Z.A. They warn Oromo parents to advise their kids to avoid interacting with Amhara kids at school.
The Shenes said they wanted to avenge our ethnic group.
May God eliminate you from this land!
I am Z.A., and I am a girl of 13. I come from Wollega and I am currently in grade 5. I have parents and four siblings. I am not sure where my parents are originally from because they were born in Wollega.* In our town, there are three mosques and an Orthodox church. There are many evangelical Christian churches. At school, there are students from the Amhara, Oromo, and Tigre ethnic groups. In Wollega, we refer to our teachers as “Master”, unlike here. I remember Master Amsale the most, as she taught in Amharic. From grades one to four we learned in Amharic. However, in grade five, all subjects are taught in Afaan Oromo, except for Amharic, which is also explained in Afaan Oromo. The COVID-19 pandemic has greatly impacted my education. I should have been in grade 7 by now, but due to displacement, I had to go back and now I am in grade five. In public schools like mine, uniforms are required for students in fifth grade and above. I used to wear a yellow uniform when I was in fifth grade. While living in Wollega, I was very happy.
Currently, I live in Debre Birhan as a displaced individual. I have uncles here in the Debre Birhan camp, and aunts back there in Anno. Our aunts came here and visited us. Our house there is being taken care of by an Amhara tenant of ours. She sometimes cleans it for us. My happiest moments are the holidays of Eid and Arafa. The Ramadan fasting season was also interesting.
Our home was adorned with flowers, avocado, mango and a variety of trees. There are over 200 coffee trees scattered across a vast area in our backyard.
There are good Oromos, such as one named G., who support us Amharas. We left our property, including grains, at his place. My father gave him his gun to hand over to the authorities, which is commendable because we need it to keep our house secure and to return without risking detention. Our house would be confiscated if we didn’t. People gave their guns to friends to pass on to the authorities.
There is an IDP camp in our home-town of Anno for those people who have come from the countryside. The camp has three large rooms, but most residents live outside due to overcrowding. They take turns baking injera, flat bread, and cooking, which they then eat together. Some of the displaced people also stay in the houses of their relatives in town.
Our house is located near the high school that my sister attended until tenth grade. The high school students often experienced riots during the Oromo uprising, during which both of my elder sisters were injured by the police. One of them still has a federal police shoe mark on her back, while the other one bled profusely from her leg. Fortunately, she recovered after receiving a lot of massages. She left for an Arab country two weeks later to work as a maid. One of my cousins pretended to be dead and narrowly escaped death when she was mistaken for a corpse. Additionally, one of my sister’s fingers was broken during the chaos.
We had four cattle and two mules. The distance my sister and I covered to look after them was quite far, spanning a few kilometres. We rarely carried food with us because we would eat sugarcane, mangoes, bananas, oranges, and other fruits while we were there. Whenever my father discovered that we had no food, he would bring some to us and scold us. One day, while tending to the animals, my sister and I saw a snake slithering in a zigzag pattern. Frightened, we quickly hid from the creature. When our father arrived, we showed him the snake, trembling in fear. The snake was under a large Warka tree in the dense woods, near a big well. My dad was socked too, as he was afraid the snake might harm us. From that day on our dad never sent us alone to tend to the animals.
When we lived in Wollega, most of our neighbors were Muslems. Half of the town’s population would be Oromos. We lived as one community sharing what we had, and looking out for each other. If shoes were bought for me, my sister would also receive a pair. My mom’s hometown, Kokono, was only a few kilometres away.
In the last few years of our time in Wollega, when we passed through the woods, we would always bring males with us because we were afraid of encountering the Shenes. Althought they were only rumoured to have been seen once or twice during normal, people were still fearful.
Something I might never have expected in my life happened. The Oromo Liberation Front (OLF) or Shene fighters come through our compound and I saw them passing in the shade of our garden in the backyard, peering through a crack in our window. Since my father is a member of the government militia, he quickly prepared to go, by fixing his gun, and putting on his uniform. We begged him not to go out, but he resisted us and broke free from our grip. The militia in our village were calling for him. He bid us farewell with tears in his eyes. It was 6:00 AM. The issue did not resolve until 3:00 PM. We stayed at home, while my five-year-old brother was sweating and his perspiration was visible on his face. My mother tried to reassure him by explaining that those who came were from the government army. He calmed down a bit. I was also shocked and felt pain in my belly and chest. One of my sisters was in Debre Birhan as a displaced person had not heard about the situation. She only found out about it through a phone call. She wished she was with us as she would have regretted not being there if something had happened to us. Another sister was working as a maid in an Arab country and saw the incident on social media. She was shocked to hear heard that Amharas in Wollega were being targeted. She immediately called us, relieved to hear that we were safe, and she felt so happy as a result.
