came from all over Oromia in the tens of thousands. But the authorities said, “Everything you do must be under the name of the Ministry of Culture.” In December 1969, the government shut down Bariisaa. The closure was even announced on the radio.
Bariisaa: What was the difference between Bariisaa under private ownership and after it was taken over by the government?
Abbaa Bariisaa: In the private era, everyone worked without pay. Lammeessaa Boruu, a father of a family, earned 100 birr per month; Immiruu Angoosee earned 70 birr. Ibraahiim Hajii Alii worked for two years without any salary. I also worked without pay. We worked because of our deep commitment to the Oromo cause.
The Oromo people themselves were our reporters and sources of information. We focused on what the people wanted to hear, learn, and benefit from.
After the government took over, the content shifted. Most of what was published reflected the government’s message to the people, rather than the people’s message to the government. Our sources of information shifted from the people to the regime. Reporting Oromo issues to the government became secondary to conveying government wishes to the people.
The government allocated 500,000 birr per year and a vehicle to the newspaper. Reporters like Caalchisaa Ciibsaa, Waaqgaarii Gunjoo, Mahaammad Hasan, Bulloo Siibaa, Ibiraahiim Hajii, and Kuwee Kumsaafaa were hired with salaries. Two proofreaders and a “free-lancer” were also paid. I was paid 800 birr as chief editor.
Bariisaa: When did you stop working on the newspaper?
Abbaa Bariisaa: After the government took over, I realized I could no longer work with the freedom I needed. The political situation was difficult, so I decided to step away. I trained my successors over three months, rotating them weekly until they could manage the newspaper independently.
Bariisaa: What contribution did Bariisaa make to the Oromo people?
Abbaa Bariisaa: Bariisaa is the heart of the Oromo struggle. It strengthened Oromo unity and promoted Oromo language, culture, history, and identity. It focused on Oromo rights and benefits—which is why it was hated and called “ABO newspaper” (referring to the Oromo Liberation Front). Bariisaa was never separate from Oromo politics. The newspaper’s workers were deeply committed to the Oromo cause; many were imprisoned and some were killed.
Bariisaa: How did you get the name “Abbaa Bariisaa”?
Abbaa Bariisaa: From the founding of the newspaper until I stepped down, I was the chief editor. Because of this, the name “Abbaa Bariisaa” and “Abbaa Dikshinarii” was given to me, both at home and abroad.
Bariisaa: What did you do after leaving Bariisaa?
Abbaa Bariisaa: I was working with the “Guddinni Gamtaa” (Joint Committee) at the time. The government sent me to Harar to stabilize the political situation in Eastern Ethiopia. I was assigned to coordinate Radio Harar, the Ethiopian News Service, and military training. But when I went to Harar, I found Oromo children imprisoned for political reasons. I managed to have them released, and then I went to Saudi Arabia.
As a member of the OLF, I worked to organize the Oromo community in Saudi Arabia and raise funds for the cause. I told them that Oromos should not live as slaves in their own land. I built relationships with foreign governments to raise awareness about the Oromo issue. I stayed in Saudi Arabia for four and a half years, then moved to America.
Bariisaa: Did you face personal difficulties while working on Bariisaa?
Abbaa Bariisaa: Yes, I faced many pressures. But I never stepped back from speaking the truth or doing my work. I wasn’t afraid of being killed or losing my job. However, I did face a time when I could no longer return to my home. I left my house and stayed with relatives, friends, or wherever I could find shelter.
After I left the country, my mother was taken to a police station at 6:00 PM and interrogated. They beat her and demanded to know where I was. The harm my mother suffered because of me was terrible. She was forced to leave her home, and she never knew where I was. My colleagues also suffered greatly.
Bariisaa: What did you feel when you saw Bariisaa 42 years later upon your return from America?
Abbaa Bariisaa: I felt both joy and sorrow. I was overjoyed to see that the newspaper had not died or disappeared. But it saddened me that the circulation had dropped from 20,000 to 10,000. For a population of 50 million Oromos, printing only 10,000 copies is not enough. This requires serious thought and action.
