The Scale of the Boom: From Ritual to Routine

Addis Ababa is in the grip of a raw-meat revolution. A decade ago, the siga bet was a notable but limited feature of the city’s dining scene. Today, it is an industry. Addis Ababa’s two main abattoirs—the municipal Kera Abattoir (Addis Ababa Abattoir Enterprise) and ELFORA Agro- Industries—together supply more than 4000 registered butcher shops across the city. Available assessments suggest daily slaughter capacities on the order of a thousand head of cattle, with Kera averaging around 1300 per day and ELFORA’s Addis-area facility several hundred more. A significant share of this meat is served as kitfo, tire siga, gored gored, and zelzel tibs.

This is not merely a change in diet but the creation of a massive new urban supply chain. The act of eating raw meat—once tied to holidays and weddings—has become an everyday performance of status. The sheer appetite for meat now sustains a vast economy of abattoirs, delivery trucks, and open-fire kitchens—a transformation that fundamentally redefines Addis Ababa’s modern urban metabolism. These figures hint at more than culinary enthusiasm; they mark a structural shift in how the city eats and what that appetite demands.

The Stage and Its Players

Inside one of these establishments, the scene is unmistakably urban. The atmosphere is loud, driven by music, conversation, and the constant roar of a huge television permanently tuned to British soccer. Patrons—on average about thirty, mostly male though women appear in pairs or with companions—sit at tables overflowing with bottles of beer or jugs of Tekesheno (a pinkish punch of Bedele beer, Awash wine, and Sprite), decorated with slices of orange and watermelon. The air carries the combined scent of meat smoke, perfume, and alcohol. Nine waitresses in tight uniforms move continuously between tables, joined by about five atachi—“drink companions” paid to encourage patrons to drink more.

The siga bet is less a dining room than a theatre of appetite, where visibility, sound, and excess fuse into the social language of Addis Ababa’s new class. Noise levels reach 85 dBA inside and about 75 dBA outside, while the visual and sonic spectacle—soccer cheers, pounding bass, smoke haze—anchors the experience as one of display.

This performance has a specific audience. The siga bet boom rests on a deeper social shift: the rise of a non-salaried wealth class. This group, often comprised of brokers, speculative traders, and those engaged in high-turnover arbitrage, has emerged with quick, disposable income. While poverty remains widespread, this emergent stratum drives a culture where public consumption is used to quickly legitimize fast-acquired, non-productive wealth. For this group, the siga bet is not simply a place to eat; it is a stage on which belonging and prosperity are performed.

A single meal for two, with beer, can easily cost over 1,500 birr—more than a week’s wage for most residents. Public eating has become the language of social mobility. The act of consuming raw meat, while grounded in cultural continuity, now signals monetary identity—a declaration of having arrived.

The geography of this performance is visible. The corridors of Bole, CMC, Sar Bet, and Fiyel Bet are not random clusters; they are arteries of the new economy. At Fiyel Bet, a 300-meter stretch hosts nearly twenty competing establishments, lit by neon and scented by wood smoke. The expansion is propelled by the corridor project and brewery promotions that supply refrigerators, umbrellas, and financial incentives, binding beer and meat in one commercial ecosystem.

The story, then, is not simply about rising meat consumption, but about how appetite has become architecture—and economy—in the city.

Cultural Continuity Meets Industrial Demand

Ethiopia’s attachment to raw meat runs deep. Long before refrigeration, households slaughtered an ox for holidays and weddings. Eating it raw was both practical and symbolic—celebrating freshness, bravery, and trust. The act of sharing tere siga anchored social life much as bread does elsewhere.

What has changed is not the tradition but its rhythm. Ritual has become routine. Refrigerated trucks now ferry carcasses daily from slaughterhouses; beer companies provide equipment; and investors find the service industry, specifically restaurants, far safer than productive work. Unlike manufacturing, which requires high upfront capital, faces challenges securing space, and struggles with foreign-exchange bottlenecks and import hurdles, a siga bet offers quicker returns on modest capital with fewer regulatory barriers. Cultural legitimacy meets commercial logic—and scale changes everything.

The ox slaughtered for a village wedding has become the daily supply for a busy restaurant. What was once communal celebration has turned into private gratification. Every plate of kitfo now represents not only the animal that provided it but also the wood, charcoal, and energy burned to prepare it—and the methane and carbon that rise invisibly from both stove and cattle.

Behind this cultural continuity lies an expanding material footprint—a new urban metabolism of firewood, smoke, and carbon whose scale remains uncounted, and whose costs are therefore borne invisibly by the city itself

The Urban Energy Paradox: Counting the Toll

The appetite that animates Addis Ababa’s siga bets defines an uncounted part of its energy economy. Every plate of kitfo or gored gored carries an invisible chain of wood, carbon, and pasture stretching from the city’s kitchens to the countryside.

Drawing on field observations, market data, and modeled estimates, we mapped both sides of this hidden ledger—the fuel toll and the livestock toll. The figures are indicative, not official, but they provide the first integrated picture of the scale and environmental footprint of Addis Ababa’s raw- meat economy.

Each siga bet typically spends 40,000–60,000 birr per month on firewood. At 18–22 birr per kg, that translates to roughly 27–33 tons per year, or about 160 kg on active days. Scaled to the city’s estimated 600–1,200 establishments, Addis Ababa’s grills collectively burn 22,000–32,000 tons of firewood annually, releasing 38,000–54,000 tons CO₂ and drawing on the equivalent sustainable growth of 2,400–3,600 hectares of forest. These numbers are necessarily approximations, but even at the lower bound they reveal a scale far greater than any household or institutional cooking sector in the city.

The livestock footprint is far larger still. Using updated consumption baselines and city-level slaughter data, Addis Ababa likely consumes 50,000–60,000 tons of beef annually, equivalent to roughly 340,000–375,000 head of cattle. Applying Ethiopia-specific Tier 2 emission factors (8– 30 kg CO₂e per kg beef) yields 400,000–1.8 million tons CO₂e per year. Combined, the raw-meat and grill economy contributes between 0.5 and 1.9 million tons CO₂e annually, large enough to merit inclusion in the city’s carbon accounts and climate-action planning.

Yet these city-wide figures obscure a more immediate human cost. Behind each dining room lies a closed kitchen where a small exhaust fan struggles against the haze. Measurements show PM₂.₅ concentrations near 600 µg/m³ in the kitchen, falling to 300 µg/m³ outside the door and 150–250 µg/m³ in the main hall—up to twenty-four times the WHO’s safe-air guideline. Cooks and servers inhale this air for hours each day, and the patrons who fill the hall breathe it as they eat, talk, and watch the televised matches. The restaurant’s sound and spectacle mask what is, in effect, an indoor pollution chamber.

In the afternoon alone, more than a dozen women—waitresses and atachi—work within this cloud, but exposure extends to everyone present. The smoke that escapes through the kitchen door or out to the street drifts into neighboring shops and sidewalks, carrying fine particulates that settle on lungs long after the last plate of kitfo is cleared.

If even a fraction of these emissions and health costs were monetized, Addis Ababa’s hidden burden would rise by hundreds of millions of birr each year. These calculations are not a census but a map—a first attempt to make visible what remains invisible. Firewood purchases are unrecorded, emissions uncounted, and health impacts unpriced. Still, the direction is unmistakable: the most visible smoke in Addis Ababa is the least accounted for in its policies. The cost of this invisibility is not only ecological but economic — a hidden subsidy that the public pays each day in health, carbon, and forest loss.

Ending the Free Lunch

Addis Ababa’s restaurants have dined too long on a public subsidy disguised as smoke. They pay for wood but not for the forests, for chefs but not for the lungs that breathe their haze. The siga bet economy thrives on this unspoken bargain: profit for a few, pollution for all.

But the siga bet is only the most visible part of a much larger problem. Nearly every café, small eatery, and hotel kitchen in the city still relies on firewood or charcoal. The same fires that power the raw-meat boom also heat stews, boil coffee, and bake bread citywide. The siga bet merely exposes, in concentrated form, Addis Ababa’s broader dependence on biomass energy.

Even under conservative assumptions, the city’s siga bets and related restaurants emit between half a million and nearly two million tons of CO₂e each year. At a modest carbon price of USD 15 per ton, this represents a hidden public cost of roughly 1–4 billion birr—money the city forfeits by allowing polluters to externalize the cost of their smoke. Redirected, it would be enough to finance the full transition of every siga bet to clean-cooking technologies while also supporting thousands of smaller cafés and eateries that still depend on firewood or charcoal. In short, what Addis Ababa now loses in untreated emissions each year could, if properly priced, fund its own clean-kitchen revolution.