On the day the war was set to begin, I prepared four jerry cans to fetch water. However,my mother asked me to check the tap first. As I made my way to the tap, I heard a voice telling us to “go out”. Confused, I then heard the sound of heavy artillery being fired. My father also heard it and despite our plans for him to stay, he left the house. The firing intensified as soon as he stepped outside, causing us great fear. The Shenes were everywhere, even at the nearby high school, firing towards the militia, who quickly took cover in trenches. The heavy guns the Shenes possessed were not the usual type, but rather ones belonging to the government army. My father was armed with an AK-47.
The entire area was in a state of terror. We had an Oromo militia neighbor who, in a moment of desperation, removed his uniform and hid it under a heap of wood and his gun in the farm. The Shenes came to his home and he questioned him the reason for their visit and they asked him about his strange behavior. They asked why he seemed frustrated, to which he replied that he was not afraid. They then requested food from him, and he obliged. Before they ate, they asked him to taste it first, which he did. Unfortunately, his Amhara neighbor witnessed his eating with the Shenes and assumed he was sympathetic to the rebel. Once the rebels had left, the neighbor confronted him, threatening to report him to the authorities. The militia remained silent in response to the neighbor’s enquiries.
The fighting intensified as the OLF fighters pursued the militia of which my father is a member. In the midst of the chaos, my father took refuge in a well as the Shenes passed by. Upon returning to the town, he discovered the lifeless body of his friends, whose head had been placed in a latrine. Shocked and in tears, he removed the corpse, only to be confronted by the Shenes shortly after. My father fled, whith the Shenes in pursuit, but managed to escape.
Meanwhile, we were at home, anxiously trying to reach him. When he finally answered the phone, he remained silent for 7minutes and 25 seconds before uttering a faint “hello.” I immediately recognized his voice and called out to him as “father.” He responded with concern, asking if I was okay and enquiring about the well-being of the family. I assured him and asked if he and his friends were okay. He assured me they were okay. As we conversed, he revealed that he was still hiding in the well and that it was currently 11:00 AM.
Thirty six of his militia friends were all eliminated, and only three were spared. My father was one of those spared. He had expected to find our corpses in the house, but fortunately we were all alive. When the situation calmed down, he returned home. The people from our neighborhood all came to our house and embraced him, saying, “A. is back.” I was the first one to see him and I cried too. Then he met my sister and they both wept, followed by my mother, and then my brother. Our neighbors took turns coming to meet him, expressing their happiness that he had been spared. He ate dinner with the family.
Afterwards, the members of the army arrived as reinforcements. It was reported that they had been delayed because the routes through Bako and Sire had been blocked by rebels with whom they were engaged in combat. Upon reaching Anno, they began firing into the sky, seemingly in vain. My father went outside to investigate and discovered the bodies of 130 defense army members, 18 riot police, and his deceased friends. He was overcome with grief. The group then proceeded to gather the corpses and bring them to the police station. The following day, they transported the bodies by car to a single burial site, where they interred 36 individuals in a communal grave. It was decided that separate burials were not feasible given the circumstances. Regardless of their religious beliefs, they were laid to rest together.
One day the militias were guarding a town called Gishe, a Shene stronghold. The administration had sent the militia there not to secure peace, but to die. The Shenes began firing with their modern and heavy weapons, overpowering the militia who were outnumbered tenfold. Despite this, the militia emerged victorious with only two deaths on their side, while killing 31 Shenes. Confused, they scattered in different directions. Four of them sought refuge to a house, locking them in when they ran out of bullets. Eventually, after my father gave them bullets, they left the room and went out to continue fighting. One went to the river, another to a well, leaving my father to fight alone. We later learned that the militia members were taken alive, but I was unaware of this as I was at school. Upon returning from school, my friend discovered that her father had died. I tried to console her, and when she returned home to chaos, I insisted she come to my house, despite her resistance. We both felt immense sadness that day. Later that night firing erupted in the town as army soldiers began shooting at each other. The cruelty of the Shenes was evident in their actions, as they killed mothers, slaughtered children, raped girls, mutilated males, and caused unimaginable suffering. Their atrocities were numerous to describe.
