This shift, while fundamentally aligned with sound economic principles, has laid bare the complex realities of an economy in undergoing a structural change. The core economic truth is inescapable: in a nation wrestling with limited export diversification and a formidable appetite for imports, the innate market pressure, all else being equal, points towards depreciation. The policy challenge, therefore, transcends the simple adoption of a floating regime. It evolves into an issue of managing the transition, where the core principles must be judiciously woven with a deeply responsible and inclusive orientation to governance. The recent dynamics surrounding the National Bank of Ethiopia’s (NBE) forex auctions offer a compelling, if concerning, case study in this delicate balance.

From a purely theoretical standpoint, the move towards a market-responsive exchange rate is a cornerstone of modern financial economics. It allows the price of foreign currency to act as a critical signal, reflecting the true relative scarcity of foreign exchange, encouraging export competitiveness, and rationing imports. It is a necessary long-term medicine for an economy seeking integration and efficiency. However, financial economics is not a doctrine applied in a vacuum; it is a discipline acutely aware of frictions, imperfections, and transitional pathologies.

The current Ethiopian context is characterized by such frictions: an inelastic demand for essential imports—from pharmaceuticals to industrial inputs—and a supply of forex that is constrained by modest export earnings and remittance flows still navigating new formal channels. In this setting, the textbook model predicts overshooting and heightened volatility. The exchange rate doesn’t glide to a new equilibrium; it can lurch, driven by pent-up demand and speculative anxieties.

It is precisely to temper this volatility, to smooth the transition, that the NBE has rightly assumed its role as a stabilizing actor through the forex auctions. This is textbook central banking: providing liquidity to an illiquid market to prevent disruptive gaps. Yet, the mechanism’s outcomes are revealing a critical friction not in the macroeconomic structure, but in the intermediary behavior of the commercial banks.

What we are observing is a poignant example of a short-term profit motive trumping long-term market stability and collective welfare. In their urgent quest to cover their own forex liabilities and meet client demands, banks are bidding at auctions at rates that exceed the prevailing interbank or open-market rates. This is not a mere competitive scramble; it is an action with profound signaling power. By validating these elevated levels in the formal auction setting, they effectively rubber-stamp a new, higher benchmark. The subsequent effect is a ratchet: today’s auction price becomes tomorrow’s market reference, creating a self-fulfilling prophecy of ascent.

This aggressive bidding reveals a further layer of institutional myopia. Ironically, many of these same banks are now paying a steep price for the very opposite behavior in the pre-reform era.

For years, operating within a controlled system, a culture of over-trading in foreign exchange positions became prevalent—taking on significant forex liabilities without the genuine hedging discipline a true market demands. Now, as the birr depreciates sharply, these accumulated imbalances are crystallizing into substantial valuation losses on their own books. They are, in effect, caught in a pincer movement: suffering losses from the legacy of a distorted past while their present actions actively worsen the conditions causing those losses. Their frantic bidding is thus not merely profit-seeking; it is also a defensive scramble to cover exposed positions, a reactive maneuver that tragically amplifies the very systemic risk they seek to mitigate for themselves.

The economics of this behavior are clear for the individual bank: secure the currency at any attainable price, maintain the sacred buy-sell margin, and pass the full cost—plus commission— onto the importer client. The bank’s ledger remains protected; its profitability on the transaction may even be enhanced. But this is where responsible governance must vehemently interrupt the narrow financial calculus. This micro-rationality sums into a macro-irrationality, a collective action problem where the pursuit of individual stability undermines systemic stability. The consequence is a transmission of relentless inflationary pressure. Every birr devaluation captured in these auction spikes translates directly into higher costs for essential imports. These costs cascade through the economy, inflating the price of medicines, fertilizer, machinery, and ultimately, the cost of living for every Ethiopian citizen.

To ask, “Do the banks care about the public consequence?” is to ask a question about the very soul of financial intermediation. An institution that is truly customer-centric, that views its role as a fiduciary partner in national development, must look beyond the immediate quarterly statement.

This is not a plea for a return to heavy-handed control, nor a suggestion that the NBE should force banks to participate at artificially low rates—such a move would simply kill the auction and drive activity into the shadows. Rather, it is an argument for a recalibrated understanding of enlightened self-interest and regulatory stewardship.

The NBE, in its commendable mission to stabilize, operates within its direct tools: injecting supply and setting auction parameters. However, the ceiling of sustainable rate increase—the point beyond which social and economic stability is jeopardized—can only be reached if all actors in the ecosystem share the burden of responsibility. The commercial banks must recognize that their role is not that of passive spectators in a market they decry as unstable, but active co-pilots. Exercising restraint in auction bidding, developing more sophisticated forex risk management for their clients, and innovating to foster export sectors are not charitable acts; they are strategic imperatives for operating in a fragile, transitioning economy. Their long-term viability is inextricably linked to the nation’s macroeconomic health.

Ultimately, the path forward demands a synthesis. Financial economics provides the map: a market-determined rate is the destination, but the journey requires buffers, signals, and managed expectations. Responsible and inclusive governance provides the compass: every policy and commercial decision must be gauged against its impact on the broader public, on the small business owner needing imported spare parts, on the family budgeting for household necessities.

 The NBE’s auction is more than a liquidity window; it is a theater where this synthesis is tested daily. For the reforms to succeed, for stability to emerge from the current volatility, the actors on this stage must play their parts with a dual consciousness: of the rational profit motive and of the profound social contract inherent in managing a nation’s currency.

The quest is not for a perfectly stable, artificially pegged rate, but for a credible and responsibly guided journey towards a market rate that reflects economic fundamentals without being hijacked by short-term opportunism. In this endeavor, looking beyond the immediate bid is the very essence of both sound economics and patriotic duty.

(William Brooks is a freelance consultant with interests in business and politics in East Africa. He can be reached at willybrooks87@gmail.com)

Contributed by William Brooks

At its core, IFRS 18 does not change how profit is calculated; rather, it changes how performance is presented and explained. This distinction is critical for preparers, regulators, investors, and lenders alike, particularly in an emerging market such as Ethiopia where transparency and comparability of financial information are increasingly important.

A More Structured Income Statement

One of the most visible changes introduced by IFRS 18 is a more structured statement of profit or loss. Under the previous standard, IAS 1, entities enjoyed considerable flexibility in how income and expenses were grouped and subtotals were presented. While this flexibility allowed customization, it also reduced comparability between entities, even within the same industry.

IFRS 18 addresses this by requiring entities to classify income and expenses into clearly defined categories— operating, investing, financing, income tax, and discontinued operations. In addition, two mandatory subtotals must now be presented: operating profit and profit before financing and income tax. These subtotals are expected to become key reference points for users of financial statements.

For Ethiopian businesses, particularly manufacturing companies, service providers, and financial institutions, this will result in income statements that are easier to understand and compare. Banks, investors, and development partners will be able to assess operating performance without the noise of financing structures or one-off investment gains.

Clarifying What “Operating Profit” Really Means

Under IFRS 18, operating profit is clearly defined as the result of income and expenses arising from an entity’s main business activities. This may seem straightforward, but in practice it requires careful judgment, especially for entities whose core business involves investing or financing activities, such as banks, microfinance institutions, and investment companies.

In the Ethiopian context, this clarification is particularly relevant. Financial institutions will need to reassess how they classify interest income, interest expense, and related items. Non-financial entities, meanwhile, will benefit from a more consistent definition of operating performance, improving discussions with lenders, shareholders, and regulators.

Bringing Management Performance Measures into the Open

A major innovation under IFRS 18 is the introduction of Management-Defined Performance Measures (MPMs) into audited financial statements. Many Ethiopian companies already use alternative performance measures— such as adjusted profit or EBITDA— in board reports, investor presentations, or loan negotiations. Previously, these measures were largely unregulated.

IFRS 18 now requires that such measures, if used publicly, be disclosed in a dedicated note, clearly explained, and reconciled to IFRS-defined figures. Importantly, these disclosures will be subject to audit.

This change has practical implications for Ethiopian entities. It enhances credibility with banks, donors, and investors by ensuring that management’s preferred performance indicators are transparent and consistent with audited results. At the same time, it places greater responsibility on preparers to ensure discipline and consistency in how these measures are defined and communicated.

Improved Transparency Through Better Disaggregation

Another key focus of IFRS 18 is how information is grouped and presented. The standard introduces stronger principles on aggregation and disaggregation, discouraging the overuse of vague labels such as “other income” or “miscellaneous expenses.” Instead, entities are expected to present information in a way that reflects shared economic characteristics.

For Ethiopian companies, this will likely lead to more informative financial statements, particularly for sectors where cost structures are critical, such as manufacturing, construction, and agriculture-related businesses. More meaningful disaggregation can also support better internal decision-making and cost control.