The first step to recovering that loss is knowing where it comes from. Yet no authority currently tracks how much biomass the city’s restaurants consume or what it costs in fuel, emissions, or health. This absence of data makes both accountability and reform impossible. Without a system to measure and disclose biomass use, Addis Ababa cannot manage the economic or environmental toll of its kitchens. This blindness reflects a failure of political imagination and inter-agency coordination—a reluctance to regulate a culturally popular industry that serves an influential class. Even as the city advances its Green Legacy campaign, it has no mechanism to ensure its kitchens join that vision. Addis Ababa plants trees with one hand and burns them with the other.

That contradiction can be resolved within a year. The city should require restaurants, cafés, and hotels to report quarterly fuel purchases. Medium- and high-margin venues—those serving more than fifty customers a day or spending over twenty thousand birr monthly on fuel—should adopt certified clean-burning systems within twelve months. After that grace period, any establishment still burning firewood or charcoal would pay a levy proportional to fuel use. The revenue would fund inspection, air-quality monitoring, and small-business incentives through a Clean Urban Energy Fund.

Such a measure would also give concrete form to the Prime Minister’s call for a “Clean Ethiopia.” The national initiative, originally framed around reforestation and urban greening, remains incomplete without clean kitchens. Extending its vision from the planting of trees to the prevention of their combustion would transform a symbolic effort into a structural one—linking Addis Ababa’s urban energy reform directly to Ethiopia’s broader environmental agenda.

This is not punishment but correction—the end of an unfair subsidy. Larger venues can finance the transition; smaller eateries will follow as technology diffuses. The same framework can serve other cities—Adama, Hawassa, Bahir Dar—as they urbanize.

Critics may warn that such a policy risks harming an industry that provides thousands of jobs for waiters, cooks, butchers, and suppliers. But this argument mistakes a temporary subsidy for sustainable growth. The sector’s current profitability and employment depend on externalizing its environmental costs to the public. Transitioning to clean cooking would not eliminate these jobs— it would move them onto a sustainable footing, while generating new work in clean-energy installation, maintenance, and fuel supply.

The siga bet is also the logical starting point for reform. It concentrates the city’s most acute exposures—kitchens where PM₂.₅ levels reach six to thirty times the WHO limit—making action here a matter of both public health and environmental justice, particularly for the young women who staff them. It is also the segment most capable of absorbing the cost of transition. By beginning where capacity and urgency coincide, the city can establish the technical and regulatory foundation for cleaner kitchens across the entire hospitality sector.

Addis Ababa’s problem is not scarcity; it is blindness. The city cannot claim a sustainable future while ignoring the fires that already burn within it. Bringing its kitchens into the clean-energy transition is an act of justice, not charity. Businesses that profit by taxing the public through smoke and deforestation have enjoyed a free lunch long enough. One year is time enough to pay the bill.

Tsegaye Nega is a Professor Emeritus at Carleton College in the United States and the Founder and CEO of Anega Energies Manufacturing.

Contributed by Tsegaye Nega

The traditional government approach – viewing critical media primarily through a security lens – has proven to be a strategic failure. As one seasoned editor in our discussions starkly put it, “You cannot jail your way to a harmonious information space.” This strategy does not eliminate toxic narratives; it merely decentralises and radicalises them. The proliferation of partisan, often virulent, YouTube channels run by exiled journalists is a direct symptom of a stifled domestic ecosystem. Meanwhile, within the country, a permissive environment for misinformation that aligns with certain viewpoints, coupled with a punitive one for dissent, has created a crisis of credibility that erodes the very notion of shared truth.

Concurrently, the media market itself is failing. The commercial and algorithmic incentives of the digital age disproportionately reward sensationalism, conflict, and polarising content. As one talk show host noted with frustration, “A nuanced discussion on constitutional law gets a fraction of the views of a heated debate filled with personal insults and ethnic baiting.” This is a market failure that actively undermines social cohesion and national unity.

The question before us is not whether to reform, but how. The insights from media professionals point to a blueprint built on three core, interconnected pillars: institutionalising truth, empowering the public through the media itself, and strategically correcting the market to support peace-building journalism. The recent announcement of a government-led Media Centre of Excellence could be the catalyst that brings this blueprint to life, but only if it embraces a truly collaborative and inclusive model.

Pillar One: Institutionalising Truth Through Independent Fact-Checking

At the heart of the current information crisis is a deficit of trust. The public is adrift in a sea of claims and counterclaims with no universally accepted arbiter of truth. Government statements are often viewed with suspicion by large segments of the population, while partisan media outlets preach to their own choirs. The solution, widely advocated in our discussions, is the establishment of robust, autonomous fact-checking organisations.

These cannot be government departments or state-affiliated bodies. Their power derives entirely from their perceived impartiality and independence. Their mandate would be to serve the public, not any political master. Imagine a nationally recognised entity, governed by a board comprising retired judges, respected civil society leaders, academic experts, and veteran journalists from diverse backgrounds. This structure would be designed to insulate it from the political pressures of the day.

The work of such a body would extend far beyond simply debunking viral social media posts. It would need to be technologically sophisticated, employing digital verification tools to detect deepfakes, analyse manipulated imagery, and trace the origins of coordinated disinformation campaigns. Furthermore, it could maintain a public, searchable database of verified claims and promises made by public figures, institutions, and media outlets themselves, fostering a culture of long-term accountability.

The benefits for the media industry would be immense. Instead of every newsroom struggling to verify every piece of information independently—a resource-intensive process—they could partner with and cite this independent body. This would raise the professional standard across the board, create a shared basis for factual reporting, and free up resources for deeper investigative work. For the public, it would provide a desperately needed neutral resource, a compass to navigate the chaotic information landscape. This is not about creating a “Ministry of Truth,” but about fostering an independent institution dedicated to evidence and verification, a foundation upon which rational public discourse can be built.

Pillar Two: Empowering the Public Through Media-Led Education

A common reflexive response to the problem of misinformation is to call on the Ministry of Education to integrate media literacy into the national curriculum. While this is a valuable long-term goal, it is insufficient to address the immediate crisis. We cannot wait for a new generation to graduate; we must equip the current population of media consumers now.

The more direct and powerful solution is to leverage the media itself as the primary vehicle for public education. The core suggestion is not that the government should teach the public about the media, but that it should actively support and encourage media organisations to produce and broadcast programming that educates its audience on how to consume media critically.

This is a mission that aligns perfectly with the media’s role as a public trustee. Imagine prime-time programming dedicated to deconstructing how misinformation spreads. This could include weekly television or radio segments where journalists break down the week’s most viral rumours, showing the public their “forensic” process of verification; public service announcements that offer simple, memorable tips: “Check the source,” “Look for corroboration,” “Be wary of emotional manipulation,” talk shows and documentaries that explore the business models of attention-based media, explaining why sensationalism is so prevalent; and collaborations with tech companies and civil society to amplify these messages on the very platforms where misinformation thrives.

The government’s role here is not to dictate content, but to create an enabling environment. This could involve tax incentives for broadcasters who dedicate a certain percentage of their programming to such public education initiatives, or granting such content fulfilment of public service broadcasting requirements. By supporting the media to do this job itself, we achieve a double objective: we educate the public directly through the most powerful channels available, and we foster a culture of self-regulation and professional responsibility within the industry. An informed citizenry is the ultimate bulwark against manipulation, and the media must be at the forefront of creating it.

Pillar Three: Strategic Support to Correct Market Failure

This is perhaps the most delicate and nuanced pillar of the reform blueprint. There is a fundamental and non-negotiable principle: the media must remain independent from direct government control and editorial interference. The state cannot be an editor.

However, to ignore the market’s structural incentives for conflict is to be wilfully blind. As one media owner in our focus groups confessed, “Covering a peace-building ceremony doesn’t sell. Covering a violent clash does. Our advertisers, our algorithms, our audience metrics—they all push us toward conflict.” This is a classic market failure, where the pursuit of private profit creates a significant public cost in the form of social discord.

Therefore, the government has a legitimate role in correcting this failure. The key is to provide support without demanding subservience. The model should be similar to public broadcasting support in other democracies, but with a focus on nurturing a diverse private media sector.

The mechanism could involve the establishment of an independent, transparently managed Public Interest Media Fund. Governed by a non-partisan board similar to the proposed fact-checking body, this fund would provide grants to private media outlets for specific projects that serve the public good. Funding would prioritize in-depth investigative reporting on issues of national development, the production of high-quality content that promotes inter-ethnic understanding, tolerance, and national unity, and solutions-oriented journalism that highlights successful community reconciliation and development efforts. It would also support media outlets that demonstrate a strong commitment to ethical standards and maintain diversity within their newsrooms.

This is not a handout; it is a strategic investment in social cohesion. It creates a parallel incentive structure that makes peace-building journalism financially viable. A newspaper could apply for a grant to run a series on successful cross-cultural trade partnerships, or a television station could get support to produce a documentary on the shared historical roots of different Ethiopian communities. This approach empowers media outlets to make ethical choices without facing commercial suicide. It allows the government to champion peace and fraternity not through coercion, but through smart, principled partnership with a fiercely independent press.