Another day at school, gunfire broke out and we all scattered. My friend and I sought refuge in the latrine. My parents were at home and rushed to the school upon hearing the gunfire. The teachers herded us like animals into the classrooms. My father, witnessing this, rushed in to find out what was happening. All the kids were crying, except for me. My father, surprised, took me out of the classroom. He was bewildered, as there were many students. Meanwhile, my mother and sister stood in the middle of the road, searching for us. The town was in a state of terror, with parents frantically looking for their children. On our way home, a bullet narrowly missed my father’s head, leaving us shaken. We ran until we met my mother, and then hurried home. The situation eventually calmed down and my parents decided to keep me home from school for ten days.
At Mete, a Shene stronghold located a two-day trip from our home, fighting resumed one day. We had relatives there, and we were terrified at the thought that the violence might spread to our area. The people in Mete were surrounded, and we could hear gunshots over the phone. One of our neighbors, who had children in Mete, was unaware of the situation, so we kept it from her. When she visited our home, we made her coffee. After she drank the coffee, she received a phone call informing here that her children were surrounded. This news caused her become distraught and cry uncontrollably. Then, she received another call stating that her son was being held by the Shenes, a fact he confirmed. The shenes demanded a ransom of half a million and threatened to kill him if she didn’t comply. She agreed to pay within the two-day deadline and sent someone with the money. However, they also held that person captive and demanded a ransom for him as well. She borrowed money to pay for both hostages, but the Shenes still prepared to slaughter them. One of the hostages, her son, instead of being slaughtered, chose to take his own life by running away from the Shenes, who were armed. They pursued him, but he managed to escape and make it back home. His mother was overjoyed by his return.
At first, people said that OLF Shene was coming and it was a new name to us. We asked what type of group they were. Since our country was so vast, we only heard news through word of mouth. It was rumored that they had entered Amoro town and slaughtered people. We all wondered if they were dark or light skinned. When we enquired about the reasons, we learned that their attacks were based on ethnic differences. When we asked what they wanted from us they said they sought revenge. Fear began to consume us from that day on. They arrived in our area and assured us they would not attack. They asked who was wealthy in our community, and we told them we were all poor. However, they did not trust us. My dad had a close friend who also told him what was happening.
The rebels confiscate people’s guns out of fear of potential attacks. They claim to be taking them it legally and condemn theft. The people refuse to hand over their questioning why they should surrender their means of protection. Through messengers, the rebels clarify that they only want the guns, not the people themselves. They offer one final chance, but the people remain steadfast in their refusal citing the guns essential their children’s safety and escape. After deliberation, half of the people decide to give up their guns and send their children away for protection. The other half disagrees believing they should stand their ground. They refuse to be left defenseless like women, urging those who want to give up their guns to do so themselves. Those who decided to surrender their guns became frustrated with the lack of unity among the people. They question why others did not follow suit and even threatened them, but they received no support.
One day, my father was sending my sister and me off to Angobo town. As he separated from us, he saw the Shenes in the distance. He was amazed since he hadn’t seen them before. He came back to us and told us to keep going. When we asked him why, he didn’t give us a reason. We were shaken. He took the grass I was carrying, and we started running. After we left the jungle we sat down and asked him what had happened. He asked if we were tired from running. He then told us that he let us run because he saw the Shenes. We were very shocked thinking they might catch us. When we got home, we told my mom, and she said she wouldn’t send us to that place, but to other places instead. We started going to our grandparents’ place, even though it was a passage for the Shenes. We took precautions.
One day we went with our father to a farther farm to get mangoes, and we the girls returned while our dad was still weeding in the pepper farm there. Suddenly he heard a whistle and quickly climbed a tall mango tree to avoid danger. The Shenes arrived shortly after, but thankfully, they did not find him. If they had seen my father while passing under that tree, he would not been spared. However, Allah protected him for our sake. After the Shenes left, he started making his way back towards us. On his way, he passed through the sugarcane farm and noticed the straw from freshly eaten sugarcane, which shocked him. He came home running and panting, and we were surprised to see him in that state. We quickly gave him some water to help calm him down. He shared the details of what had happened, warning us that we would have been in danger if we had taken the forest path instead of the main road. We were fortunate to have taken a car instead of walking. Although we initially doubted our father’s warnings, the situation made us realize the importance of listening to his advice.