Implications Beyond the Income Statement

IFRS 18 also influences other parts of the financial statements. The statement of cash flows, for example, will be more closely aligned with the new profit or loss structure, with the indirect method starting from operating profit. The statement of financial position encourages clearer presentation, including separate disclosure of goodwill. Additional disclosure requirements also apply to earnings per share.

These changes will require updates to accounting systems, charts of accounts, and internal reporting processes. For many Ethiopian entities, particularly those transitioning to more sophisticated financial reporting frameworks, this represents both a challenge and an opportunity.

Looking Ahead

IFRS 18 represents a significant step forward in financial reporting. By standardizing how performance is presented and ensuring greater transparency around management-defined measures, it addresses long-standing concerns of users of financial statements. For Ethiopia, successful implementation of IFRS 18 can contribute meaningfully to stronger corporate governance, better access to capital, and a more credible financial reporting environment.

What Ethiopian CFOs Should Do Ahead of IFRS 18

Although IFRS 18 becomes effective in 2027, the transition will require time and careful planning. Hence, CFOs and finance managers are expected to perform an early impact assessment by reviewing current financial statements to identify where presentation, subtotals, and classifications will change under IFRS 18, particularly the statement of profit or loss. They are also expected to revisit the chart of accounts and reporting structures. This ensures accounts can support the new operating, investing, and financing categories, as well as mandatory subtotals such as operating profit.

CFOs should also identify and document management-defined performance measures (MPMs) by listing all alternative performance measures currently used in board reports, investor decks, or loan discussions and assessing how they will be disclosed and reconciled under IFRS 18. In addition, engaging auditors and regulators early to discuss interpretation issues—especially for banks—to avoid late surprises during transition is equally important.

Further, managers should invest in capacity building. Training finance teams and senior management on IFRS 18 requirements ensures consistent understanding across the organization. They should also align internal and external reporting by using the IFRS 18 structure to improve internal performance reporting, budgeting, and communication with lenders, investors, and development partners.

The message is clear: the time to start preparing is now.

Gobeze Dessalegn is the Director of HST Consulting PLC and a senior member FCCA of Association of Chartered Certified Accountants, UK, (ACCA). He is also a board member and chairperson of audit, risk & compliance committee for HST Investment Advisory Services PLC.

Contributed by Gobeze Dessalegn

Africa’s experience is distinctive. It is no secret that while Africa continues to operate within a global order shaped by enslavement, colonization and dispossession, the same extractive logic that once seized land now manifests in unequal trade regimes, inflated borrowing costs and credit assessments that undervalue African economies. In this regard, land governance, justice and reparations are not backward-looking debates; they are vital instruments of renewal for a continent that remains a marginal producer and a price taker within global value chains.

This is why the outcomes of the 2025 Conference on Land Policy in Africa (CLPA), held at the historic Africa Hall at the Economic Commission for Africa from November 10–14, hold profound significance. Under the theme “Land Governance, Justice and Reparations for Africans and Descendants of People of the African Diaspora,” the conference positioned land as the connective tissue between historical injustice, present-day exclusion and future opportunities. It provides a continental platform to frame reparations as a forward-looking agenda that links land rights, fair finance, climate resilience and industrialization.

The imbalance is clear. Despite holding about 30 percent of the world’s mineral reserves, 65 percent of uncultivated arable land and the youngest population, Africa still accounts for only a small share of global trade and about two percent of world manufacturing. The continent loses an estimated USD 88 billion annually in illicit financial flows, while unfair credit ratings and limited access to climate finance reinforce a cycle where resource wealth does not translate into structural transformation.

As concluded by the stakeholders that included farmers, traditional authorities, private sector, academia, governments and partners of the Economic Commission for Africa and its co-organizing partners – the African Union and the African Development Bank – transformative reparations must address the rules, incentives and institutions that keep Africa at the bottom of global value chains, including those that favour raw commodity exports over value addition.

This means dismantling the incentives that consign African countries to export cocoa beans instead of chocolate, lithium instead of electric batteries, or crude oil instead of petrochemicals. Reparations must empower Africa to generate and retain value, not surrender it.

At national and local levels, this begins with strengthening land governance and tenure security, especially for women, youth and smallholder farmers. Indeed, secure and transparent land systems are not only matters of justice; they underpin food security, investment, social stability and peace. They must form the foundation of any serious reparations agenda. Equally important, land governance should be nationally defined – shaped by sovereign legal frameworks, local contexts and community priorities. This means that reparations cannot impose one-size-fits-all approaches; rather, they must empower countries to determine and implement solutions consistent with their national realities. Beyond this, digital tools and climate-smart practices can modernize land administration, protect ecosystems and ensure that communities most vulnerable to climate change are not further marginalized or left behind.

Equally crucial are the institutions and actors that can turn this vision into reality. African universities, for example, must deepen their role as engines of problem-solving knowledge. They should align curricula with future industries, valorize indigenous knowledge and develop innovations that address land governance, industrial development and climate resilience. By working directly with policymakers and nurturing youth talent, universities can move the reparations agenda from rhetoric to implementable policy.

Here, the opportunities created by the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) are decisive. With a combined GDP of roughly USD 3.4 trillion, the AfCFTA is the scale Africa needs to convert resource endowments into regional value chains, competitive African products and vibrant domestic markets. Reparations must therefore be linked to regional integration, not only to correct historical harm, but to create new economic pathways that will lead to dignified jobs, competitive industries and broad-based prosperity.

Transformative reparations must also recognize Africa’s sixth region – the diaspora – as a strategic partner rather than a peripheral actor. Diaspora capital, expertise and advocacy can accelerate Africa’s industrial, digital and knowledge transitions if channelled through structured vehicles aligned with continental priorities.

Equally, Africa’s support for its diaspora should go beyond remittances inflows towards policies that protect their rights, recognize their contributions and integrate their interests in the countries where they reside.

Ultimately, reparations that matter will be measured not by what they symbolize, but by whether they rebalance power over land, capital, technology and knowledge. When global finance becomes fair, when land rights are secure and inclusive, when African industries process African resources for both African and global markets, then reparations will have begun to achieve their purpose.

In that future, land will no longer be a source of dispossession, but the foundation of a just, prosperous and confident Africa.

Claver Gatete is the Executive Secretary of the Economic Commission for Africa (ECA), headquartered in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.

Contributed by Claver Gatete

I tried to answer their questions, but my mind was on the problems they didn’t ask—the ones that determine whether a manufacturer like me lives or dies.

Where will I find the foreign exchange to buy the steel and ceramic fiber for my cookstoves? How long will customs hold my inputs this time, rejecting the official invoice because it’s not the “real” price?

Will my materials sit in a warehouse for weeks, hostage to some opaque “investigation”? If the parts ever arrive, can I still make a stove a regular family can afford?

And if I can, how do I distribute it without transport costs pushing the price out of reach? Will any bank offer credit to my customers—or to me?

What surprise awaits next—a new tax, a revised regulation, another layer of paperwork that could push the factory one step closer to shutdown?

As they spoke of digital transformation, I realized they were describing an Ethiopia of flowcharts and five-year plans—a country where systems work, rules hold, and the future bends to ambition. But the Ethiopia I stand in is one of soft, uneven, unpredictable ground. They were speaking from one Ethiopia. I was standing in another.

Before we talk about becoming like China, we must talk about something more basic: trust—the quiet certainty that the system will do tomorrow what it promises today, and that strangers won’t make your life harder for no reason. Because even the smartest strategy has nowhere to stand.

The Diagnosis

The gap between the officials’ vision and my reality is not mere frustration. It is not a bad mood, cultural pessimism, or the familiar burden of business here. The world I described is not unique to my factory, or even to manufacturing. It has been measured—and the numbers reveal a collapse steeper than most realize.

For decades, researchers have tracked trust with a deceptively simple question:

“Generally speaking, would you say that most people can be trusted, or that you must be very careful in dealing with people?”

It sounds simple. But its power is in what it deliberately leaves out: not trust in family or kin,
not trust in your own ethnic group, not trust in your church or your neighborhood, but trust in strangers — in the wider public, in the system, in the anonymous person on the other end of a contract, a service, or a transaction. This is generalized trust. It is not a soft virtue but the hard, practical glue of a modern economy.

A country with high generalized trust can: sign contracts without three guarantors, get loans without collateral equal to net worth, move goods without five layers of verification, plan for next year without fearing tomorrow.

Now, look at what has happened to that trust in Ethiopia. The truth is, trust was already low in the mid-2000s. Then, about 21 percent of Ethiopians said “most people can be trusted.” By the early 2010s, that number slipped to 18 percent. According to the latest World Values Survey, it has now collapsed to 12 percent.

Let that number hang: Twelve percent. That means nearly nine out of ten Ethiopian adults assume, by default, that a stranger—and by extension, the institutions strangers run—cannot be trusted.

If you have ever waited in a government office, negotiated with customs, tried to move goods, applied for credit, or relied on someone outside your immediate family, you have felt the weight of that 12 percent. You live inside this statistic.