The Centre of Excellence: A Test of Commitment and Collaboration

The recent launch of the Media Centre of Excellence is a welcome and potentially transformative development. It signals a recognition from the highest levels that the status quo is untenable. However, its impact will be determined by its design and implementation.

For the Centre to be a true engine of reform, it must be more than a government think-tank or a training school for state-media journalists. Its credibility and effectiveness hinge on its ability to become a neutral, collaborative platform that involves private media outlets and seasoned professionals in its very fabric.

I earnestly hope that the Centre’s governance structure includes significant representation from the Ethiopian Media Council, the Association of Broadcasters, and other independent professional bodies. Its advisory boards should be filled with the most respected editors and reporters from across the media spectrum, including those who have been critical of the government.

The Centre’s work programme should directly operationalise the three pillars. It can be the host for developing the technical standards and governance models for the independent fact-checking coalition. It can be the hub that develops the curricula and training materials for the public-facing media literacy programmes, offering its resources to all media houses. Crucially, it can serve as the independent secretariat for the proposed Public Interest Media Fund, managing the grant application and review process with transparency and professional rigour.

If it becomes a closed, state-dominated institution, it will be stillborn, viewed with suspicion and dismissed as a propaganda arm. But if it embraces a bold, inclusive, and collaborative mission, it can become the linchpin of a new Ethiopian media consensus.

Conclusion: A Shared Responsibility

The blueprint outlined here—built on independent fact-checking, media-led public education, and market-correcting support for peace-building content—is not a quick fix. It is a fundamental re-imagining of the relationship between the state, the media, and the public. It replaces a paradigm of control with one of strategic empowerment.

The government’s role shifts from primary censor to primary guarantor of a healthy information ecosystem, through enabling policy and independent institutions. The media’s responsibility deepens, requiring a renewed commitment to professionalism and its role as an educator of the public. And the public becomes an active, critical participant, rather than a passive recipient of information.

The establishment of the Media Centre of Excellence is a promising step. It is now the responsibility of all stakeholders – policymakers, media owners, journalists, and civil society – to engage with this process vigorously and ensure it lives up to its transformative potential. The cost of inaction is continued polarisation and strife. The reward for getting this right is a media that truly serves the people of Ethiopia, fostering a national dialogue that is not only free but also responsible, constructive, and worthy of our nation’s immense potential.

Tadesse Biru is an experienced researcher at the London Metropolitan University in the UK. He holds an interdisciplinary doctoral degree in Social Sciences from the Graduate School for Social Research and a Master of Arts (MA) in Peace Studies and Conflict Resolution from London Metropolitan University.

Contributed by Tadesse Biru Kersmo (PhD)

Since its creation in 2002 as the successor to the Organisation of African Unity (OAU), the AU has consolidated its role as a leading regional organization promoting peace, unity, and cooperation. Mexico recognizes that one of the AU’s greatest strengths lies in its ability to articulate common African positions, foster consensus and advance the African policies and aims in international forums, enhancing the voice of its member states in global decision-making. Initiatives like the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA) exemplify this cooperative spirit, strengthening Africa’s economic integration and its capacity to negotiate collectively, an area in which Mexico has distinguished itself for its experience, its commitment to socially conscious trade liberalization, and its ability to address the challenges posed by free trade.

Mexico strongly identifies with this comprehensive approach, as it too has long championed a rules-based international order and regional cooperation as foundations for equitable global governance. The AU’s strategic framework, Agenda 2063, is a powerful demonstration of how a shared continental vision can drive sustainable development. Its emphasis on economic transformation, infrastructure connectivity, digital innovation, woman and youth development and environmental resilience resonates with Mexico’s own development priorities. As an observer, Mexico subscribes to these objectives and frequently establishes cooperation strategies to project them towards concrete results, recognizing that South-South cooperation (grounded in solidarity and mutual benefit) is essential for creating fairer and more inclusive development models. Mexico has sought to accompany African-led initiatives through technical cooperation, knowledge exchange, diaspora management, agriculture, and multilateral diplomacy, reaffirming the principle that sustainable progress requires shared responsibility.

Peace and Security remain at the heart of the AU’s achievements, particularly through the African Peace and Security Architecture (APSA). By deploying peace missions, facilitating dialogue, and promoting democratic governance, the AU has demonstrated the importance of regional solutions to regional challenges. Mexico, with its deep commitment to preventive diplomacy and peaceful conflict resolution, shares these values and supports strengthening cooperative mechanisms that build trust, protect communities, and foster stability. As an active personnel-contributing country since 2014, Mexico has been part of the peacekeeping efforts in Western Sahara (MINURSO), the Central African Republic (MINUSCA), and Mali (MINUSMA), and considering, since the beginning, the importance of including female personnel as key for the sustainability of operations.

The AU has also become a leading voice for the Global South, driving initiatives that push for fairer international financial systems, climate justice, and greater representation in global governance. Its permanent membership in the Group of Twenty (G20), something that Mexico championed vigorously since the idea emerged, marks a historic recognition of Africa’s growing leadership in shaping global economic debates. Mexico, itself a member of the G20, views this as an opportunity to deepen coordination with the AU and its member states to promote shared priorities – from sustainable financing to the reform of multilateral institutions.

As Mexico reflects on two decades of close engagement with the AU, it celebrates not only the organization’s accomplishments but also the shared principles that unite them: solidarity, cooperation, sovereignty, and collective progress. Mexico’s observer status has allowed it to strengthen political dialogue, expand economic and technical collaboration, and contribute to the broader project of elevating the Global South’s voice in global affairs.

These 20 years are more than a diplomatic anniversary; it is a reaffirmation of Mexico’s commitment to a common agenda with the African Union. Both actors believe in a world where multilateralism is a tool for justice and development, where regional cooperation drives global progress, and where the Global South plays a central role in shaping its own future. Mexico looks forward to deepening this partnership in the years to come, working alongside the AU to build a more inclusive, equitable, and sustainable international order.

(Alejandro Estivill is the Ambassador of México, and Permanent Observer to the African Union.)

Contributed by Alejandro Estivill (Amb.)

05:30AM, Three Weeks Ago. Tuesday.

The promise of free school meals begins here—in a long, corrugated metal box held together by rough-hewn wood. It feels less like a building and more like a desperate compromise against the elements. By dawn, smoke has already claimed the air, thick and stinging, rising from seven three- stone fires that fuel the city’s vision of feeding its children.

The metal door groans open, and the twenty women who cook for the school step into a wall of heat and a blinding, acrid haze. The air is thick—a particulate soup exceeding 1,000 µg/m³ of PM₂.₅—40 times the World Health Organization’s daily guideline—that catches in the throat and coats the tongue. Many of the women are mothers whose own children will later line up to eat the meals they now prepare. Inside, seven three-stone fires pulse like angry hearts. Five line one wall, two squat on the opposite end, their smoke coiling upward into a corrugated ceiling long since blackened by soot.

This is not a silent ritual. It is a roar of crackling wood and the rasping chorus of wet, rattling coughs. The women move with practiced wariness, eyes red-rimmed, clothes steeped in the ghost of fires past. There are no tables, no storage shelves, only soot-caked pots, damp logs, and the constant shuffle of bodies. Food preparation happens outside—an exile imposed by the smoke that owns the room.

Selam, the lead cook, opens a ruled notebook with soot-blackened hands. “Tea — start 05:38,” she writes, her thumb leaving a dark print on the page. Three 60-liter pots are hauled onto the stones. Their bottoms are insulated in grime, each layer of soot stealing more of the fire’s energy, leaving the flames to rage and waste.

The two-meter logs are the real masters here—heavy, stubborn, and hungry. One end burns while the other juts into the walkway, a tripping hazard and a reminder that the work demands both muscle and vigilance. Amarech, one of the younger cooks, kneels to force a log deeper into the fire, shielding her face from the blast. It will take more than an hour for the water to boil.

06:29: No steam, only smoke and heat. 06:45: A whisper of bubbles.

07:10: One pot rolls 07:25: Another.

07:40: The last.

70 minutes gone, the air unbreathable, their eyes raw. The first kettle pours at 07:50; the last cup at 08:15—one hundred and eighty liters of tea wrestled from wood and exhaustion.

When Selam shuts her notebook, a puff of soot blooms from its cover. She rubs her forehead, leaving a dark streak of fatigue. The kitchen is not a network of cooperation; it is a daily war.

The Arithmetic of Hunger

At first glance, the numbers look generous. The city allocates 32 birr per child per day for two meals. But once taxes and administrative deductions are removed, only 25 birr reaches the women who actually prepare the food. That missing seven birr creates a gulf large enough to swallow the entire program’s intent.

