A Journey Through Hardship, Survival, and Redemption
Her name (changed upon request) is Tigist Tadesse.
Born and raised in Saris, a densely populated neighborhood in the southern reaches of the capital, she left high school prematurely and boarded a plane to Saudi Arabia, driven not by lack of ambition, but by necessity. There, she became one of the thousands of Ethiopian women working as domestic laborers in the Gulf — her aim was simple: to lift her family out of poverty.
For seven years, she scrubbed floors, cooked meals, and endured the isolation of life abroad. Each month, she wired money back to Addis Ababa, trusting her family to save a portion of it for her return.
When she finally came home, weary but hopeful, she found nothing waiting for her.
“I wasn’t expecting much,” Tigist said. “But hearing that all the money I had sent was used up — that made me angry. I started drinking just to cope.”
Struggling to support herself and her young child, she handed over custody to her relatives and left again — this time for Lebanon.
But Beirut, too, offered little more than survival. Four years later, Tigist returned once more to Addis Ababa. Ethiopia’s economy had worsened. Jobs were scarce, prices were rising, and she had no savings. Faced with desperation, she entered the sex trade.
For the next seven years, Tigist lived on the margins — a sex worker and single mother of three children by different men. She grappled with declining health, advancing age, and the escalating needs of her children.
Then one night, after a long shift, she noticed government workers registering names on the street. Curious, she asked what it was about.
“They told me it was a program to train women in difficult circumstances — to help them get out of trouble,” she recalled. “At first, I thought it was just another government gimmick. I told them I wasn’t interested.”
But by morning, something had shifted.
“I went straight to the kebele office and told them I wanted to change,” she said. “A week later, they registered me and admitted me into the training center.”
The program was strict. Participants weren’t allowed to leave until they completed their courses.
“Initially, I joined just to rest,” she said. “But over time, I realized the program had value.”
After 45 days of psychological support, Tigist began vocational training and chose tailoring. Six months later, she had her own sewing business — and had hired 14 women like herself, survivors of life on the streets.
A Way Out, One Stitch at a Time
“When I was a sex worker, I couldn’t come home without money for my children,” Tigist said. “My neighbors knew I couldn’t even afford to feed them bread.”
Now, she says, her life has changed. “Today, I proudly tell my children what I do. When they visit me at work, it makes me happy. This was always my dream.”
Her story is echoed by others — women whose lives have been shaped by hardship, displacement, and the lure of survival in a country where options for women in crisis often run dry.
One woman, who spoke on condition of anonymity, recounted her own spiral into sex work. She had worked for years along the streets of Kazanchis, a bustling district in the capital, until the city administration razed swaths of neighborhoods for urban redevelopment.
Displaced and dispossessed, she moved to Dukem, a town 35 kilometers southeast of the capital, and continued working.
Born in Megenagna, a commercial area in Yeka sub-city, she left home after a bitter family conflict and moved in with a boyfriend. When the relationship ended, she found herself alone and vulnerable — and gradually entered the sex trade.
Her descent was steep. She described a life marred by addiction to khat, a stimulant leaf widely used in the country, and alcohol. Violence became routine. Rape, she said, was a recurring horror. Psychological trauma followed.
“I want to get out of this life,” she said, “if only someone would help me.”
A Center for Hope
That help may now be within reach.
Opened just over a year ago, the Lenegewa Women’s Rehabilitation and Skill Development Center is one of Ethiopia’s boldest efforts yet to support vulnerable women — including former sex workers, returnees from the Gulf states, and those pushed into crisis by poverty or family breakdown.
Operated by the federal government, the center offers a blend of psychosocial support and hands-on vocational training in 18 fields, from tailoring and food preparation to urban agriculture and home care.
“All costs are covered,” said Hirpasa Chala, the center’s director general. “We help them find jobs or start businesses.”
So far, 682 women have completed the program and found work, according to Hirpasa, who says they are currently training 1,000 more, all recruited through the Addis Ababa Women and Children’s Bureau.
Civil society groups are also playing a crucial role. One of them, Niqat Charitable Association, works with women engaged in sex work, those facing extreme economic hardship, and people living with HIV/AIDS.
But the need, they, say, is overwhelming.
Niqat has praised the efforts of Lenegewa, but warns that demand far outpaces capacity. “The number of women in urgent need still far exceeds the resources available,” a representative said.
That concern is echoed in research. A 2024 study by the Population Council warned of a rising tide in the number of women entering the sex trade in Ethiopia.
If current trends persist, the study projected that by 2027, more than 246,000 women—most of them in Addis Ababa—will be engaged in sex work. The report cites a toxic mix of poverty, conflict, and climate disruption as key drivers.