At 12 percent, society does not collapse with a bang. It decays with a whisper. Everything becomes heavier. Every transaction costs more—not just in money, but in time and sanity. Every decision is defensive. Every interaction, cautious. This is not a social mood. It is not a cultural trait. It is a measurable, structural failure of the foundational trust that makes a modern economy possible. This broken foundation is the ground the officials refused to see—the very ground we must examine before we build anything, digital or otherwise. They are planning a skyscraper on silt.

A Day in the Collapse

To understand what that 12 percent means, you don’t need a chart. You only need to live an ordinary Ethiopian day—any day, for anyone who must rely on an institution, a public service, or a stranger. This is the texture of life inside the collapse.

Your morning begins with a trip to a government office. Not for anything extraordinary—a license renewal, a routine signature, a document that should take minutes. Yet the clerk behind the counter studies the paper as if it were radioactive. He hesitates, stalls, avoids eye contact. He fears making the wrong decision, being accused, taking responsibility. So the safest thing for him is to do nothing. The safest thing for you is to come back tomorrow. This is what broken trust looks like at 9:00 a.m.

By mid-morning, you find yourself negotiating with customs. The invoice you brought—stamped, signed, internationally valid—is rejected because it is not the “real” price. Then comes the adjustment, the re-evaluation, the investigation. Days pass. Weeks pass. Your inputs sit in a warehouse, gathering dust and charges. A fixer appears, offering to “help” for a fee. No one calls it a bribe. Everyone calls it “how the system works.

By early afternoon, you are on the phone—not to the institutions meant to support you, but to cousins, friends, former classmates, anyone who might “know someone.” In a country with low trust, the trusted circle shrinks inward. Family and kin become the only reliable logistics network, the only dependable credit system, the only insurance against uncertainty. Ethiopia’s informal networks carry what its formal systems cannot.

Later, as you try to make payments or withdraw funds, a bank clerk tells you the system is down, or the manager is absent, or the authorization will take time. No one lies outright. No one tells the whole truth. You leave without knowing why it happened or when it will end. Predictability evaporates, leaving uncertainty as the only constant.

By evening, nothing dramatic had happened—no crisis, no explosion, no scandal. But you are exhausted. Not from the work, but from navigating a landscape where nothing holds, where every simple act demands vigilance, improvisation, and a backup plan. The 12 percent is no longer a number. It is the feeling that every transaction is a gamble, every interaction a negotiation, every tomorrow a question mark.

This is what it feels like when trust dies: not in chaos, but in a slow tightening—a society growing heavier, slower, more defensive. A place where energy drains into workarounds, and hope drains into caution.

We are already living inside that world.

The Engine of Distrust

The collapse of trust did not come from nowhere. It was built, layer by layer, by recognizable forces. You see them in the economy, in public offices, in politics, in how people speak to each other. Trust did not die by accident. It was eroded—the conditions that make it possible were systematically stripped away.

Start with the economy. Ethiopia’s growth of the last two decades was celebrated, but not broad-based. It concentrated in cities and services, leaving rural and low-income households outside the circle of opportunity. Growth that excludes people generates not trust, but quiet anxiety—the certainty you’re being left behind, that the system isn’t for you.

Then the state itself. Institutions operate with enormous discretion and little predictability. The rule on paper is rarely the rule applied. Identical cases get different treatment depending on the desk, the official, the connections. When outcomes depend on personalities, not procedures, trust becomes impossible. People learn: caution is safer than initiative.

Add the fractures in our social fabric. Ethiopia has deep, proud, diverse identities—but when politics turns them into battle lines, daily life charges with suspicion. Social fragmentation shrinks the circle of trust. People rely on “us” and brace against “them,” even when “them” is just another citizen trying to get through the day.

Beneath everything lies the lingering trauma of conflict. Years of displacement, violence, uncertainty leave marks that don’t vanish with ceasefires. Conflict teaches people to expect the worst, prepare for loss, assume systems will fail. It replaces optimism with vigilance. These conditions are the fuel. But fuel needs a spark—mechanisms that turn structural pressure into daily behavior.

In Ethiopia today, those mechanisms are clear.

First, fear: fear of mistakes, of blame, of responsibility, of the stranger across the counter. Fear makes people defensive. Defensiveness kills cooperation.

Second, corruption, emerging less from greed than necessity—a coping mechanism for a broken system. When rules are unpredictable, people create their own systems: workarounds, favors, informal payments. A shortcut becomes a habit, then a structure.

Third, the retreat into in-groups. When the system is unreliable, people rely on family, kin, networks of “people like us.” These networks work in the short term but devastate in the long term. They weaken formal systems and deepen the insider-outsider divide.

Fourth, defensive behavior in institutions. When officials fear consequences, they avoid decisions. They protect themselves by doing less. They hide behind process. They become gatekeepers, not facilitators.

The interplay between these conditions and their underlying mechanisms creates a self-reinforcing cycle: fear leads to corruption, which in turn elicits defensive behaviors, prompting a retreat into in-groups, ultimately diminishing trust and escalating fear. The system, having seen black birds, assumes they are all black. This paralyzing suspicion becomes a policy, grinding legitimate activity to a halt and ironically encouraging the very evasion it fears. This is the engine of distrust.

This is how a society slides from 21 percent to 12 percent. Not with a bang, but through quiet erosion of the ground common life is built on.

The Canary in the Gold Mine

Policymakers seeking stability point to Ethiopia’s Gini coefficient—the standard measure of income inequality. For two decades, it has barely moved, hovering in the low-to-mid 30s. To a planner, this flat line suggests calm. A society holding steady.

But that flat line lies. The Gini coefficient is a lagging indicator—the economist’s autopsy, recording death long after the body grows cold. It moves only after wealth solidifies into dynasties, after access gets gated, after mobility channels cement shut. It measures inequality’s final shape, not the exclusion that creates it.

Long before the Gini budged, you felt the tremors. When a connected competitor won a tender you never knew was open. When your child’s future depended on which school you could afford or which official you knew. When the rule of law bent for the powerful and broke for the powerless. This is lived inequality—of access, of justice, of predictable rules. This is what the Gini misses.

This is why trust is the critical warning. Generalized trust is not a social virtue but a societal sensor. It measures fairness in real time. It falls when people see effort unrewarded, rules applied unequally, the future becoming a private auction rather than a shared project. The Gini shows what happened to money. Trust shows why people lost faith in the system that distributes it.
The Gini is the earthquake, recorded after the city falls. Trust is the first crack in the foundation, warning the structure is unsound.

There is a fitting metaphor for this. In a coal mine, the canary dies not from weakness, but from sensitivity to lethal air. Its death is not tragedy but message: “Get out. The air is poison.”

Generalized trust is our canary. Its measured collapse from 21 percent to 12 percent is the signal. It is not a social mood. It is a biological alarm—our most honest reading of the toxic air produced by the engine of distrust: the unpredictability, fear, and unfairness we now breathe.

Officials who see a stable Gini and plan a digital future are like miners ignoring the dead bird because the beams still hold. They read the wrong gauge. The canary is not just dying. It has been dead for years. Wait for the Gini to move, and we merely record our suffocation.

The Inevitable End

When trust collapses and institutions cease functioning as neutral referees, a country does not explode. It unravels slowly, politely even. But the direction is unmistakable—every step moves away from a common future.

First, a low-trust society becomes a society of workarounds. Every gap in the formal system fills with informal substitutes: fixers instead of procedures, connections instead of rights, cash instead of rules. These begin as survival mechanisms but harden into a shadow operating system. The state’s purpose—to be the reliable platform for coordination—gets outsourced to a thousand private, unaccountable actors.

Next, market fragmentation. In a high-trust economy, the nation is one marketplace. In a low-trust economy, it shatters into a thousand inefficient fiefdoms. Every border, every office, every checkpoint becomes a choke point—a place for permission slips, unofficial fees, negotiations. The cost of business is no longer just money, but the exhausting tax on time and sanity extorted by the lack of trust.

Then, the death of mobility. When trust is scarce, opportunity flows through personal networks, not public channels. It stops being what you know and becomes who you know. Those with connections rise; those without stay stuck. Talent gets sidelined. Hard work becomes futile. Young people see merit unrewarded, their choices narrowing to a bitter trio: conform, hustle in shadows, or leave.

And leave they do. The most capable and ambitious—the very people a nation needs to rebuild—become its most reliable export. This is not a brain drain but a hemorrhage of hope. We lose not just doctors and engineers, but artisans, entrepreneurs, skilled workers—the backbone of a resilient economy. For them, migration is no longer a choice but a rational response to a system offering no path upward.

Finally, the political foundation crumbles. A low-trust society cannot sustain a shared national project. Legitimacy, depending on perceived fairness, evaporates. As the formal system hollows out, the real power struggle moves to shadows. Informal authority grows. Factions harden. Resentment becomes the default political currency. The common good becomes fiction.