It is a budget built on a fiction. In one school kitchen, where twenty women feed 2,100 children, the simple math of monthly purchases proves it costs 34.7 birr to put breakfast and lunch on the table. And because market prices are never fixed, a computer model that simulates thousands of real-world price scenarios shows the likely cost is even higher—36.7 birr. The city’s 25 birr is not just insufficient; it is a fantasy.

The result is an 11 birr shortfall per child—a third of the meal’s true cost, gone. Even if the full 32 birr made it to the kitchen, it would only cover seven out of every ten meals. The program is not struggling; it is engineered to fail.

The Human Equation

Numbers alone cannot capture what that deficit looks like in practice. In kitchens like this, twenty women work from dawn until late afternoon, preparing food for more than two thousand students. Among those students are their own sons and daughters. From their classrooms, the children cannot see their mothers, but they can see the constant plume of smoke—a grim GPS coordinate marking the place where their labor, and their lungs, are spent to feed them. After all deductions, their average monthly pay is about 2,000 birr—less than the cost of lunch in the city for a week.

This situation produces predictable behavioral outcomes. High turnover is common, as many eventually leave for informal food vending or domestic work that offers slightly better pay or more autonomy. Those who stay are forced to improvise in ways that compromise the program’s objectives. When ingredient prices rise, they may develop coping mechanisms such as reducing portion sizes or stretching meals by adding water or fillers.

Food waste adds another unseen layer to the problem. Because the program requires each child to receive a fixed portion regardless of appetite, enormous amounts of food are discarded. In one school kitchen, 40 kilograms of oats were left uneaten after breakfast and 130 kilograms of injera with sauce after lunch—a waste that, at bulk prices, equals several days of wages for the cooks themselves.

The daily rhythm of cooking, serving, and scraping leftovers reveals in concrete terms the imbalance between what the city allocates and what the work demands. The women have made a system out of shortage, holding the city’s promise together with smoke, muscle, and habit.

The Environmental Debt

Every meal has an energy cost, and in Addis Ababa’s school kitchens, that cost is paid in firewood and smoke. The women feed long, heavy logs into open three-stone fires, burning through entire piles of wood each week to keep multiple 60-liter pots—some even larger— boiling simultaneously.

The system is brutally inefficient: the fires convert barely 15 percent of their energy into usable heat. The rest escapes as wasted fuel and a constant, visible haze that carries a measurable toll— PM₂.₅ levels regularly exceed 1,000 micrograms per cubic meter, forty times the World Health Organization’s safe limit. The cooks breathe this for at least six hours a day, their coughs a constant part of the kitchen’s soundtrack.

This is not just a public health crisis; it is an environmental contradiction. A back-of-the-envelope calculation is revealing: if just one school kitchen burns 30 logs a day, the city’s thousands of kitchens consume the equivalent of a small forest. A city that plants millions of seedlings under its Green Legacy Initiative is, simultaneously, feeding its children by burning down its forests. The very program meant to nurture the future is mortgaging it.

The environmental cost never appears in the program’s ledgers. Instead, it is written in the lungs of the women who keep the pots boiling—mothers slowly burning themselves to keep their children fed.

The Policy Blind Spot

The school feeding program is not collapsing because the city lacks money; it is collapsing because of a fundamental design flaw. The policy failure is precise: for every 32 BIRR the city allocates per child, a mandatory 7 BIRR is deducted before the money ever reaches the kitchen. This single step siphons off the program’s viability, leaving the cooks with an impossible budget and all the responsibility. They are forced to absorb the shocks of market inflation with no authority to adjust, rationing ingredients and diluting meals to make the numbers fit a reality that doesn’t exist.

Correcting this blind spot requires a twin focus: restoring the full budget and spending it more wisely. The most immediate step is to eliminate the seven birr deduction, a move our model shows would raise the program’s feasibility from zero to 70-75 percent. This alone would lift the cooks out of chronic loss.

But to achieve true stability, the city must also attack costs at their source. Our analysis identified that just five items—bread, eggs, injera, shiro, and cooking oil—drive roughly 70 percent of all cost variation. Bread is the single largest expense; eggs, a weekly financial shock; injera and shiro, heavy staples; and oil, a deceptively costly necessity. This concentration of cost is also an opportunity. By implementing centralized bulk purchasing for these specific staples, the city could dramatically reduce expenses, protect against inflation, and standardize quality, making the restored 32 birr stretch to its absolute limit.

Finally, sustainability is not only financial. While the cooks have a formal contract with the education bureau, their status remains that of low-wage laborers, indispensable yet undervalued.

True reform means moving beyond a contract that merely formalizes their poverty. Recognizing them as essential public service providers is not charity; it is sound institutional design. This means renegotiating their terms to include a living wage, providing protective equipment, and giving them a voice in planning. This would reduce turnover, improve food safety, and finally honor the expertise on which the entire program depends.

The policy blind spot is therefore not about insufficient generosity, but misplaced priorities. Fixing it does not require new money—only the political will to ensure every birr allocated for a child’s meal reaches the kitchen, and that every birr spent there counts.

The Unfinished Lesson

Every morning, long before the first bell, the women who sustain Addis Ababa’s school feeding program enter a world of heat and smoke to make the city’s promise real. They are the unseen architecture of public welfare—building daily continuity out of scarcity.

The lesson their work teaches is simple but unlearned: a public program fails not when its budget is too small, but when its design ignores the people who make it work. The gap between allocation and reality is not only financial; it is institutional, environmental, and moral. It is a brutal exchange where mothers consume their own health so that their children may eat today, trading years of breath for a few hours of nourishment.

Most kitchens like these carry the city’s ambitions on their backs—its commitment to child nutrition, gender equity, and clean energy—yet they do so with little more than endurance. Their kitchens, blackened by soot, stand in quiet contradiction to Ethiopia’s own aspirations under the Green Legacy, Clean Ethiopia, and Clean Kitchens initiatives. A system meant to nourish children should not poison those who prepare the food.

Restoring cooks’ access to the full budget, securing fair wages, and modernizing the kitchens with clean energy technologies would convert survival into sustainability. These changes cost less than the waste they would prevent—in food, fuel, and human health.

The unfinished lesson, then, is not about charity but coherence: that development succeeds when policy, budget, and human dignity align. No society should demand such sacrifice from its mothers in the name of public service. Until the women at the stoves can breathe clean air and earn a living wage from the meals they serve, the city’s most important social program will remain exactly what it is today—a promise still waiting to be kept.

Tsegaye Nega is a Professor Emeritus at Carleton College in the United States and the Founder and CEO of Anega Energies Manufacturing.

Contributed by Tsegaye Nega (PhD)

Ethiopia’s quest for sovereign access to the Red Sea is a defining issue for the Horn of Africa. It is not a new ambition, but a call to correct a profound historical and legal injustice. This injustice is rooted in two fundamental flaws: first, the rigid, unthinking application of a colonial boundary that defies economic, human, and geographic logic; and second, a 1993 separation process that was overseen by a temporary government with no popular or legal mandate to sign away the nation’s permanent access to the sea.

For millennia, Ethiopian civilizations were maritime powers. The Axumite Empire, for example, built its global influence from its Red Sea ports like Adulis. This ancient status was undone by a modern process that lacked legitimacy. The result is the world’s most populous landlocked nation, a status that acts as an “economic straitjacket” and a source of permanent instability for the region.

This quest is therefore about more than economics. It is about correcting a historical wrong. It is about challenging a flawed colonial line that arbitrarily divides a people—the Afar—across a border they do not recognize. And it is about appealing to a higher principle of international equity, one that prioritizes a just and lasting solution over the precarious foundations of a temporary government’s overreach.

A Decision Without a Mandate: The Illegitimacy of 1993

The process that led to Ethiopia’s current landlocked status in 1993 was profoundly illegitimate from the Ethiopian perspective. The decision to allow Eritrea’s separation without securing Ethiopia’s coastal rights was presided over by the Transitional Government of Ethiopia (TGE).

This government was, by definition, a temporary, unelected coalition of rebel fronts formed after the fall of the Derg regime in 1991. Its primary purpose was to stabilize the country and pave the way for a new constitution and democratic elections. The TGE was never given a mandate by the Ethiopian people to decide on the permanent redrawing of the nation’s borders or the surrender of its sovereign access to the sea.

Such a foundational, irreversible decision should have been reserved for a democratically elected government and subjected to a national referendum within Ethiopia. Instead, it was a permanent decision made by a temporary government.

Compounding this failure of mandate was a clear conflict of interest. The Eritrean People’s Liberation Front (EPLF), the very group seeking independence, was simultaneously a key and powerful actor within the Ethiopian transitional process. This meant one party was essentially helping to dictate the terms of its own separation from a state whose long-term national interests were not being legitimately represented.