Bariisaa: What would you like to see for Bariisaa’s future?
Abbaa Bariisaa: I want to see the circulation exceed one million, published daily. I want Facebook followers to number in the millions. I want distribution to reach all corners of Ethiopia and beyond. I want the newspaper to reach every school in Oromia, and I want it available in public libraries so everyone can read it.
Bariisaa: What kind of content would make Bariisaa more beloved among the Oromo people?
Abbaa Bariisaa: What determines whether Bariisaa is loved or not is its content. You must work within your limits. Don’t rely on lies or flattering the government to gain popularity—earn it through truth.
If the newspaper presents what is right, true, and just, it will be beloved. Speaking truth and justice won’t even cause problems with the government. Content that highlights Oromo culture, language, history, and development—that protects Oromo rights, promotes their interests, and brings solutions to Oromo problems based on verified truth—that is what will make Bariisaa truly beloved.
Bariisaa: What did you do about the Oromo cause while in America?
Abbaa Bariisaa: People do two things: one is what they do for a living, and the other is what their conscience tells them. Working for the Oromo cause is what my conscience demands. I worked without pay before, and I continue to do so. What I have earned is not measured in dollars, but in service to the Oromo people.
In America, I wrote and published ten books. I prepared a dictionary (known as “Dikshinarii Hamiid Mudee”). I also worked for 21 years to make Oromo a technological language, preparing software and manual guides.
Bariisaa: How do you view the changes happening in Ethiopia today?
Abbaa Bariisaa: If I speak truthfully, the changes are very encouraging. The country has made great strides and is emerging from darkness. The respect for human rights fills me with great joy.
However, I also have great concern. I am deeply grateful to those who sacrificed to make these changes possible. The reason I can return to my country is because of these changes. I pray that the progress continues.
Bariisaa: How do you see today’s media in Ethiopia?
Abbaa Bariisaa: Some private media, driven by hate politics, are working not to build the country but to destroy it. This concerns me greatly. Both government and private media should work based on truth and justice, with a unified voice. Their information should be based on verified facts and reality. Repeating lies to corrupt people’s minds must stop. Media that works for truth should stand firm against false media and publish what is real and just.
It would be good to have a Media Council to oversee and regulate all media. Such a council should expose, control, and correct media that spread lies—independent of government influence. The government should support the establishment of such a council.
If media outlets spread unverified information—whether true or false—they can cause division and destruction. They should be careful. Media that refutes falsehoods with truth should be encouraged. Journalism that pits one group against another with misinformation must end.
Bariisaa: How do you want to support Bariisaa in the future?
Abbaa Bariisaa: Until the Oromo issue finds a solution, I will not rest. Oromo nationalism still lives within me. I will never step back from working for Bariisaa and for the Oromo people. I will work to make the newspaper known internationally. I also want to use my knowledge and resources to help in Ethiopia.
Interview conducted by Natsaannat Taaddasaa
Bariisaa Newspaper, June 20, 2011
The History of Oromo Writing and the Role of Dr. Sheikh Mohammed Rashaad
Language is a tool of communication and a symbol of identity. But for the Oromo people, their language remained largely oral for centuries—confined to the spoken word while the world around them moved forward in ink. The story of how Afaan Oromoo finally found its written form is a story of struggle, sacrifice, and one man’s relentless vision.
A Language Without Letters
The Oromo language, spoken by tens of millions across the Horn of Africa, was for a long time a language of the spoken word alone. Unlike many of its neighbors, Afaan Oromoo lacked an indigenous writing system that could accurately capture its unique sounds and grammatical structure.
Efforts to write Oromo began in the 19th century. The first known written Oromo texts were religious manuscripts from the Rayya area, produced during the time of the sheikhs of Anniyya and Danniya. These were handwritten poetry collections, hymns to God and His Prophet, penned with a reed pen using the Arabic script.
But the Arabic script was never a perfect fit for Oromo. Arabic has only a limited set of vowels and consonant distinctions. Oromo, by contrast, has ten vowels and a richer set of consonants. Six Oromo phonemes—c, ch, dh, g, ny, and ph—had no direct equivalents in Arabic writing. Scholars had to adapt, improvise, and sometimes simply make do with imperfect approximations.