By this stage, nothing collapses dramatically. The end is not a bang but a slow, grinding suffocation—the very fate the dead canary warned of. The country still moves, but like a machine starved of lubricant, overheating, seizing, wearing down from within.

The tragedy is that this requires no villain or cataclysm. Only indifference to falling trust and relentless pursuit of fantasy-based plans. This is where the path leads when the canary has been silent for years, and miners, deaf to silence, dig deeper.

If nothing changes, the end is not chaos. It is a society suffocated—too divided to cooperate, too suspicious to innovate, too exhausted to hope, too blind to see it was warned.

The Call to Honesty

When those officials stood in my factory, clipboards bright with certainty, they believed Ethiopia could leap into a digital future by installing platforms, adopting technology, borrowing China’s gloss. I don’t doubt their sincerity. But sincerity isn’t foundation. Ambition built on soft ground collapses under its own weight.

Some will argue the answer is a different political form—more democracy. But we must look deeper. True democracy is not just elections; it is a system engineered to generate trust by translating citizen voice into consequence. Yet globally, that engine is seizing. When elections become expensive performances, when media narratives grow rigid, when the powerful operate above the law, the citizen learns the same lesson they do in a barefaced autocracy: the system is not for you. The mechanisms differ, but the human outcome—distrust, cynicism, a retreat into private survival—converges.

Our goal, therefore, cannot be to copy the political theater of any nation. It must be to build the functional substance they all share at their best. This is what the officials miss.

Because the China they admire—where surveys show 63 percent say “most people can be trusted”—didn’t get there by digitizing. It achieved that level of systemic predictability through a brutal institutional realism: a bureaucracy that enforces rules with relentless consistency, a system that disciplines its own operational chaos, and an administrative culture where outcomes for citizens and businesses, for better or worse, are foreseeable. The survey measures the expectation that strangers and institutions will behave in predictable ways. In China, that expectation is enforced by the state.

If that model is unappealing, look to the Nordics—the world’s highest-trust societies. They achieved it through transparency, competent universal public service, and a rule of law that binds minister and mechanic equally. Their institutions make fairness routine.

These models arrive from different directions. But they prove the same universal law: Trust rises where institutions make strangers predictable. Trust collapses where institutions make strangers dangerous.

Our officials confuse form and substance. They see a stable Gini coefficient and dream of digital networks. They mistake glittering outcomes for invisible groundwork. They want the rooftop without the foundation. The leap without the trust to land.

You cannot leap-frog unpredictability. You cannot digitize your way out of inconsistency.
You cannot automate your way around fear. Therefore, the project is not technological, but foundational.

Before 5G, fix the rules. Before platforms, enforce accountability. Before dreaming of the future, repair the ground beneath us.

The canary is dead. The air is poison. To keep digging is suicide.

You cannot leapfrog the ground you refuse to see.

Tsegaye Nega (PhD) is a professor emeritus at Carleton College in the United States and founder and CEO of Anega Energies Manufacturing

Contributed by Tsegaye Nega (PhD)

Over 43 percent of Ethiopia’s total land area is acidic and suffers from critically low pH levels. At the regional level, acidic soils account for approximately 72 percent of total land area in the former Southern Nations, Nationalities, and Peoples’ Region (SNNPR) – now administratively divided into Central Ethiopia, Sidama, Southwest Ethiopia, and South Ethiopia – 60 percent in Oromia, and 35 percent in Amhara. This isn’t a mere chemical imbalance. It is a robber of fertility. Acidic soils lock away vital nutrients like phosphorus, starve crops of essential elements and suppress microbial life crucial for a healthy earth. The result? Yields on these lands can plummet to half the national average, trapping farming communities in a cycle of diminishing returns.

For years, the prescribed remedy was agricultural lime. Its benefits are real: lime neutralizes acidity. But its application became its own hurdle. Picture this: 3 to 4 tons of bulky lime needed per hectare. Transporting this weight across Ethiopia’s vast distances can be logistically daunting and expensive for farmers. Applying lime effectively demands significant labor and timing precision often beyond reach. Even when effective, lime does not always facilitate the nutrient boost crops desperately need to grow.

Could there be another path less encumbered by logistics, yet equally potent for Ethiopia’s soil health and crop vitality?

This question ignited a powerful collaboration. Ethiopian agronomists, driven by a deep understanding of local soils and crops, partnered with OCP Ethiopia, the Ethiopian Institute of Agricultural Research (EIAR), and Regional Agricultural Research Institutes (RARIs) – namely the Amhara Regional Agricultural Research Institute and the Southern Agricultural Research Institute. Their mission? Find a solution born not just of science, but of Ethiopian needs and realities.

The answer emerged from rigorous, boots-in-the-field science: Triple Super Phosphate (TSP). But not TSP alone. The breakthrough consisted of blending concentrated phosphorus power with finely granulated limestone. This innovative formulation, named OC-MASSA, was designed to hit two critical targets simultaneously. First, combatting acidity. The granulated limestone component actively neutralizes soil acidity right in the root zone where plants need it most. Second, boosting growth. The highly soluble TSP delivers a readily available punch of phosphorus, which is the essential engine for early root development, energy transfer and ultimately strong yields.

OC-MASSA’s effectiveness wasn’t demonstrated in a lab alone. It was tested where it matters most: in the field. The solution underwent rigorous trials, first at 54 acidic soil benchmark sites, and later across 1,200 demonstration plots in key agricultural regions of Ethiopia affected by soil acidity. Working closely with 600 smallholder farmers, researchers tested 18 custom OC-MASSA formulas tailored to specific crops and local conditions. The results were promising. Across cereal crops, OC-MASSA blends delivered a 15–20 percent yield increase compared to conventional fertilization (NPS without liming). Beyond yields, OC- MASSA also proved more cost-effective, offering a 25–30 percent advantage over the standard acidic soil management practice – combined use of lime and NPS fertilizer – depending on soil acidity levels.

This sort of impact transcends numbers and percentages. Farmers participating in demos spoke of visibly stronger crops, deeper roots and palpable potential. Crucially, these demonstrations offer logistical liberation: application rates plummeted to just 300 kg per hectare. In other words, a fraction of lime’s bulk. The development and validation of OC- MASSA resulted in 11 recommended formulas, with two formulas already in production for key crops like wheat, barley and teff, and two others under registration process.

One can alreadyimaginethe ripple effect: unlocking the full potential of millions of hectares currently constrained by acidity. Studies suggest that national adoption could bring an extra 1.3 million tons of cereal production and nearly USD one billion in additional farmer income. This is more than an agronomic experiment. It is a testament to the power of Ethiopian-led solutions when scientists’ expertise, farmers’ resilience and focused collaboration converge on a national challenge. Ultimately, this is about Ethiopia’s food security, rural development and economic resilience.

The journey to reclaim Ethiopia’s soils is far from over. Scaling solutions like OC-MASSA requires continued partnership, investment and synergies across all sectors. But this path is now illuminated by a powerful truth: Ethiopia possesses the ingenuity and the determination to cultivate its own solutions. By harnessing our collective brainpower and working with the land, we can turn even our most stubborn challenges into fertile ground for a prosperous, self-sufficient future. The fields of Ethiopia are ready. So are her people.

(Selamyihun Kidanu (PhD) is the Principal Agronomist, OCP Ethiopia.)

Contributed by Selamyihun Kidanu (PhD)

So, I did what many of us who work in law cannot resist doing: I walked him through the basics—not to lecture him, but to clarify the misconceptions that many people reasonably have. I explained that transitional justice does not replace criminal accountability, nor does it allow anyone accused of serious crimes to walk free. Instead, it recognizes that in contexts where thousands have participated in violence, institutions are weak, and courts are overloaded, justice requires multiple tools. TJ combines truth-telling, accountability, reparations, reforms, and reconciliation—because no single mechanism can hold the weight of a nation’s trauma. He remained fully engaged in the conversation, asking questions and offering reflections, and by the end of our dinner he acknowledged that he had misunderstood the concept. That conversation stayed with me. If someone educated, engaged, and politically aware could misinterpret TJ so easily, what does that mean for ordinary citizens across Ethiopia?

This is why I am writing this article: to clarify what transitional justice means, why Ethiopia needs it, and why skepticism—though understandable—should not lead us to reject a process that is critical to preventing future violence.

Transitional justice is unfamiliar in Ethiopia, and many people ask legitimate questions: How can we speak of justice while conflicts continue? Can a process led by state institutions be trusted? Isn’t this just another political maneuver? These concerns are genuine. But rejecting TJ because it is imperfect is like refusing medical help because the health center is not ideal; the alternative is far worse. Transitional justice does not mean forgetting victims or allowing criminals to escape. It is designed precisely for societies emerging from widespread violence—societies like ours—where prosecuting every perpetrator is impossible, where state institutions are fragile, and where communities are deeply polarized.