This was a legal and moral failure. For a provisional government to authorize the permanent economic strangulation of its nation is a dereliction of its custodial duty. The process lacked constitutional legitimacy. It was a political arrangement between victorious rebel leaders, not a sustainable legal settlement between sovereign peoples. A decision of this magnitude, made without the consent of the Ethiopian populace, cannot be considered the final, just, or legitimate word on the nation’s destiny.

The Price of a Line: Economic Strangulation and a People Divided

The consequences of this illegitimate decision are felt every day. Geographically, it created the “world’s most populous landlocked country”. Economically, it put Ethiopia in an “economic straitjacket”, forcing it to pay over a billion and a half dollars annually to use foreign ports. This crippling cost drains national resources and subordinates Ethiopia’s economic destiny to its neighbours.

Nowhere is this illogic more visible than the Port of Assab. The Ethiopian case for Assab is not just about a historical claim, but about its inseparable link to the Afar people. The current border is an artificial administrative convenience from the colonial era. It arbitrarily split the Afar people, severing their cultural and economic ties.

The Afar homeland is not confined by this modern border; it stretches from Djibouti, through Assab, and deep into Ethiopia. Assab’s natural hinterland is Afar territory within Ethiopia, not the Eritrean highlands. Therefore, to deny Ethiopia access to Assab is also to deny the Afar people their most logical and historical connection to the sea and violates the rights of an indigenous people whose land was divided without their consent.

This port, which Ethiopia’s claim centres on, has a distinct history. It was developed by and for Ethiopia. The majority of investment in the port, the refinery, and the vital road infrastructure connecting it to the heartland was driven by Ethiopia. For the entire second half of the 20th century, Assab functioned as Ethiopia’s primary commercial and naval port. Today, this port– developed with Ethiopian resources to serve the Ethiopian economy – now lies largely dormant. It stands as a stark symbol of a separation that was not only illogical but was enacted without legitimate authority.

A Tale of Two Laws: Why Pragmatism Must Supersede Rigidity

The main obstacle to correcting this historical flaw is the rigid application of colonial boundaries, often defended by the legal principle of uti possidetis juris (the sanctity of colonial borders) and the “final and binding” 2002 ruling of the Eritrea-Ethiopia Boundary Commission (EEBC).

However, the legal history of this very region offers a wiser, more pragmatic precedent.

When the United Nations decided the fate of the former Italian colonies after World War II, the principle of uti possidetis juris was neither applied nor mentioned. The international community at the time understood that forcing a flawed colonial map onto a complex region was a recipe for instability. The UN’s mandate was political and pragmatic, not based on a pre-existing legal rule on borders.

In fact, the most prominent solutions considered were the very antithesis of uti possidetis juris, including partitioning Eritrea between Ethiopia and Sudan or a full “Union of Eritrea… with Ethiopia”. The final solution, UN Resolution 390 (V) in 1950, which federated the two, was a “political compromise”. Its preamble explicitly recognized “Ethiopia’s legitimate need for adequate access to the sea”. This was a successful model” that prioritized regional economic viability and security over an arbitrary line.

In stark contrast, the 2002 EEBC ruling represents a blind application of those same colonial-era boundaries. This legal rigidity ignored the successful 1950s precedent and created a manifest injustice. The Ethiopian argument holds that international law must be flexible enough to correct historical errors and appeal to broader principles of equity. When a strict legal ruling leads to a grossly inequitable and unworkable outcome – like the economic and security strangulation of a major nation – principles of justice must allow for its modification. The survival and stability of the Ethiopian state is a more fundamental principle than the permanent enforcement of a flawed colonial line.

A Way Forward

The current call for sea access must not be perceived as invalidating Eritrean sovereignty or a prelude to war. It is an urgent call to rectify the profound flaws of the 1993 separation and an appeal for a rational, 21^st Century dialogue based on mutual benefit. The goal is a new, creative, and legitimate arrangement – a lease, a special economic corridor, a port ownership stake or, perhaps, land swap – that finally and justly addresses Ethiopia’s fundamental need for the sea. The peoples of the region deserve a future based on sustainable agreements, not on the unworkable rigidity of a colonial line.

A secure and economically vibrant Ethiopia with its own port is a benefit to the entire Horn of Africa. It would de-escalate regional tensions, boost trade, and create a more balanced and stable power dynamic. An economically constrained and “geographically imprisoned” Ethiopia, on the other hand, will always remain a source of potential instability. For the sake of lasting peace and shared prosperity, it is time for the region and the world to seriously consider Ethiopia’s enduring and just quest for a return to the Red Sea.

Yonas Tesfa Sisay (PhD) is an attorney-at-law and legal consultant.

Contributed by Yonas Tesfa Sisay (PhD)

I feel a profound sense of obligation and a clear call of duty to speak frankly about the burgeoning oil and gas production in the Somali Region of Ethiopia, specifically concerning the Calub and Elele fields. Production is ramping up, and the planning for infrastructure—including oil and gas refineries and fertilizer plants—is firmly underway. With 10 billion-investment promises pouring in, the air is thick with the rhetoric of development and prosperity for the nomadic people of the Somali Region (DDS) and Ethiopia at large. But before we surrender to the euphoria of petrodollars, we must address the enduring echoes of history. Speaking truth to the power is duty and obligation upon us. This article is first series of article to highlight challenges and opportunities faced by Somali Nomads in Ethiopia to for inform, educate and advocate people in the power based on decades of observation and research.

For over a century, Somalis in Ethiopia have endured a reality shaped by wars, border conflicts, and systematic marginalization. The relative stability achieved since Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed and President Mustafe Omer came to power in 2018 was a welcome relief, marking a pause in active conflict and suffering. It was the absence of pain, not the presence of prosperity, that people first welcomed. Yet, in the quiet that followed the violence of the last regime, the cries of the victims—whose lives were shattered—still resonate in eternity. True justice for these historical wounds remains elusive, and this is the crucial challenge that defines this economic opportunity not to mention, underlying causes (policies and practices) persist.

People’s Stories and Voices

Over a century ago, a Somali elder tended his camel in Calub and at night when camel returns from grazing, he would sit in front of the camel camp. He would press his balm on the ground and say “either the hell is very close beneath this site or there is a strange thing that burning beneath this earth” indeed he was on the mark, one of world’s largest gas deposits laid under his balm which impacted the security of his offspring for decade to come. lies ahead of us a chance to turn liquid of hell into fragrance of peace and prosperity.

I was indeed fortunate to volunteer and/or work in the humanitarian response operations in 2000 and 2022 playing critical role in saving lives and reduce pain and suffering in Shebelle, Liban, Afdheer, and Fafan zones. What I have witness in 2000 humanitarian operation in Dhanan and Godey of Shebelle zone left me painful memory and comparing to the Adheer and Liban zones drought in 2022 was very different when it comes to Somali Regional State response and coordination. In my last humanitarian emergency tenure, I have met a wise elder in small village I stayed overnight. After hours of conversation over fire in an open space watching stars, he asked me about the Calub and Elele Oil and Gas situation. it will start production and wealth shall descend upon us. He gave me this strange look and said, “the Ethiopia that brands our black headed sheep as a counterbond want to produce our gas and oil beneath earth for our benefit!”. I become puzzled and quite to reflect. The Ethiopia the successfully completed world-class GERD project, successfully operates and runs amazing institutions like Ethiopian Airline, Ethiopia Telecom, and Ethiopia Power Authority, and exports Café all over world is incapable to create market and effective value chain for DDS livestock is deliberate and gross neglect.

Risk Mitigation

The extraction of natural gas and oil from the Ogaden basin is not merely an economic project; it is a historic turning point. This moment offers Ethiopia a chance to leverage its untapped wealth to transition from conflict to shared prosperity. But this transition is deeply conditional. To understand the risks, we need only look at two cautionary tales. First, the Ogoni people in Nigeria’s Niger Delta endured catastrophic environmental devastation and saw peaceful protests met with brutal repression, all while their land yielded billions in oil wealth that provided them virtually no benefit. Between 1976 and 1991 alone, over two million barrels of oil were spilled in Ogoni land across nearly 3,000 incidents. The UNEP 2011 report found benzene levels in drinking water up to 900 times above WHO guidelines in communities like Ogane. Soil, groundwater, and surface water contamination is widespread, with some areas showing refined oil floating on groundwater. Already credible research by DDS diaspora scholar like Juweria found chemical pollutants in Calub that are linked to cause serious health issues including cancer among the local population. Livestock that is the key to the nomadic livelihood would be at risk if credible environmental safeguards are not place. The evidence thus far points such precautionary steps are not taken.