Three Scripts, Three Attempts
The Ethiopian Script (Ge’ez/Amharic)
In 1886, an Oromo man named Onisimos Nasiib (Abbaa Gammachiis) translated the Bible into Oromo and had it published in Asmara, Eritrea. He used the Ge’ez script—the same writing system used for Amharic and Tigrinya. This script, however, was designed for languages with seven vowels, not ten. It could not adequately represent Oromo sounds, and the translation, while groundbreaking, was limited by the tools at hand.
The Italian Contribution
After the Italian occupation of Ethiopia in 1935, the Italian linguist Martino Mario Moreno conducted systematic research on the Oromo language. In 1939, he published Grammatica teorico-pratica della lingua galla (Theoretical-Practical Grammar of the Galla Language) in Milan, using a Latin-based alphabet. His work was the first to accurately describe the phonology, morphology, and syntax of Oromo in a scientific way.
“The period of Moreno can be called the ‘Moreno Era’—a time when the science of linguistics began to properly understand the language”.
Moreno’s alphabet represented a significant step forward:
‘ A B C Č D Ḑ0 E F G H I J K L M N Ñ O H Q R S Ṧ T Ṭ U W Y Z
The Sheikh Bakri Script
Meanwhile, within Oromo society, a different approach was emerging. Sheikh Bakri Sapalo (born Abubakar Garad Usman, 1895-1980), an Oromo scholar and religious teacher, invented an entirely new writing system for Oromo in 1956. His script was designed from the ground up to capture Oromo sounds accurately.
Sheikh Bakri had studied under several distinguished Islamic teachers and became renowned for his poetry. Under Haile Selassie’s regime, however, Oromo language was banned in education, conversation, and administrative matters. Sheikh Bakri’s script was developed in secrecy, perhaps to avoid detection by authorities who would have opposed Oromo writing in any form.
His most important work was Shalda, a twenty-page pamphlet that purported to be religious instruction but was actually a veiled account of Oromo suffering under Haile Selassie. It became the first and last major work in his alphabet. In 1965, Sheikh Bakri was placed under house arrest. In 1978, he fled to a refugee camp in Somalia, where he died without ever seeing his script widely adopted.
Dr. Sheikh Mohammed Rashaad: The Man Who Completed the Mission
A Journey Begins on Foot
Born in 1934 in Eastern Oromia, in a village called Laga Arba, Sheikh Mohammed Rashaad Abdullee grew up under the harsh realities of colonial settler rule. As a young man, he was severely chastised by one of the settlers. With no one to defend him, his young mind resolved on a radical course: he would go overseas to acquire skills and weapons for his people’s emancipation.
At the age of 15, in 1949, he left Ethiopia on foot. He traveled through Djibouti, Yemen, and Saudi Arabia, performing Hajj in 1950. From there, he continued to Syria, where he spent five years at the Fatul Islam school in Damascus, eventually earning the title of Mufti.
In 1956, he entered Al-Azhar University in Cairo, a center of learning and liberation movements across Africa. There, surrounded by students from across the continent, his Oromo consciousness deepened.
“When he entered Al-Azhar University in 1956, all nations began to showcase their languages, cultures, and identities. He saw histories of different countries beautifully written and thought, ‘We also have a history to tell, a language to speak, a script to write with'”.
The Mogadishu Years: Radio and Rebellion
After graduating with top honors in 1962, receiving an award from Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser, Sheikh Rashaad was sent by Al-Azhar to Somalia. There, he was hired by the Somali government as a linguistic expert. This gave him a new opportunity to study Oromo language using available Somali sources.
In Mogadishu, he joined forces with other Oromo refugees and intellectuals, including the journalist Ayub Abubakar. Together, they started the first Oromo-language radio broadcast from Mogadishu in 1965. The program began at 15 minutes, grew to 30, and eventually to a full hour.
“The broadcast shook the Haile Selassie regime in Ethiopia, which dispatched agents to assassinate and put a stop to their work. Haile Selassie’s agents eventually assassinated Ayub but were apprehended in Mogadisho before they could similarly murder Sheikh Rashad”.
