ENAT BANK’S MEASURABLE EQUITY

In a landmark move to promote gender equity in the banking industry, the National Bank of Ethiopia (NBE) has released its inaugural Gender Financial Inclusion Index, positioning Enat Bank at the forefront. Among 30 commercial banks evaluated, Enat Bank emerged as the sole financial institution to attain a “transformational” rating, outpacing competitors in a field where most lenders remain at early stages of integration. The five-tier composite index, developed by the Central Bank as a benchmarking tool, rates banks across dimensions such as leadership commitment, product innovation, credit accessibility, data transparency, and organisational policies targeting women’s financial participation. While three other banks received recognition for progress, the industry’s average settled at 2.95, categorising the majority within the “Building Momentum” tier, a midpoint demonstrating nascent but incomplete commitments to inclusive banking practices.

Enat Bank’s performance stood out not only for scoring highest but also for its structural and cultural alignment with gender equity principles. Founded in 2008 with a mission to empower women economically, Enat Bank has since issued over 1.4 billion Br in non-collateral loans to women-led enterprises, contributing to the creation of more than 22,000 jobs. According to reviewers, the Bank’s operational ethos integrates gender inclusion at every level, from its boardroom, where Chairperson Meaza Ashenafi, a former president of the Supreme Court, provides strategic oversight, to front-line services geared toward underserved female entrepreneurs. The symbolic weight of the achievement was observed during a celebration at the Addis Abeba Hilton on June 19, 2025, where former President Sahle-Work Zewde joined Enat Bank President Ermias Andarge and other board members for a toast marking the milestone.

Addis Abeba’s Messy Taxi Overhaul Leaves Riders Waiting, Veterans Sidelined

Around 5:00pm, a time when most civil servants spill out of office towers and scramble for rides home, Mexico Square was oddly hushed.

On Mozambique Street, in the Genet Hotel area, only a few battered blue-and-white minivans nosed into the curb, leaving long queues of commuters staring at the empty road and the lowering sun. A man in fresh orange-and-blue uniform, a facilitator, and two transport officers, strolled past the waiting crowd, offering little comfort to fraying tempers.

Adnan Arfano, in his early 20s and juggling school with a sales job, stood at the head of the line bound for Mexico Square from the Haile Garment district. He has learned the choreography of the city’s unruly taxi ballet on the Piassa-Megenagna-Ayat corridor, but lately the rhythm is off.

“Sometimes it’s a stampede, people run, elbow their way through,” he said. “And, the new line facilitator stands there, fixated on collecting money from the driver.”

He never saw it this way before. The fix, he argued, was better staffing at busy transfer points and facilitators who do more than guard their commissions.

“The changes are a good idea, but they need teeth,” said Adnan, one of the approximately 1.43 million commuters in the capital who depend on minibus taxis, which cover 80pc of the demand. “When there is no one watching, people cut in line and take others’ seats.”

Commuters who rely on public transport represent 31pc, doubt the size of the city population that uses a personal vehicle. Aside from the city bus services and nearly 400 midibuses, approximately 9,000 minibuses operate in the city, with 3,000 of them being Code-1 coloured in blue and white.

For decades, the capital’s 14-seat mini-buses were marshalled by a loosely governed army of line facilitators, known locally as “Tera Askebari”. The arrangement gave work to thousands but annoyed passengers and officials who complained about chaotic dispatching and persistent side payments.

According to Yabibal Addis, head of the Addis Abeba Transport Bureau, talking to Addis Media Network said the city finally decided to reboot the system. Officials wanted to change the old setup where every place a taxi passed was treated as a terminal, and a facilitator was assigned there.

That practice produced 197 terminals and more than 3,600 facilitators, one for roughly every half-block on some routes. Drivers paid a fee at almost every stop. On a short route, a driver could charge at least 20 Br or 40 Br for a round trip.

“That was a burden,” said Nuredin Ditamo of Nib Taxi Owners’ Share Company.

However, the city officials’ plan to administer could be radical, limiting facilitators to the first and last stop, slashing recognised terminals to 87, thereby trimming the workforce to 996.

Each enterprise received a two-year permit. The Bureau also replaced cash with a digital payment of 10 Br per trip, routed through Siket Bank, a financial institution that morphed from the Addis Abeba Credit & Saving Institute, which was under the city administration.

The cut is pre-programmed: 20pc to city coffers, 30pc to future sector projects, and the rest to facilitators’ wages.

“Facilitators can only remain on this job for two years,” said Yabibal. “They must move on to growth-focused sectors henceforth.”

While the new system promises opportunity, it has displaced many.

Biniam Getu, once a familiar face helping commuters at Mexico Square, now spends his days on a spiritual retreat in a monastery after losing his job to the city’s overhauled transport facilitator system. The former member of the Tigat Facilitators Union still clings to a promised three-month training program that he hopes will teach him skills such as welding or woodworking.

“We submitted our request and are waiting,” he said.

Biniam’s troubles deepened when Girmachew Sileshi, chairman of the Addis Abeba Taxi Facilitators’ Union, left the country. Repeated attempts by the Union to secure a meeting with the Mayor’s office were turned away.

“We’re told our union isn’t recognised and advised to approach our District,” Biniam said.

However, that coordination fell apart in the chairman’s absence. Some displaced workers have drifted back to their former curbs, hoping to scrape together the 200 Br to 300 Br, a fraction of what they once earned daily. Newly hired facilitators toil through entire shifts but are paid only after digital reconciliation, rather than up front, the way veterans were.