Second, and closer to home, the tragedy of Sudan and South Sudan offers a vivid lesson in state-level failure. Despite immense oil wealth, the lack of a strong social contract, transparency, and a mechanism for equitable revenue sharing plunged both nations into severe economic crisis and renewed civil conflict following South Sudan’s independence. The resulting disputes over pipelines and transit fees, coupled with rampant corruption that diverted billions from public coffers, crippled their economies and humanitarian systems. These two experiences serve as stark, indelible lessons: if development is not rooted in absolute transparency and equity, new wealth risks becoming a new source of conflict, turning a potential blessing into a resource curse that only perpetuates the cycles of marginalization that define the region’s past.

“Getting it right, no second chance” demands immediate, concrete actions that prioritize the people who have paid the highest price. The current opacity and secrecy surrounding the initial process—including the lack of public consultation and awareness-raising—are deeply concerning and must be reversed immediately. Firstly, accountability and justice must be actively sought, not deferred. While we build refineries, we must also build functional, impartial institutions that acknowledge past crimes and offer genuine closure. Secondly, the revenue- sharing mechanism must be made public, transparent, and legally binding, ensuring that a significant, ring-fenced portion of the profit directly benefits the local communities. Thirdly, the critical skills and capacity gap must be addressed head-on. The region’s high youth and nomadic population is currently unprepared to benefit from specialized employment and entrepreneurship; massive, targeted investment in technical, vocational, and business training, aligned with industry needs, must precede project hiring. Finally, the promises of infrastructure and jobs must be realized through genuine, bottom-up public consultation and stakeholder engagement, not top-down directives that bypass the very nomadic communities whose land hosts the wealth.

The global lesson from resource-rich regions is clear: natural wealth frequently fuels conflict where governance is weak, and history is ignored. The success of the Ogaden oil and gas venture in 2025 will not be measured by the cubic feet of gas produced, but by whether it finally closes the chapter on marginalization and environmental abuse. It is an opportunity to transform decades of historical pain into the foundation for a truly equitable future. We must use sense of obligation that this moment inspires to ensure that this wealth becomes a blessing for all, as appose to added source of burden to already people who endure more than their share of pain and suffering.

In DDS the political opposition is non-existent and the case of ONLF quarrels and self- destructions is good example. The ONLF faction in DDS is too weak to present policy paper on their view regarding the production of Ogaden Oil and Gas and the exiled wing in Nairobi are against everything. As usually the diaspora pundits are opposing the project while living and working in their respective countries with no regard to the issues at hand on the ground. We are yet to see credible proposal for action that considers and appreciates the complexity of context. So far, constructive engagement and discourse is missing, and DDS oil and gas project is existential to the very survival of our people. It is not either for or against it! The real issue isn’t why or if we going to it, but rather how we are going to do it. We should not be sidelined or kept in the dark to a project like Calub and Elele Gas, and Oil project implementation nor should we behave irresponsibly to miss the opportunity.

The way forward

Federal and regional leadership must communicate, educate and engage to the public regarding to the project vision and mission as well as create safe spaces for discussion and dialogue among community, diaspora and other stakeholders. It’s the responsibility of regional leadership to build trust, and consensus in support of the project based on clear and comprehensive plan of action for monitoring and measuring success in the future. Parameters and milestones for success based on shared vision, accountability, transparent, and social contract should be the bedrock for proposed implementation strategies. Private sector, international or otherwise, could be left alone to police themselves regarding pollution, environmental impact and corporate responsibility.

Furthermore, regional and municipal government authorities should have legal, policy and technical resources to fulfil their oversight role. The greatest challenge in Somali Region is deficiency of innovation, ingenuity and leadership in addressing multitude social, economic education, and governance and to petrodollars will result travesty and mediocracy.

Sheikh Raage Said Haji Mohamed Zayli’I is an Independent Researcher and Consultant based in Jigjiga Ethiopia. He has served as the CEO of the Somali–Ethiopian Social and Economic Development Association in Jigjiga. And as the executive Director of the Somali Center in Ottawa, Canada from 2001–09. Since 2013, he has led research and development initiatives in Mogadishu, Puntland and Ethiopia’s Somali Regional State.

Contributed by Sheikh Raage Said Haji Mohamed
Zayli’iye

Most renewable energies are fickle. Solar, wind, and hydropower can be generated only under certain weather conditions, meaning that disruptions are always a possibility. In Africa, where grid operators lack resources and infrastructure is brittle, such shocks could be crippling.

Geothermal energy avoids these issues by harnessing Earth’s natural internal heat. The steam trapped in rock formations deep underground is released, and used to drive turbines for electricity generation. Since radioactive decay constantly produces extreme heat in these reservoirs, geothermal energy can always be generated, making it an ideal candidate for supporting a reliable power supply.

Geothermal energy does have some drawbacks. Drilling deep into the surface and installing the necessary equipment to generate energy is a slow and capital-intensive process, which can begin only after a costly exploration phase, involving extensive geological surveys. Geothermal-energy production also carries some environmental risks, and geothermal reservoirs are found only in certain locations, such as near tectonic-plate boundaries.

But the benefits far outweigh the costs. Once the initial investment is made, geothermal plants provide low-cost electricity for decades. On a large enough scale, geothermal can provide baseload stability, meaning that other renewables, like wind and solar, can be harnessed to their full potential without disrupting the grid. As advances in directional drilling, data analytics, and AI applications lower costs and improve success rates, geothermal will become even more attractive.

While geothermal is not a solution everywhere, it can work for Africa, especially as production techniques are improved. Oil and gas firms, under pressure to pivot toward cleaner energy, are applying their expertise to geothermal ventures. Enhanced Geothermal Systems, for example, apply oil-and-gas-drilling techniques to access hotter rocks at greater depths. The International Energy Agency estimates that Africa hosts nearly one-fifth of global EGS potential – some 115 terawatts. Tapping even 1 percent  of that potential could, by 2050, meet Africa’s entire electricity demand.

Kenya is leading the way on geothermal generation. Its first geothermal plant, Olkaria I, began operating in 1981, and currently has a capacity of 45 megawatts. Kenya’s total installed geothermal capacity amounts to 985 MW – placing the country sixth globally. Geothermal now accounts for 47 percent  of Kenya’s total electricity generation, making it the single largest renewable-energy source in a grid that is 93 percent  green.

Kenya’s embrace of geothermal has contributed to a rapid expansion of energy access. In 2013, only 37 percent  of Kenyans had electricity; today, that share has risen to 76-80 percent . And there is plenty of room for further progress, as Kenya has so far tapped less than a tenth of its geothermal potential. KenGen, the state-backed utility, has plans to reach a gigawatt of installed capacity by 2026, and place Kenya among the world’s top three geothermal producers by 2030.

But the benefits of geothermal systems extend well beyond electricity generation. For starters, geothermal reservoirs can be used for direct heating applications in sectors like horticulture, aquaculture, and food processing – all of which require stable heat sources. Kenya’s Oserian flower farms pipe geothermal steam into greenhouses, leading to consistent and high-quality blooms. Crucially, such applications do not require access to the ultra-hot geothermal reservoirs that are located deep underground; more plentiful and accessible, moderate-temperature reservoirs are sufficient.

Moreover, geothermal brines, a byproduct of geothermal electricity generation, often contain high concentrations of critical minerals, including lithium (essential for batteries) and rare-earth elements (used in many electronics). By extracting and exporting these high-value minerals, African countries could derive even greater benefit from the green transition.

Geothermal energy can also act as a powerful engine of economic integration across Africa. Already, regional “power pools,” which coordinate electricity generation and transmission across borders, are laying the foundation for greater cohesion in Africa’s fragmented energy market. The embrace of stable, widely available geothermal energy could accelerate this process, thereby supporting the African Union’s vision of an African Single Electricity Market.

None of this will be easy, not least because geothermal lacks strong political support. Whereas geothermal exploration and installation is a protracted process, requiring significant risk-tolerant finance, dams and solar farms easily attract donor money and media headlines, offering the kinds of quick victories politicians crave.

But, if one takes a longer view, geothermal’s potential is undeniable. By anchoring grids, geothermal can support the use of other renewables. By supplying heat, it can facilitate the decarbonization of industries from food processing to textiles. By producing minerals, it can elevate Africa in global supply chains. And by supporting cross-border energy exchanges, it can accelerate the establishment of an integrated African electricity market – critical to improve energy access, reliability, and affordability across the continent.

Mugwe Manga is Senior Green Finance Adviser at FSD Kenya, a board member and Co-Founder of the geothermal energy company Olsuswa Energy Limited.

Contributed by Mugwe Manga

The blueprint that follows rests on two simple but radical ideas: delegate power to where the problems actually occur, and pilot solutions before scaling them. Rules will stick only when they are locally owned and visibly effective. What follows are seven interventions—tested elsewhere, tailored for Addis—that together form the backbone of a civic compact built on accountability and shared responsibility.

Enforce Locally, Rebuild Trust from the Ground Up

Addis Ababa’s central administration cannot micromanage every intersection in a city of six million. The first and most critical step is to decentralize authority with clear rules and accountability. The experiment should begin in three pilot sub-cities, each empowered to manage traffic in its own kebeles based on four core principles.