The benefits of TJ for Ethiopia are many, and they cannot be overstated. First, it allows for truth-telling and recognition of victims. Silence is not healing; it is a slow poison. Ethiopians carry trauma that will not fade with time. Whether ten years or a hundred years pass, people remember injustice. Second, transitional justice helps lay the foundation for the rule of law. A country cannot survive on political negotiations every time there is a disagreement. If people do not trust institutions—courts, police, prosecutors—they will continue to settle disputes through violence. TJ supports institutional reform so that Ethiopia can move from a culture of force to a culture of law. Third, and perhaps most importantly, transitional justice is essential for preventing cycles of violence. Impunity is the fuel of conflict. When wrongdoers believe nothing will happen to them, history will repeat itself—quicker and more viciously.

Ethiopia is not alone in facing such challenges. South Africa confronted decades of racial violence through a truth commission that, while imperfect, helped avert national collapse. Rwanda used community-based Gacaca courts to process genocide cases when its formal justice system was overwhelmed. Colombia created a comprehensive TJ model blending prosecution, truth commissions, reparations, and reforms. Sierra Leone used a hybrid court alongside a truth commission to balance accountability and reconciliation. None of these processes were flawless, but they helped their countries move forward rather than relive the past.

Our own process—born out of the Pretoria Agreement—remains fragile and underdeveloped. It is too quiet, victims are hesitant, civil society is weakened, donors are cautious, and political trust is at an all-time low. But abandoning the process now would be a historic mistake. Silence is not reconciliation; it is erosion. Ethiopia cannot afford to bury the past and hope it disappears. It never does.

For transitional justice to succeed, Ethiopians must demand a process that is inclusive, credible, and community-driven—not one controlled solely by political elites. We must also push for meaningful institutional reforms, because without functioning rule of law institutions, TJ will be nothing more than a report gathering dust. Donors, too, have a critical role to play; transitional justice requires long-term investment, expertise, and resources. And civil society must reclaim its voice—documenting abuses, supporting victims, educating communities, and monitoring implementation.

Ethiopia stands at a crossroads. Will we confront our painful past honestly, or will we allow it to define our future? Will we build institutions strong enough to protect citizens equally, or continue the cycle of violent retaliation? Will we give victims the dignity they deserve, or force them into silence?

Transitional justice will not solve everything. It will not satisfy everyone. But without it, Ethiopia will remain trapped in its old patterns. Without it, sustainable peace will remain a distant dream. Without it, the promise of a rule-of-law state will never be realized.

Transitional justice may be imperfect. But it is indispensable. And this is the moment—not tomorrow—for Ethiopians to embrace it, demand it, and help shape it.

(Tessema Mebratu is a legal scholar and practitioner specializing in human rights, rule of law, and transitional justice. He holds a PhD in Law and has over 15 years of experience managing civil society, democracy, and justice sector programs in Ethiopia. He has worked extensively on accountability, institutional reform, and conflict prevention, and is committed to promoting evidence-based dialogue and justice for victims of mass atrocities in Ethiopia.)

 Contributed byTessema Mebratu (PhD)

The article serves as a scathing critique of Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s recent discourse regarding Red Sea access. Osman argues that Ethiopia’s search for legal avenues to the sea is a “bizarre campaign” rooted in historical distortion. He posits that Eritrea’s independence is a closed case of decolonization, akin to the liberation of Angola or Mozambique, and that Ethiopia has no legal or moral standing to question the status quo.

However, while Osman’s article effectively articulates the official position of the State of Eritrea, it relies on a selective reading of history and a rigid interpretation of international law that ignores the complex, shared heritage of the two nations. By framing the relationship solely as one of “colonizer and colonized,” the article attempts to shut down a necessary conversation about regional integration, economic equity, and the legitimate security interests of a landlocked nation of 120 million people.

This rebuttal seeks to dismantle the “colonial” fallacy and argue that acknowledging Ethiopia’s legitimate interests in the Red Sea is not a call for war, but a prerequisite for sustainable peace.

The Fallacy of the “Colonial” Frame

The central pillar of Osman’s argument is that the Eritrean struggle was, “by any standards, a decolonization process”. He asserts that Ethiopia was merely a “surrogate partner” of US geopolitical interests, implying that the Ethiopian presence in Eritrea was identical to European colonial rule. This narrative is politically convenient for the Asmara regime, but historically reductive.

To categorize Ethiopia strictly as a colonial power is to ignore thousands of years of intertwined history, culture, and demographics that predate the Italian colonization of 1890. Unlike the relationship between Italy and Eritrea – which was purely extractive and foreign – the relationship between the peoples of the Ethiopian interior and the Red Sea coast was one of organic fluidity, shared linguistic roots, and common polities (such as the Aksumite Empire).

Osman dismisses the Federation period (1952–1962) as a “bogus” arrangement imposed solely by global powers. This revisionist view erases the significant portion of the Eritrean population – the Unionists – who actively sought unity with Ethiopia during the 1940s and 50s. While it is true that the subsequent annexation in 1962 violated the UN mandate, characterizing the entire relationship as foreign occupation ignores the internal political diversity of Eritrea at the time.

By painting the history solely as “Ethiopia vs. Eritrea,” Osman obscures the reality that the region’s destiny was always a complex interplay of internal Horn of Africa dynamics, not just an “illegal occupation” by a foreign alien power.

The “Consent” Paradox

A significant portion of Osman’s text is dedicated to proving that Ethiopia’s consent was never required for Eritrea’s independence. He argues that “decolonization is not contingent upon approval from the occupying power” and that the 1993 referendum merely confirmed a military victory achieved in 1991. He notes that “no document or blessing was required for Ethiopia to forfeit something it never possessed”.

This argument seeks to rewrite the specific political context of 1991. While the military defeat of the Derg regime is an undeniable fact, the legal transition to statehood was heavily reliant on the cooperation of the new government in Addis Ababa. The Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRDF) led by TPLF actively facilitated the referendum and extended immediate recognition – a “consent” that was crucial for Eritrea’s swift admission to the United Nations and the Organization of African Unity.

Comparing this to Somaliland offers a stark counter-example; Somaliland achieved a similar military victory against the Siad Barre regime but, lacking the “document” or consent from Mogadishu, remains unrecognized internationally. Osman’s claim that “no consent statement… was required” is legally romantic but diplomatically inaccurate. The current debate in Ethiopia is not about revoking independence, but about questioning the terms of that separation. The critique raised by Ethiopian analysts is that the transitional government of 1991 failed to negotiate a post-secession framework that could have protected Ethiopia’s vital maritime interests, a failure that current generations are paying for.

International Law: A Bridge, Not a Wall

Osman utilizes international law as a shield to deflect any Ethiopian concern, stating that sovereignty cannot be “lost” and that Ethiopia cannot “dictate Red Sea security arrangements”. He cites the UN Charter to argue that bilateral transit agreements cannot override sovereign rights.

However, this is a restrictive reading of international norms. While sovereignty is indeed a foundational principle, international law – specifically the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) – also recognizes the rights of landlocked states to access the sea and participate in the benefits of maritime resources. The concept of “Right of Access” suggests that transit states and landlocked states should cooperate to ensure the free flow of goods.

Furthermore, Osman’s assertion that Ethiopia has no right to address “regional stability” or maritime security is geopolitically untenable. Ethiopia is the demographic and economic hegemon of the Horn. To suggest that the security of the Red Sea – a chokepoint through which Ethiopia’s entire economic lifeline flows – is none of Ethiopia’s business is absurd. Security in the Horn of Africa is indivisible. A rigid insistence on absolute sovereignty that ignores the existential economic anxieties of a giant neighbour is a recipe for perpetual conflict, not stability. The “Red Sea security” cannot be safeguarded by Eritrea alone while ignoring the security needs of the hinterland.

The Economic Imperative vs Political Dogma

The article endorsed by Minister Yemane G. Meskel frames the discussion of ports as a “gimmick” and a “toxic narrative”. It dismisses Ethiopia’s economic ambitions as secondary to the rigid principles of territorial integrity.

This stance ignores the material reality of the 21^st Century. Ethiopia’s population is exploding, and its reliance on a single port (Djibouti) creates a strategic vulnerability that no responsible government can ignore. When Osman writes that “discussions about Ethiopia’s trade limitations… must be grounded in… recognition of Eritrea’s independence”, he creates a straw man. Ethiopia does recognize Eritrea’s independence. The current discourse is about moving beyond the antagonistic separation of 1993 toward a model of economic integration. 

By strictly adhering to the “colonial” narrative, the Eritrean leadership justifies a state of permanent mobilization and isolation. If Ethiopia is the “colonizer,” then Eritrea must remain a fortress. This narrative serves the internal control mechanisms of the Eritrean government but starves the region of the economic prosperity that could come from a cooperative “port-for-power” or “port-for-equity” arrangement.