At one point, my father was training to be part of the Oromia militia with his friends. After training, he took the cattle to the field. He called us to help him carry carrying sugarcane and fodder for the cattle. He asked us to bring so he could wash before praying, but we insisted he come home to pray instead. Eventually, we agreed to help him carry the supplies. As we made our way home, we heard gunshots. It turned out that Y. and his friends had been caught, confirming my father’s suspicions. When my father tried to make a phone call, the Shenes interfered and stopped the call. Attempt, they answered and my father said, “Y.,” they responded with, “Y. abbaake abadu!” which translates to “May your Y. vanish.”
He learned that they had been caught and asked him if he wouldn’t release them. He told him that they would come for him too. They insulted each other. The Shene said, “May God eliminate you from this land.” My dad responded, “You barbarian, you cruel, may God eliminate you instead.” One of the Shenes took the phone and closed it. My father started weeping thinking that if we didn’t ask him to come home he would be caught too. But Allah spared him. The public came out with their guns and machetes. They came with the police and army to ask my dad where they were. As he went out of the house to head to the place, he was amazed at the number of the people who had made it to the streets and the speed of the news. Every one in the town, including women, went to get those arrested released. When they went there, there are no people. A woman lost consciousness because her child was taken. They felt sorry for her and took her to the hospital. Those taken were not returned. After a month, they called and told us that they were killed. Their family members were shocked. Everything was gloomy for them.
We kept our house neat and polished, and we never stepped on it with shoes on. Due to the chaos in town, even our prayer room was entered with shoes on. One day, when the national army was defeated in the war front, all the people came out to the main road to go to Bako town without carrying their clothes or belongings. This shocked my parents. When they took us to the road it seemed like there were no people left in town. We were very scared to spend the night in that town. I was separated from my friends at that time and have not seen them since. One of our family friends took her children to Wollo. We can’t meet now, but we had spent a good time together.
When we were returning from Wollega, the bus broke down on the way on one of the thoroughfares of the Shenes. Since everyone in the car, including my parents, was afraid, they felt sick. The price of biscuits in our area was five Birr, but when my dad asked at a nearby place, they said ten Birr. My dad bought for us and returned to find the driver missing. He assumed the driver had gone to call the Shenes, and everyone thought the same. An elderly man approached us and warned us that it was not safe to stop in a Shene area. We were all frightened, but the driver eventually returned after about an hour with a jerrycan of water. He instructed us to cut a water bottle and used it as a funnel to pour water on the car to cool it down, which took nearly an hour. We were very scared as the location was in the middle of a forest. The people waiting for us in Debre Birhan said they were worried when we told them about the issue. A bus that was following behind us was stopped by authorities and the passengers were to their town. I will never forget that area. When we informed our relatives that we had arrived in Addis Ababa, they were relieved and happy. It took us four day to reach Debe Birhan.
Our relatives began their escape from the countryside at 8:00 PM and arrived at our house at 6:00 AM, travelling the entire night on foot. As they were approaching, one of them accidentally stepped on a plastic bottle, causing a loud noise that startled everyone, leading to them getting separated. This included children and women, who all went in different directions. In the chaos, they also had to leave behind their bags, belongings and everything they had with them, dropping items along the river and near a hill. Those who managed to make it to our house were being hunted like wild animals, and unfortunately, some lost their lives along the way.
What used to come to mind was the image of my father’s lifeless body being carried home by the Shenes. Some Oromos also used to insult us by referencing our ancestors’ area of origin, Wollo, saying, “Wollo walali, dinbullo sagali.”
I had a friend named Chaltu with whom I used to play different games in our village. However, everything changed when the Shenes arrived. Chaltu’s behavior began to shift started to change. It was rumored that the Shenes had approached the Oromo residents and informed them of their plan to eliminate the Amharas, stressing the importance of keeping it a secret. The Oromos chose to keep this information to themselves, pretending they had not heard anything. Chaltu overheard her parents discussing the plan to eliminate the Amharas and learned that they intend to participate in the scheme as well. They warned her not to associate with Amhara children, and she agreed, gradually distancing herself from us. Concerned, we decided to confront her and asked her the reason for her sudden change in behavior. Chaltu revealed that her parents instructed her not to spend time with us. She explained that her parents had been warned by the Shenes to keep their children away from Amhara kids, threatening that if they did not comply, their children would suffer the same fate as the Amharas. Chaltu shared that if the Shenes caught them together, they would kill and bury them alongside the Amhara children.