The first principle is clarity. Local administrations must have legally defined powers to design and install traffic-calming measures—speed bumps near schools, high-visibility crosswalks at dangerous intersections, and loading zones for markets and shops. They should also be empowered to manage minor infractions like illegal parking, sidewalk obstruction, and petty traffic violations through standardized digital citations. Crucially, kebeles must retain flexibility to adapt these interventions locally—setting up temporary no-parking zones during market hours or redesigning hazardous intersections with community input.

The second pillar is sustainability. A fixed majority of fine revenue, say seventy percent, should remain within the kebele that collected it, earmarked for hyper-local projects: signage, pedestrian islands, awareness campaigns, and maintenance. This transforms fines from punishment into visible community reinvestment—rules funding safety, discipline producing development.

Third comes participation. A community warden program can create meaningful jobs for vetted youth who serve as both enforcers and educators—managing traffic around schools, guiding pedestrians, and maintaining order. A driver fined by someone from his own neighborhood is far more likely to see the act as civic reciprocity than as state intrusion. This personal connection is how trust begins to grow again.

Finally, transparency must anchor the system. Every citation, its location, and its outcome should appear on a real-time, public dashboard, allowing residents to track enforcement and monitor how revenue is spent. Transparency is the safeguard that keeps local power from turning into local corruption.

Trust, once lost, can only be rebuilt from below. By embedding enforcement within the community, we transform it from an abstract punishment into a shared act of stewardship—a civic compact owned by those who live it daily.

Design Roads for Human Behavior, Not Ideals

Addis Ababa’s roads were engineered for a fantasy of perfect discipline; the city runs on the reality of improvisation. The goal is not to demand flawless behavior but to build an environment that guides it—and forgives mistakes. Every new road or upgrade must follow a city-wide ‘Forgiving Streets’ standard grounded in three principles: remove bad choices, clarify decisions, and unify signals.

Signs alone are not enforcement—they are suggestions easily ignored. Physical design must make the wrong move impossible. Continuous raised medians should block mid-block U-turns and direct traffic to safe turning points. No-parking zones must be self-enforcing, using planters or bollards rather than unenforced signs. Raised pedestrian refuges should allow people to cross wide roads in two safe stages.

Intersections must be simplified and standardized. Countdown timers eliminate the guesswork that fuels red-light running. Oversized lane arrows painted well before junctions prevent dangerous last-second swerves. Dedicated and protected turn lanes, separated by flexible delineators, streamline movement and reduce collisions. Finally, the city must adopt one unified system of signage, markings, and color codes so that every road speaks the same visual language. A forgiving street does not assume discipline; it builds it into the asphalt. By anticipating common failures and correcting them through design rather than reprimand, we can transform the city’s roads from stages of improvisation into corridors of predictable, human-centered order.

Professionalize the Minibus: Discipline Without Displacement

Minibuses remain the backbone of urban mobility—and the epicenter of its chaos. Their behavior is rational within perverse incentives: a driver paid by passenger count has every reason to stop anywhere and block traffic. The fix requires a fundamental shift from an informal jitney service to a regulated public transport system built on predictable stops, clear incentives, and dignity for drivers.

Each route must have formally designated stops spaced about 200–300 meters apart at logical points—market entrances, major intersections, and residential hubs—marked by poles and painted road markings. The rule is simple: passengers board and alight only at those stops. Stopping in live lanes becomes a primary offense. Enforcement should rely on both sub-city transport teams and a citizen-reporting system that allows the public to document egregious violations.

The payment model must also change. Shifting from passenger-based pay to revenue-sharing models based on completed trips removes the incentive to race and linger. Drivers that maintain compliance should receive discounted license renewals, fuel subsidies, and priority access to electric fleets through blended financing. On key corridors, transit-priority zones during peak hours can reserve curb space for compliant minibuses, rewarding discipline with faster service.

Enforcement cannot rely on police alone. Sub-city transport teams, including community wardens, should conduct random spot checks. A simple mobile-app reporting system could allow citizens to submit photo evidence of violations, adding a layer of social accountability. The goal is not to criminalize an indispensable industry but to civilize it—to professionalize without displacement. With clear rules, fair pay, and predictable stops, the minibus can shed its reputation for chaos and become a reliable emblem of urban order.

Schools as Safety Labs and Civic Classrooms

Few places display the city’s dysfunction more vividly than school gates. Twice a day, well-meaning parents in a rush turn arterials into parking lots. Fixing this requires design, management, and participation.

Each pilot sub-city should establish Safe School Zones—500-meter corridors around selected schools redesigned for safety and order. Painted “Kiss-and-Ride” bays on side streets allow timed 30-second stops. Physical barriers or planters prevent curbside parking along main roads. Raised crosswalks and clear signage make pedestrian priority unambiguous.

School communities can run their own “School Safety Corps,” composed of trained volunteers—parents, local youth, senior students—who direct traffic, guide children, and maintain the drop-off flow. Staggering school start and end times by even fifteen minutes can flatten peak congestion. Illegal parking during operating hours must trigger instant digital fines, with revenue reinvested in safety upgrades. Over time, these zones become living civic classrooms: the next generation learns order not from lectures but from daily experience.

Clear Lanes, Save Minutes: A Rapid-Clearance Protocol

Nothing paralyzes Addis faster than a single stalled vehicle, yet clearance is treated as an afterthought. Every minor collision triggers gridlock as drivers wait indefinitely for police. Observed intersections lose 12,708 vehicle-minutes daily—over 200 hours of productivity gone in exhaust.

Each pilot sub-city should operate a small rapid-response tow-truck unit during peak hours, mandated to move first and document second. Their only job is to clear lanes immediately, using cameras or smartphones to photograph vehicle positions for later insurance or legal use.

The law must back them with a strict “move or lose” rule: drivers who refuse to move their vehicles after ensuring safety face steep fines, while those who comply receive reduced penalties. A citywide “Move Over” campaign must teach that in minor crashes without injury or stalled vehicles, the legal duty is to clear the lane. Legal protection must guarantee that doing so will not jeopardize insurance or liability. Institutionalizing this discipline can reclaim thousands of hours daily and restore the city’s circulation—its economic lifeblood.

Reforming the Traffic Police: From Enforcers to Guardians of Flow

Yet none of these measures can succeed if enforcement itself remains a bottleneck. The institution tasked with maintaining order has, in many cases, become part of the dysfunction. The common sight of a driver negotiating a bribe does more than slow traffic—it corrodes civic trust. The goal is to transform police from enforcers to guardians of flow.

This requires three shifts. First, incentives must change. Officer performance should be measured by corridor flow, safety outcomes, and reduction in congestion—not ticket counts. Second, technology must replace negotiation. Body cameras and digital ticketing reduce face-to-face bargaining, while camera-based enforcement for bus-lane or red-light violations eliminates traffic-stopping stops. The cost of such technology is trivial compared to the billions lost to corruption and gridlock; transparency is not a luxury but an investment.

Finally, enforcement must prioritize movement. During peak hours, officers follow a single rule: no live-lane stops for minor infractions. Routine checks move to off-peak inspection bays; unavoidable stops use pre-marked pull-outs. Local surveys already show that many violations are settled informally—replacing negotiation with evidence is how credibility returns.

Restore Licensing Integrity: The Foundation of Trust

At the foundation of our traffic system lies a quiet rot: the corruption of the driver’s license. When a license becomes a purchasable commodity rather than proof of competence, every other rule—every traffic stop, every safety campaign—becomes theater.

Licensing reform must rest on three pillars. First, the test must regain real-world rigor. Mandatory on-road recertification every three years filters out incompetence and forged credentials. The test route and grading rubric must be standardized and public, leaving no room for arbitrary discretion—the very space where corruption thrives.

Second, rogue driving schools must be regulated and purged. Regular audits and public ratings empower citizens to choose quality instruction. Any school issuing fraudulent certificates must be closed permanently and its owners barred from the sector.

Third, transparency must be total. A monthly Integrity Bulletin should publish names of revoked licenses, sanctioned schools, and disciplined officials. A professional cadre of well-paid, monitored examiners ensures that competence—not connection—determines who drives. Competence is not elitism; it is the social contract between driver and public.

Pride Over Penalty: Making Stewardship Viral

Lasting change will not come from fines and fear alone. A cultural shift must make citizens stewards of their streets. This requires deliberate campaigns that make discipline visible, celebrated, and even entertaining.

A “Hero Driver” initiative can commission murals at accident-prone intersections celebrating courtesy—a driver yielding to a pedestrian, a child crossing safely. Monthly civic awards, promoted on radio and social media, can recognize drivers nominated by peers for patience and respect. In parallel, use humor, music, and social media to make civility fashionable—especially among youth. The #SelmataAddis challenge invites TikTok and Facebook users to post funny skits or short videos celebrating the “most patient driver in Addis.” Small rewards—like mobile credit or recognition—can turn courtesy into social currency.