Conclusion

Abdu Osman’s article, while clearly articulates the position of the regime in Asmara, ultimately offers a vision of the past that imprisons the future. By insisting that the separation of the two countries was a clean, absolute instance of decolonization, it attempts to delegitimize any current Ethiopian grievances regarding access to the sea.

However, the “myth” is not Ethiopia’s claim to the sea, but the idea that two nations with such deeply integrated histories and economies can succeed while turning their backs on one another. The endorsement of this hardline stance by Minister Yemane G. Meskel suggests that Asmara is not yet ready to engage in the creative diplomacy required to solve the Horn’s paradox. Ethiopia does not need to “reclaim” Eritrea to assert that the Red Sea is a shared vital interest.

The path forward lies not in hiding behind the rigid walls of 1993, but in acknowledging that geography has bound the fates of these two nations together. Until the “colonial” lens is discarded for a lens of regional integration, the peoples of both nations will remain trapped in a cycle of mutual suspicion.

Contributed by Yonas Tesfa Sisay (PhD)

In tracing the origins of tourism in our country, we find notable historical events like Queen Saba’s journey to Jerusalem. While pinpointing exact dates of early tourism is challenging, evidence suggests that people have been traveling far from their localities and across seas for various purposes throughout history. Visitors from ancient civilizations such as Greece, Rome, China, and neighboring Arab countries have left traces of their presence in our land, indicating a long history of welcoming tourists.

The Afar region stands out as a destination with rich tourist attractions that contribute significantly to the local economy. Natural wonders, fossil excavation sites, ancient cities, palaces, mosques, cemeteries, and sites of spiritual significance all beckon travelers from far and wide. These destinations offer diverse experiences, ranging from adventure and exploration to cultural immersion and spiritual reflection.

From the rugged landscapes of the Afar region to the cultural heritage sites scattered across its territory, there’s something for every type of traveler. The region’s forests and wildlife add another dimension to the tourist experience, offering opportunities for eco-tourism and wildlife safaris.

The Afar is one of the Regions of Ethiopia. It is divided into five Zones, each offering its own unique attractions and characteristics. One of these Zones, known as Zone Two (pronounced Kilbati Rusu), encompasses several districts including Arho, Dalol, and Koneba.

The historical significance of the region adds another layer of intrigue, particularly in Kuneba. Despite attempts by neighboring countries like Eritrea and Somalia to appropriate historical narratives, evidence suggests a long-standing connection between Ethiopia, Somalia, Eritrea, Djibouti, and parts of Sudan with the Middle East. This relationship, both political and economic, dates back thousands of years and is underscored by intimate social ties.

Islamic Influence in Kuneba

Islamic influence in the region is profound, with Islam entering Ethiopia through the ports of the Afar Province even before its expansion reached Medina. In the Dallol district, specifically within the Kuneba zone, sites such as Efiso, Issi, and Lelegadi have yielded tombs of the Companions, the earliest followers of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH). These discoveries authenticate the presence of Islam in this area, marking it as a significant historical and spiritual landmark.

Before reaching Kuneba, where the Companions of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) resided, lies a historical trail approximately 30 kilometers east of Negashi. This path, traversable by foot for about 12 kilometers, leads through significant landmarks steeped in history.

One notable site along this route is the ancient city of “Atbi Dera,” a place of profound historical importance. Here, ancient tombs dot the landscape, telling stories of times long past. The remnants of great churches in Atbi Dera stand as testaments to the region’s religious significance, offering glimpses into the spiritual practices of bygone eras. Among the ruins lies evidence of an ancient city, providing insights into the societal structures and lifestyles of ancient inhabitants.

During explorations of these historical landmarks, attention should be given to the presence of Queen Sophia’s palace, a significant historical site linked to Abraha Wa Atsbeha, her son. Particularly notable is the area known as Sefer, where the palace and adjacent tombs are located. Local narratives emphasize Atsibi Derana and its surroundings as the former seats of kings, offering insights into the region’s royal history and cultural significance

Moving eastward from the highland town of Atsbi Dera, one encounters the lowland Afar district of Kuneba, situated at the mountain’s foothills. Kuneba, serving as the district’s capital, is strategically located between two significant rivers, Ephiso to the north and Hanabi Deira to the south. The presence of a garden near the river, historically tended by the Companions, speaks to the region’s agricultural prowess and its ability to sustain both residents and visitors alike

The historical place where the companions of prophet Mohammed stayed in Kunaba

The oral tradition among the local residents of Kuneba paints a vivid picture of the presence of the followers of Prophet Muhammad (PBH) in the region. Passed down through generations, it recounts how these revered figures resided in areas such as Lelegedi and Belbel, along the banks of the Efiso river, particularly in the ancient market area known as Efiso. In these locations, evidence of their presence abounds, including graves, ruins of residences, tombstones, and the enduring presence of palm trees and large trees intertwined with their legacy. Sheikh Muhammad Salih Ahmed, the esteemed religious leader of Kuneba, further corroborates this narrative by identifying graves of the Prophet Muhammad’s followers in areas known as Ubuk and Isi, situated northeast of Kuneba, just outside Lelegedi.

As previously mentioned, atop Ephiso, at the summit of Mount Atsibi Dera, lies a significant tomb of the Prophet Muhammad’s (PBH) followers, notably in a place known as Sefer. This sacred site, reachable by a three-hour drive from Efiso, holds immense significance for the local community. Residents attest that the walking distance from Sefer to Negashi does not exceed four hours, indicating the relative proximity of these revered locations. Similarly, the distances from Efiso to Kuneba, from Kuneba to Lelegedin, and from Lelegedi to Issi are estimated at 5-6 kilometers each, underscoring the interconnectedness of these sacred sites. Consequently, it is surmised that the camps of the Prophet Muhammad’s (PBH) followers were no more than an hour’s journey from one another, fostering a close-knit community united in faith and reverence.

According to available evidence, the followers of Prophet Muhammad (PBH) embarked on their journey from Shuaiba, situated south of Jeddah, eventually arriving in Kuneba via Midir. In their sojourn to the land of Abe, they experienced hospitality and acceptance without encountering any adversity or coercion regarding their faith. The historical accounts suggest that the group consisted of either 11 or 12 individuals, including four or five women, with notable figures such as Ayman Barakah of Habshawan among them. This migration marked a pivotal moment in the region’s history, heralding the beginning of a lasting bond between the followers of Prophet Muhammad (PBH) and the land of Kuneba

Ahmad Bini Zaini’s detailed account, documented in his book from 1983, sheds light on the migration of the followers of Prophet Muhammad (PBH) and their journey to the land of Kuneba. Among these devout individuals, some traveled with their families, while others embarked on the journey alone to seek refuge and preserve their faith. Noteworthy figures such as Abdul Rehman Bini Ouf, Zuber Bini Awam, and Usman Bini Affan, accompanied by his wife Ruqiya, the daughter of Prophet Muhammad, were among those who made the arduous journey.

As the narrative unfolds, Ahmad Bini Zaini delves into the events surrounding the second migration (Hijrah), highlighting the presence of Ja’far bini Abu Talib, Abdullahi bini Jahsh, and Umm Habiba, the daughter of Abi Sufyan, among the refugees. Additionally, he reports the inclusion of Abu Musa Al Ash’ari, a revered companion of the Prophet Muhammad, among their ranks. These individuals, driven by their unwavering faith and commitment to their beliefs, sought sanctuary in distant lands, including the fertile plains of Kuneba.

Further insights into the historical context emerge from the writings of the author of Jawahirul Habshan, particularly in his discussion of Ahmad Al-Najashi’s country. Situated at a distance of four or five days’ journey from the city of Miedir, Najashi’s domain held significance as a refuge for those seeking solace and religious freedom. The city of Miedir, nestled on the coast of Afar, served as a pivotal waypoint along the route traversed by Abu Musa al-Ash’ari and others on their pilgrimage to Najashi’s realm. The proximity of Miedir to Najashi’s grave underscores the pivotal role played by this region as a gateway for the spread of Islam from Arabia to the western shores of the Red Sea, thereby facilitating its diffusion into Africa through three distinct avenues.

Through meticulous research and detailed accounts such as those provided by Ahmad Bini Zaini and other scholars, the narrative of the migration of the followers of Prophet Muhammad (PBH)  to Kuneba is enriched, offering invaluable insights into the historical tapestry of the region and the enduring legacy of faith and resilience embodied by these early pioneers of Islam.

The migration (Hijra) of the early followers of Prophet Muhammad to Habsha holds significant prominence in the annals of Islamic history. Ethiopia, our beloved country, stands as a beacon of hospitality, having welcomed adherents of various faiths throughout its storied past. Just as it embraced followers of the Jewish and Christian faiths, Ethiopia opened its arms to those who sought refuge and religious freedom, including the close companions of the Prophet Muhammad.