One day, as we were returning from the mango farm, the Oromos unusually greeted us in their native language. Sometimes, they would greet us in Amharic as that was what they were accustomed to. This was just one of the signs of change. Despite the challeges, we lived together with love, supporting each other through good and bad times. However, they also began to attack our homes, throwing stones at them. One fateful day, they invited our relatives to a meeting in a grass-roofed hut and offered them Tela, local liqor. Then, they set the roof on fire. Our relatives were trapped inside and perished in the flames. Anyone who tried to escape was shot down. This is how mercilessly killed our loved ones! Oh, Shene! We were hardworking individuals, even tilling their land as sharecroppers.
Once an Oromo friend of my father confided in him that since the army had been defeated and 10,000 Shenes were coming, he should save his life. This friend was a sympathizer of the national army and the militia, even if his son was a Shene commander who shared all the information with him. This father disclosed nothing about his closeness with my father. He would talk to him on the phone in our presence, warning my father to call the army and the militia and take precautions before it was too late. Unfortunately, my father did not take him seriously. They arrived the same night and everything unfolded as predicted. In the aftermath my parents visited 15 houses to offer condolences to those who had lost loved ones. They even skipped many houses assuming they would visit them in the following days.
The Shenes do not leave the corpses of their members who are killed in fighting. They cut their necks and dress them in the army and militia uniforms. This is done to avoid news of the death of their members spreading. One of our neighbors witnesses the Shenes taking out a cart from one of the houses and loading the corpses of their members onto it. He was shocked and quickly went home. My mother was about to start baking injera when the accident occurred and everyone rushed out to the street. My father arrived and insisted that she stop what she was doing and leave. We left without taking any of our belongings, but there were others who carried household items including carpets to sleep on wherever they ended up. My father asked his friend who was a driver to take us to Bako. However, his friend warned him that it was already too late, as it was 4:00 PM. He suggested waiting until the next day. My father was determined to leave at that time and explained that he would hire a car to Addis Ababa if he stays till the next day. Eventually, my father agreed and we stayed. Since our house was far from the main road, we spent the night at my aunt’s place.
In Debre Birhan, we spent two weeks outside in the open because they didn’t register us. After that we got registered but didn’t receive rations promptly. It came after a week. They gave us 10 kilos of wheat flour and a liter of oil. Until then, we bought our own food. We also ate at my sister’s place in the camp and shared what we had with those who came with us and had nothing to eat. The driver who brought us to Addis Ababa returned the same day. Thirteen of us stayed overnight at my uncle’s place.
In Debre Birhan, my father looked for a house for rent and was told it would cost 1500 Birr a month. My father was worried about how he could afford that, so he searched for another place at a more reasonable price. Our landlady complained when our younger brother touched her sheep. She didn’t allow us to bake injera in her oven, so we carried the dough to camp and baked it there. One day, when she saw that we had used her stove to bake, she spread ashes on it. We left without staying a month there. The new place we found welcomed us with food when we arrived. The owner was very kind and allowed us to use her stove to bake. She wouldn’t let us buy our own stove, since she is so kind-hearted.
In Debre Birhan, a fight broke out between the defense army and the Fano fighters. We were scared and saddened by the fact that we couldn’t avid the violence that was everywhere. Our house was located next to the army checkpoint, where we witnessed a fighting.
When my sister was on her way to Dese with our father to visit our relatives and get her a passport to travel to an Arab country they had a car accident. My father broke a hand and my sister was also injured. They missed the appointment because of the accident and the time that passed. She recently got married here.
My other sister came from an Arab country where she was working as a maid. One day, the child she was looking after accidentally fell into the toilet, but she managed to save him, though she was left in shock. She came back and now she is working as a maid in Addis. My immediate younger sister is 11 years old, and my younger brother is 7. I have to walk a long distance to get to school and the library.
When we migrated, I had only worn the new yellow uniform for a month. We left without harvesting the corn we cultivated as sharecroppers on my grandfather’s farm. I had a relative, Y., who was killed by the Shenes. His two children are now living in the camp here with their mother, while the other two are still in Wollega. One of them joined the government militia to avenge his father’s killers.
The displaced Amharas who were originally from Wollega and moved to Debre Birhan have now been who were brought back to Wollega. They currently reside in the camp at Anno, rather than in their own houses.
Unfortunately, I do not believe that the situation in Wollega is getting any better. In the future, I aspire to become an engineer and reside in Addis Ababa. As for Wollega, I only wish to visit it once to dispel any notion that we abandoned our home and met a tragic fate. After that, I plan to say my final goodbyes to it.
*(I, the translator, can tell from their accent they are from Wollo).
Translated by Mezemir Girma