Lastly, turn public space into a canvas for civic pride. Neighborhood “Our Street” competitions can invite kebeles and local artists to design and paint their own crosswalks or murals, with winners receiving improvements like benches or trees. Local “Traffic Ambassadors”—shopkeepers, elders, respected figures—become friendly enforcers, gently modeling good behavior and reminding others that order is a shared achievement, not submission to authority. When pride replaces penalty as the driver of behavior, stewardship becomes viral—and civility, contagious.

The Road Ahead: A Phased Covenant

This is not an all-or-nothing revolution. It is a phased reconstruction of our civic covenant—beginning with pilots in willing sub-cities and scaling what proves effective. The annual cost of our road disorder already exceeds $3 billion—the equivalent of three Corridor Projects lost every year to dysfunction. Restoring order will cost far less. What it requires, above all, is courage: the courage to delegate, to experiment, and to demand accountability at every turn.

If Part I was about the tragedy we created through indifference, this is about the future we can build through intention. Roads are not just asphalt; they are the living measure of our civic maturity. Addis Ababa can remain a theater of exhausting improvisation—or become a model of African self-governance.

The choice is ours. The power to repair what has been broken lies exactly where the breakdown began—with us, at the intersection of privilege and responsibility. The tragedy of our roads was man-made; their redemption can be, too.

Tsegaye Nega is Professor Emeritus at Carleton College (USA) and founder & CEO of Anega Energies Manufacturing, an Ethiopian clean cookstove enterprise.

Contributed by Tsegaye Nega

The Addis Ababa Declaration, reinforced by the Africa Climate Innovation Compact (ACIC) and the African Climate Facility (ACF), represents a potential paradigm shift. These initiatives aim to channel resources directly to startups and innovators, enabling Africa to move toward an investment-driven climate strategy. Over 200 million Africans now access electricity through distributed solar ventures, and climate-tech startups captured 20 percent of venture funding in 2023. These examples demonstrate that when finance reaches green focused agile actors embedded in local ecosystems, measurable outcomes, energy access, resilience, and job creation will follow.

Africa’s green economy extends far beyond energy startups. Sustainable agriculture, climate-smart land restoration, green manufacturing, and digital innovation collectively generate economic and environmental value. Agritech ventures are applying precision irrigation, soil monitoring, and climate forecasting to increase yields while restoring degraded land. Green manufacturing initiatives are reducing carbon intensity and creating new jobs in regions transitioning away from fossil fuels. Digital platforms enable smallholder farmers and enterprises to access finance, markets, and climate data. This integration of technology, finance, and local innovation demonstrates that Africa can generate climate and economic outcomes simultaneously.

Still, the shift from aid dependency to a self-sustaining, investment-driven climate ecosystem is nuanced. Donor support remains indispensable. Africa faces a complex mix of vulnerabilities, including infrastructure gaps, high debt burdens, and uneven market development. While the continent is rightly seeking to position itself as a partner rather than an aid recipient, the reality is that donor contributions remain vital for early-stage risk mitigation, adaptation finance, and scaling innovative solutions. Development banks provided USD 137 billion in climate finance in 2024, yet most of this funding was in loans, unsuitable for countries with high debt vulnerabilities. Concessional finance, grants, and technical assistance are critical for adaptation projects and initiatives targeting the most vulnerable communities.

The success of Africa’s climate strategy depends on the strategic blending of donor support with private and startup-led finance. ACIC and ACF exemplify this approach, combining concessional capital, grants, and venture funding to drive measurable impact. Historical lessons reinforce this point. Many previous summit pledges fell victim to ceremonial enthusiasm, photo-op announcements and “cocktail promises” that never translated into implementation. Execution failures often stemmed from fragmented oversight, absence of performance-linked funding, and weak monitoring. To prevent a repeat, Africa must embed rigorous accountability into its climate finance strategy. Metrics such as hectares restored, emissions reduced, energy access expanded, and startups scaled should govern resource allocation. Adaptive governance mechanisms are essential, ensuring that projects remain responsive to evolving climate and market conditions.

Donors can provide seed capital, risk mitigation instruments, and capacity-building support, ensuring that green and climate focused projects scale effectively while remaining accountable. The intention to maintain donor-based financing for green startups and eco-friendly innovations is not rooted in reliance on aid forever and it is not even the principle behind the donors these days, but in strengthening sustainability. Strategically framed, it can be leveraged to create alternative financing mechanisms, aligning with the vision of prominent African leaders who emphasize Africa’s role as a proactive solution provider rather than merely a recipient of aid.

Startups and local innovators serve as execution engines, converting finance into tangible outputs: restored land, electrified communities, emissions reductions, and job creation. Africa’s green economy boom demonstrates the continent’s potential. Energy, agriculture, manufacturing, and digital innovation converge to create jobs, revenue, and resilience. Startups are the linchpin of this transformation, proving that innovation can drive measurable impact while simultaneously catalyzing economic growth. Yet, donor support remains non-negotiable, especially for adaptation and early-stage ventures that cannot immediately attract private investment. Strategic alignment of donors, private investors, and startups is crucial to ensure Africa transitions from a historically aid-dependent model to a robust, self-sustaining climate finance ecosystem.

Africa’s Investment trends indicate strong momentum. African startups raised USD 1.4 billion in the first half of 2025, a 78 percent increase from 2024, with a growing share directed toward climate-smart solutions. Leveraging these flows alongside continental priorities ensures efficiency, measurable outcomes, and economic transformation. Africa has a chance to demonstrate that vulnerability does not preclude leadership in climate solutions.

Ultimately, the Addis Ababa Declaration represents both promise and challenge. Africa possesses vision, innovators, and emerging capital to lead on climate solutions. However the continent must strategically harness donor support, embed startup-led innovation, and maintain disciplined execution. If executed successfully, Africa can transform vulnerability into leadership, turning ambition into measurable outcomes and investment into long-term economic and environmental impact.

Failure to operationalize these mechanisms risks another déjà vu moment, an inspiring summit that leaves pledges unmet. The difference between ceremony and transformation lies in rigorous finance strategies, performance-driven execution, and Africa asserting itself as a partner, not a recipient, in global climate action.

Contributed by Mikiyas Mulugeta

WTO membership requires compliance with global standards that can encourage the inflow of new technologies. This will facilitate knowledge transfer into key sectors such as agriculture, pharmaceuticals, renewable energy, and ICT. International research agencies and donors often prioritize WTO members for joint initiatives and capacity-building projects, thereby opening doors to more external funding. Membership would also enhance Ethiopia’s ability to participate in multi-country research consortia, improving visibility and scientific impact.

For higher education, WTO membership would stimulate academic mobility, partnerships with leading universities, and the harmonization of academic standards with global best practices. It would encourage the growth of research-intensive industries and foster stronger university–industry linkages, creating fertile ground for innovation and entrepreneurship. In addition, Ethiopian scholars and students would gain broader access to international academic networks, joint degree programs, and collaborative research initiatives that could raise the quality and relevance of local institutions.

From a development perspective, WTO membership signals policy predictability and international credibility, making Ethiopia a more attractive destination for investors. This, in turn, creates opportunities for research commercialization and innovation hubs. By adopting WTO-consistent frameworks such as TRIPS (Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights), Ethiopia can protect indigenous knowledge and biodiversity while also fostering innovation-driven industries. Membership would encourage growth in biotechnology, pharmaceuticals, renewable energy, and the digital economy—areas where higher education and research institutions can play a direct role in shaping policies and training skilled human capital.

WTO integration will also help Ethiopia align with the African Union’s Agenda 2063 and the UN Sustainable Development Goals by strengthening innovation ecosystems, expanding industrial capacity, and promoting inclusive development.

Although the advantages are significant, it will be crucial to guarantee that liberalization does not weaken local industries, particularly agriculture and small businesses. Policies should mitigate brain drain and guarantee that the advantages of global research cooperation benefit all universities, including developing regional institutions. Intellectual property systems should also safeguard Ethiopia’s native medicinal practices, biodiversity, and cultural heritage against exploitation.

Ethiopia’s accession to the WTO offers more than trade liberalization. It can serve as a catalyst for knowledge-driven development. By enabling access to global research networks, strengthening higher education institutions, and fostering innovation-intensive industries, WTO membership can position Ethiopia as a competitive and knowledge-based economy. The challenge will be to establish policies that maximize these opportunities while protecting national interests and ensuring fair access to the advantages of globalization. I am hopping that the government is already working to address this challenge.

 Taye Beyene Demissie (PhD) is a professor at the University of Botswana.

Contributed by Taye Beyene Demissie (PhD)