There are three primary directions through which these early migrants entered Habesha:

Through the Afar Triangle: This route extended from the Dahlak Islands to the city of Zeilaa, serving as a crucial corridor for the migration of the Prophet’s followers. The Afar region, with its strategic location and historical ties to trade routes, provided a conducive environment for peaceful coexistence and cultural exchange.

Mitswana and Dekenu (Hargigo): Another route through which the followers of Prophet Muhammad entered Habesha was via Mitswana and Dekenu, known today as Hargigo. This path facilitated the migration of individuals and families seeking refuge from persecution and strife, further enriching the cultural fabric of the region.

The Territory of Kuneba: Kuneba emerged as a significant entry point for the migration of Prophet Muhammad’s followers into the Afar region. Its geographical position and historical significance made it an attractive destination for those fleeing civil unrest, famine, and other challenges in Arabia.

The widespread spread of Islam in the land of Afar can be attributed, in part, to the peaceful coexistence and religious tolerance fostered by the region since the first Hijra. The followers of Prophet Muhammad (PBH) found solace and security in Afar, contributing to the region’s cultural diversity and religious pluralism.

Moreover, the migration of individuals and families from Arabia to Afar was motivated by various historical factors, including civil wars, famines, and trade opportunities. In essence, the migration of the followers of Prophet Muhammad to Afar reflects a convergence of historical circumstances and cultural dynamics, highlighting the region’s enduring legacy as a haven of peace and religious harmony

The civil war following the assassination of the 3rd Caliph, Usman Ibni Affan, left a profound impact on the Arabian Peninsula, leading to widespread unrest and upheaval known as the “Alfituntul Kubra” or the Great Terror. This period of turmoil compelled many Arabs to flee their homelands in search of safety and stability, prompting a significant wave of migration to neighboring regions. Among the casualties of this conflict was Zeid Bini Ali Zainul Abdin, whose death further fueled the exodus of displaced individuals and families.

As a result of the civil war and its aftermath, numerous Arabs found refuge in territories beyond the Arabian Peninsula, including Ethiopia, Eritrea, Somalia, and Djibouti. These regions offered sanctuary to those fleeing persecution and violence, contributing to the diverse ethnic and cultural landscape of the Horn of Africa.

Furthermore, the migration of Arabs to Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Somalia was not solely driven by political instability but also by a desire to propagate and teach their religion. Many individuals and groups from Arab descent ventured into these lands with the primary mission of spreading Islamic teachings and establishing religious communities.

Thus, the presence of Arabs in the Afar region and other parts of the Horn of Africa is deeply intertwined with the historical events of civil strife, religious propagation, and economic exchange. Their migration and settlement have left an indelible mark on the region’s social fabric, enriching it with diverse traditions, languages, and customs.

Five Great Pieces of Evidence in the Efiso River:

Grave of the Followers of Prophet Muhammad: One of the significant landmarks in the Efiso River is the grave site of the followers of Prophet Muhammad, underscoring the region’s early embrace of Islam.

Ancient Mosque: Another notable feature is an ancient mosque where worshippers of that era gathered for prayers, symbolizing the religious fervor and devotion of the local population.

Irrigated Farm: Evidence of the agricultural practices of the time, such as irrigated farms established by the early inhabitants, highlights their resourcefulness and agricultural knowledge.

Perennial Source of Nourishment: The presence of a perennial water source that remains abundant throughout the seasons underscores the region’s suitability for habitation and sustenance, contributing to its appeal as a settlement area.

Ancient Market: Lastly, the existence of an ancient market along the riverbank reflects the area’s significance as a commercial hub and trading center, facilitating economic exchanges and cultural interactions among diverse communities.

These sites serve as tangible reminders of the profound influence of Islam in the Afar region and stand as testament to the enduring legacy of its early adherents. They represent sacred spaces where spiritual devotion, community gatherings, economic activities, and cultural traditions intersect, preserving the rich tapestry of the region’s Islamic heritage for generations to come

The utilization of trees for shipbuilding has long been integral to the maritime history of the Afar region. Renowned for their seafaring prowess and navigational skills, the Afars established Red Sea ports where they constructed boats and ships for various purposes including fishing, trade, and military expeditions. These vessels not only facilitated commerce and transportation but also played a crucial role in projecting power and influence across the seas.

Drawing parallels with ancient civilizations such as the Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians, the Afar civilization shares a similar trajectory of maritime development and cultural exchange. Historical records attest to the interconnectedness of these civilizations, underscoring the Afars’ position as maritime pioneers in the region.

Ship Building

In Islamic history, references to warships built in ancient Afar seaports and deployed to strategic locations like Yemen, Arabia, and Persia abound. Emperor Caleb’s construction of hundreds of warships in various ports, as mentioned in the Qur’an, exemplifies the naval strength and expansionist ambitions of the Afar rulers.

The tradition of shipbuilding and maritime trade endured in the Afar region until the 19th century, with the bustling shipping industry flourishing until external influences disrupted its course. The occupation of Harare by Turkey in 1874 marked a turning point, leading to a decline in maritime activities. Despite the absence of colonial powers like Turkey, Britain, and France in the 20th century, the legacy of Afar shipbuilding persisted, fueled by the abundant natural resources of the region.

Key among these resources was the revered olooito tree, renowned for its durability and resilience. Believed by some to be impervious to axe blows, the olooito tree, along with other robust species such as olive and cedar, provided the essential raw material for ship construction. From the sturdy hulls of warships to the graceful lines of trading vessels, these trees formed the backbone of Afar maritime heritage, symbolizing the ingenuity and craftsmanship of its seafaring communities

Conclusion

The rich Islamic heritage of the Afar region not only holds profound historical significance but also offers immense potential for Islamic tourism and economic development. The presence of sacred sites, such as the tombs of revered companions of Prophet Muhammad and ancient mosques, serves as a compelling draw for Muslim pilgrims and tourists seeking spiritual enrichment and cultural immersion.

The preservation and promotion of these sites can catalyze the growth of Islamic tourism, attracting visitors from across the globe and contributing to the socio-economic advancement of the region. Investments in infrastructure, hospitality services, and cultural preservation initiatives are essential to enhance the visitor experience and ensure the sustainable development of Islamic tourism in the Afar region.

Furthermore, the maritime heritage of the Afar people, particularly their tradition of shipbuilding and maritime trade, offers unique opportunities for economic diversification and job creation. Leveraging the region’s natural resources, such as the olooito tree and other sturdy timber species, can revitalize the shipbuilding industry and foster trade relations with neighboring countries.

By harnessing the potential of its Islamic heritage and maritime legacy, the Afar region can emerge as a vibrant hub for Islamic tourism and economic prosperity. Through strategic investments and collaborative efforts, stakeholders can unlock the full potential of this culturally rich and historically significant region, paving the way for sustainable growth and prosperity for generations to come.

Contributed by Teshome Berhanu Kemal

Within this landscape, Ethiopia occupies a uniquely pivotal position. The Ethiopian highlands supply nearly 100 billion cubic meters of water each year to Sudan, Egypt, and Somalia. These rivers sustain populations far beyond Ethiopia’s borders, even as Ethiopia itself relies heavily on rainfall and remains highly vulnerable to climate variability. Water, more than oil or minerals, is the region’s most contested resource, and this reality shapes the strategic calculations of states across the Horn of Africa and the wider Middle East.

The Horn of Africa does not exist in isolation. It is tightly linked—economically, culturally, and politically—to the Middle East. Demographic pressures and limited arable land, coupled with declining oil revenues, have driven Middle Eastern countries to invest heavily in African land and water resources. At the same time, security concerns—ranging from terrorism to competition over the Red Sea—ensure that political developments on one shore reverberate across the other. Any weakening of African presence in this space risks shifting the balance of power in ways that could undermine long-term regional stability.

In this context, Ethiopia—due to its population, geography, historical presence, and natural resources—remains central to the future of the Red Sea and the Horn of Africa.

Unlike many Red Sea–adjacent states, Ethiopia is not an arid region. Its temperate highlands, abundant water, and elevated terrain make it a natural vantage point over the region’s most strategic sea lanes. Its large and growing population, coupled with its role as an economic powerhouse of the region, provides Ethiopia with a geopolitical influence that extends far beyond its borders. This combination enables Ethiopia not only to project regional stability but also to offer security guarantees in the Horn of Africa. Historically, these attributes have drawn the interest of global powers and ensured Ethiopia’s centrality in regional affairs.

During the 19th century, colonial powers, along with others driven by various ambitions, have long sought influence in the Horn—sometimes through political pressure, sometimes through internal interference, and at times through military confrontation. Ethiopia’s enduring independence, despite these pressures, stands out in African history.

The question now is not whether Ethiopia has been resilient, but how it can leverage that resilience to shape its future strategic posture in the Red Sea.

Ethiopia’s history offers a clear lesson: control of coastal access has always been linked to national strength, economic vitality, and cultural flourishing.