The Birth of Qubee
It was during this period that Sheikh Rashaad discovered the suitability of the Latin script for writing Oromo. His comparative studies of Oromo and Somali led him to develop the modern Oromo alphabet.
In 1969, he prepared a manuscript titled “Fura Afaan Oromoo” (The Key to Oromo), which was handwritten and circulated among Oromo communities. Two years later, in 1971, it was published—the first complete Oromo-language reader in the modern Latin alphabet.
The book faced immediate challenges. In Somalia, the regime tried to impose the label “Somali-Abbo” on Oromos and recalled his book to redo the cover. But in haste, they left the inside page intact, which still read “Fura Afaan Oromoo”—exposing the plot. In Ethiopia, his writings were strictly forbidden; anyone found with them would face severe punishment.
Exile and Lifelong Work
Under pressure from both sides, Sheikh Rashaad relocated to Saudi Arabia, where he continued his scholarly work. Over the following decades, he produced an extraordinary body of work:
- The first Quran translation in Afaan Oromoo
- Translation of over 40 Hadith books from Arabic to Oromo
- The first Somali-Oromo dictionary
- The first Arabic-Oromo dictionary
- Numerous articles on Islam with particular emphasis on Eastern Africa
- Hajj and Umra guidance for Oromo pilgrims
- Collections of Oromo traditional songs (miriysaa, dhiichisa, geerarsa)
- Children’s stories in Oromo
- History of the Prophet Muhammad in Oromo
- History of Islam in Oromo
“He spent over 15 years conducting research on the Oromo and Somali languages, which later became the focus of his thesis for a PhD in linguistic studies, which he received from the UK”.
Recognition and Final Years
In recognition of his lifelong contribution, the Oromo Studies Association bestowed on him its Lifetime Achievement Award in 2009. In 2010, the Oromiyaa Radio and Television (ORTO) recognized him for his contribution to the development of the Oromo alphabet.
In 2009, he returned to his homeland, settling in Adama, central Oromia. But his final years were not peaceful. When the Ethiopian regime tried to impose a particular interpretation of Islam on the faithful, Sheikh Rashaad objected. For his conviction, he was evicted from his home and forced to relocate to Dire Dawa.
Fiercely independent and unquestionably loyal to his people, Dr. Sheikh Mohammed Rashaad passed away with dignity on May 25, 2013, at the age of 79.
The Legacy
Sheikh Rashaad was not alone. He worked alongside others who contributed to the development of Oromo writing. Haylee Fidaa and Abdullaahi Yuusuf, Oromo students in Europe, adopted the Moreno alphabet with modifications and published two important books in 1973-74: Hirmaata Dubbii Afaan Oromoo (an Oromo grammar) and Bara Birraan Barihe (a drama about the suffering under the Neftenya system).
But it was Sheikh Rashaad who provided the definitive, scientifically-based alphabet that would eventually be adopted for all Oromo writing—from educational materials to official government communications to the translations that would bring the world’s knowledge into the Oromo language.
“His contribution in informing and educating the masses and in strengthening Oromo nationalism, despite serious threats and challenges, is immense. His works will live with the Oromo people forever and continue to inspire millions”.
Today, when millions of Oromo children learn to read and write in their own language, when Oromo scholars publish research in international journals, when the Bible and the Quran are read in Oromo by millions, the foundation they are building on—the alphabet they are using—is the one that Sheikh Mohammed Rashaad developed, refined, and fought to protect.
He ranks among the patriotic Oromo religious scholars from both Muslim and Christian traditions who, despite persecution from successive regimes, paid heavy sacrifices for their people. Among them are the Reverend Gudina Tumsa, who gave his life for the cause; Sheikh Bakri Saphalo, who died in a refugee camp; and the great Abbaa Gammachis, who endured humiliation and subjugation. They remain giant role models who will continue to inspire future generations—shining forever like lighthouses in a free Oromia.
May the angels welcome this man who made written Oromo language accessible to millions—a renewer of his time, a truly great man.