The Axumite Empire—recognized in antiquity as one of the world’s great powers—prospered because of its Red Sea port at Adulis. Its extensive coinage, international trade networks, and diplomatic presence across the Mediterranean and Indian Ocean testify to what Ethiopia achieved with maritime access. When Axum was pushed away from the coast, economic decline followed, and the minting of currency ceased for nearly a millennium. Centuries later, Ethiopian leaders repeatedly sought to restore coastal control. Among them, Amda Seyon I (r. 1314–1344) strengthened authority around Zeila to protect trade and stabilize the corridor, Zera Yacob (r. 1434–1468) built an administrative system reaching towards Massawa and revived commercial activity in the northern region, and successive emperors risked—and sometimes lost—their lives to secure the coastline.

Following Ethiopia’s resistance and defeat of Fascist Italy’s aggression, Tsehafi Taezaz Aklilu Habte-Wold (Foreign Minister of Ethiopia from 1947 to 1958 and Prime Minister from 1961 to 1974) and other leaders worked tirelessly to restore Ethiopian access to the Red Sea, fully recognizing the consequences of losing it. These efforts were not driven by expansionism but by recognition of a simple truth: maritime access was essential for national survival and development.

Modern economic research confirms what Ethiopian history long ago revealed. Landlocked countries face steep challenges: high import and export costs, dependence on transit states, and limited ability to integrate into global markets. Even with abundant resources or an industrious population, geography imposes constraints that can slow growth and undermine political autonomy.

Across Africa and Asia, landlocked nations—from Mali to Nepal—have experienced embargoes, transit restrictions, and economic coercion by neighbors who control their routes to the sea. Political vulnerability follows economic dependence.

Ethiopia has not been immune to this dynamic. During the 1936 aggression by Fascist Italy, when Ethiopia was fighting to defend its sovereignty, French authorities controlling Djibouti blocked vital arms shipments purchased by Ethiopia. This episode reflected how external control over maritime access can directly shape Ethiopia’s security at decisive moments.

A Strategic Question for Ethiopia’s Future

For Ethiopia, access to the sea is not an abstract debate. It is a question that touches on economic resilience, national unity, and long-term sovereignty.

Shared interests, shared futures, and shared assets are essential elements to bind a diverse nation together. Maritime access is one such asset. When nations possess vital infrastructure or economic lifelines, they have stronger incentives to preserve unity. When those assets are absent—or externally controlled—fragmentation becomes easier.

Thus, Ethiopia’s pursuit of assured maritime access is neither aggression nor expansion. It is a legitimate strategic priority rooted in geography, history, and economic necessity.

It is also not a demand directed against Eritrea as a people or a nation. Ethiopia and Eritrea share deep historical, cultural, and social ties. Their futures are intertwined. The question is how both countries—within a framework of mutual respect and sovereign equality—can build a stable Red Sea region that serves their common interests. Ethiopia stands at a critical juncture. Its economy is growing, its regional role is expanding, and the geopolitical value of the Red Sea is rising.

Regional and Global Strategic Benefits of Ethiopia’s Quest to Regain Sea Access

Ethiopia’s geographical location in the Horn of Africa positions it as a key geostrategic hub connecting the Middle East, Europe, and Asia. The region borders the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean, serving as a vital global trade route, including the Bab el-Mandeb Strait, through which a significant portion of world shipping passes. As the historical cradle of early human civilization and a region with deep ties to the three Abrahamic religions, it has long faced multifaceted security challenges.

These include terrorism (such as from groups like al-Shabaab), piracy in the Gulf of Aden, human trafficking, arms smuggling, and drug trafficking. Ethiopia stands as a major anchor state in the Horn, contributing significantly to regional stability through its involvement in peacekeeping missions and counterterrorism efforts alongside major powers like the US and other middle powers with a presence in the region.

For over three decades, Ethiopia’s security contributions have primarily been land- and air-based, as the country became landlocked following Eritrea’s independence in 1993. For Ethiopia, securing reliable sea access could enhance its monitoring and response to regional threats in the Red Sea, potentially bolstering international security efforts against piracy and terrorism.

Additionally, it would foster economic growth for Africa’s second-most populous nation, which has over 120 million people, and promote regional integration.

To secure its future, Ethiopia must develop a strategy that recognizes the strategic weight of the Red Sea corridor, the geopolitical pressures of the Middle East and Nile basin, the vulnerabilities inherent in its landlocked position, the opportunities that come from regional cooperation grounded in mutual benefit, and the imperative to convince the international community that Ethiopia’s access to the sea is existential and vital for protecting global maritime security, supporting regional peace, and fostering economic integration.

The Red Sea is not simply a body of water. For Ethiopia, it represents economic lifelines, national cohesion, and long-term security. History makes one point unmistakably clear: Ethiopia has flourished when connected to the sea and faltered when cut off from it.

Silabat Manaye is an international relations professional based in Addis Ababa. His research interests include water politics, geopolitics in the Horn of Africa, and war journalism. He authored two books on Nile geopolitics.

Contributed by Silabat Manaye

But the crop has long been vulnerable to bollworms—pests that damage bolls and reduce farmers’ harvests by as much as 60 percent. Many farmers respond by spraying pesticides frequently, yet even this does not always prevent losses. As someone who has spent more than 25 years working in agricultural research, I became increasingly interested in what science might offer to help address this specific challenge. This curiosity eventually led me to work on Bt cotton.

Understanding the Bt  Cotton Approach

Bt cotton is developed using biotechnology to help the plant defend itself against certain insect pests. The “insect resistance” trait comes from Bt gene, Bacillus thuringiensis, a soil bacterium that naturally produces proteins (Cry proteins) toxic to bollworms and a few related insects. These proteins have been used in agriculture for many decades.

By introducing this trait into cotton, scientists enable the plant to produce the same protective proteins. This means the plant can resist bollworm attack more effectively, reducing the need for repeated pesticide spraying. The concept is straightforward: use a well-understood natural mechanism to give the crop an added layer of protection.

What We Observed in Ethiopia

When the Ethiopian Institute of Agricultural Research (EIAR) began testing Bt cotton, our team conducted trials across multiple regions. We planted Bt cotton alongside the varieties farmers were already using so we could observe the differences directly. We monitored pest levels, crop damage, and plant growth, and we worked closely with farmers who participated in the demonstrations.

In most locations, Bt cotton suffered much less damage from bollworms. The Bt varieties reduced bollworm infestation by 77 percent and boll damage by 93 percent. Farmers told us they could see the difference clearly in the field, especially during peak pest pressure. Many found that they needed fewer pesticide sprays for bollworm control compared to their usual varieties.

The results supported what has been observed in other countries. In Malawi, for example, farmers reported their harvests increased from four bales per acre to 18.5 bales, generating higher incomes and improving living standards. It also helped us understand how Bt cotton behaves under Ethiopia’s growing conditions.

Safety and Regulation

Our country has a strong agricultural research system through the Ethiopian Institute of Agricultural Research (EIAR), where I have served in various capacities since I began my career. Today, I coordinate the Open Forum on Agricultural Biotechnology (OFAB) Ethiopian chapter, which works to promote the safe and beneficial use of modern biotechnology.

Before the inception of OFAB chapter in Ethiopia, there was no platform to share information, knowledge and discuss the issues of biosafety regulation. Now, regional nodes have been established to unite clusters of universities, research centres, development bureaus, affiliated institutes and other stakeholders to demystify the role and potential of biotechnology.

Ethiopia’s biosafety system requires that genetically modified crops undergo rigorous assessment before they can be released. This includes reviewing their environmental safety, as well as monitoring requirements.

Working within this system ensured that decisions were guided by evidence. It also helped us share information with farmers, and policymakers so they could understand how the technology works and how it was evaluated.

The development of Ethiopia’s regulatory system has enabled the second approval for genetically engineered cotton after the first varieties were approved for commercialisation in 2018. I believe the commercialisation of Bt-GT cotton will help revitalize Ethiopia’s textile industry by providing an increased supply of high-quality cotton. This is essential for meeting the goal of achieving clothing exports of USD 30 billion a year by 2030.

Reflections From the Field

My work with Bt cotton showed me how a targeted scientific solution can help address a clearly defined agricultural problem. The technology was not designed to solve every challenge facing cotton farmers, but it does offer a practical response to one of the most persistent and damaging pests in the sector. When combined with good agronomy and reliable seed supply, the results were encouraging.

As Ethiopia continues exploring different approaches to strengthen agricultural production, my experience with Bt cotton underscored the value of testing ideas carefully, listening to farmers, and allowing evidence to guide decisions.

Tadessa Daba (PhD) is a Lead Researcher on Agricultural Biotechnology at the Ethiopian Institute of Agricultural Research (EIAR) and Ethiopia coordinator of the Open Forum on Agricultural Biotechnology.

 Contributed by Tadessa Daba (PhD)