Getu complained that the newcomers do not know the streets and show little care for the elderly or pregnant commuters. He also claimed thefts have risen while many former facilitators struggle to feed their families.

City officials counter that the reforms seek to create lasting opportunity.

Feyissa Feleke, communications director at the Addis Abeba Labour & Skills Bureau, outlined a training initiative intended to steer displaced facilitators toward new trades and small business ownership. To qualify, applicants are required to prove their residence with a Kebele ID, register on the Labour Market Information System, and submit their biometric data. Accepted trainees attend courses at institutions such as General Wingate and Entoto Polytechnic Colleges.

“We make sure applicants aren’t those who already built up sufficient capital to start a business on their own,” Feyissa said.

Some participants have already completed their training, and most newcomers choose to pursue trade skills. Current facilitators nearing the end of their two-year contracts will receive a shorter, five- to 15-day course tailored to their next field of work.

“The ultimate aim is not just income generation,” Feyissa noted. “We’re working toward real economic empowerment and long-term employment opportunities.”

Trainees should set aside 30pc of their income in a mandatory deposit and are encouraged to build extra savings as a cushion for future ventures.

The policy has its academic supporters. Berhanu Zeleke (PhD), a lecturer in urban transport at Kotebe Education University, called the overhaul overdue. Replacing the old guard, he argued, makes room for fresh job seekers while contractual terms increase accountability.

“The contract system encourages facilitators to plan for their future,” he said,  acknowledging past misconduct among some facilitators.

On paper, the new system looks clean. On the curb, it is sputtering.

One of these terminals is located around the Stadium, where Abraham Weldesenbet, a slight facilitator in a crisp uniform, paced between vans last week, scribbling plate numbers in a dog-eared notebook. Stars marked those that had paid, but taxis often pulled away before he reached them.

“It’s so frustrating,” he told Fortune, shoulders sagging.

The outfit has 13 members for one of the busiest junctions in the city, a ratio that leaves him alone during rush hour.

By 10am, he had logged about 40 vehicles. Only a handful carried the multiple stars, showing they had settled their fees.

“The system is nonexistent,” he grumbled.

Amelewerk Megeressa, a traffic coordinator in the area, confirmed the shortage.

“There are students and workers in long queues,” she said.

Some drivers, fearing phone theft, refuse to use the mandatory app; others do not own a smartphone.

“There should be someone designated to help facilitate the payments,” she said.

Indeed, the citywide shift to electronic fare collection has opened a digital divide.

Abraham Haika, who shuttles between Stadium and Qality for the Kirkos District Taxi Association, acknowledged that the new facilitators are learning.

“They’re getting used to the job,” he said. “There is no conflict between us. They help manage queues and even direct passengers when needed,” he said.

For him, the hitch is the network. It takes too long, connections are slow, and many drivers lack compatible devices. However, intermediaries sense an opportunity. Since the government mandated digital fuel purchases two years ago, young hustlers have offered to run transactions on old Nokia phones for a fee.

“It’s the same problem all over again,” Nuradin from the taxi association told Fortune. “These middlemen are turning it into a job.”

The price to work with the intermediaries is a five Birr premium over the 10 Br fee the city imposed, which they pocket after making the transfer.

Officials concede the rollout is bumpy. The flat charge could be set to stop facilitators from quietly shifting taxis to longer routes and demanding higher cash tips. But, fixing the bug is underway by software developers.

“These issues are being evaluated daily,” Yabibal confirmed.

Siket Bank’s early versions of its system required drivers to key in a 13-digit account number, an ordeal on analogue handsets. The Bank responded by introducing a four-digit short code system, from 1001 to 1087, each representing a specific terminal enterprise. The Bank works with Ethio telecom’s Telebirr, a platform that drivers already use to pay for fuel, although transfers from 32 banks are also possible.

Messay Woubshet, Ethio telecom’s communications chief, denied any exclusivity.

“Siket’s system is simply integrated into the Telebirr app like the systems of 28 other banks,” he told Fortune. “Drivers use the ‘transfer to bank’ feature within the app to make payments.”

Most glitches, he said, are cleared within a day.

“If a transfer takes time, it is usually resolved within 12 to 24 hours,” said Messay. “In rare cases where it takes longer, we apologise and follow up directly with the affected parties.”

Facilitators on the ground say they improvise. Some drivers with no Telebirr account still pay cash. According to a facilitator who requested anonymity, they accept the fees when drivers return from their trips.

“We only want to help people get where they need to go,” he said while pocketing coins. “But, people criticise every detail.”

He recalled the time a passenger shot video of a cash hand-off, an offence that can bring a fine of 5,000 Br to 10,000 Br for both parties.

Those penalties are spelt out in a sweeping regulation that covers everyone involved, from taxis and terminals to facilitators, the Ministry of Labour & Skills, the Peace & Security Administration Bureau, as well as the drivers’ associations. Enterprises should register, open two bank accounts, and submit quarterly reports to the authorities.

Working without an ID or the required uniform draws a 10,000 Br fine and instant dismissal for repeat offenders. Members who stir up trouble face 5,000 Br on the first strike and 10,000 Br on the second; enterprises employing workers caught drinking, smoking, or using substances such as Khat risk both fines and loss of permits. Drivers involved in disturbances pay 1,000 Br.

City officers can pull plates from individuals who are chronic offenders.

Officials want these changes in public transport management to fit into a bigger corridor project to modernise the capital’s transport arteries with new lanes, electric buses, and bicycle paths.

Dagnachew Shiferaw, deputy head of transport operations, argues that the Addis Abeba City Bus Service Enterprise moves 1.1 million people daily without line facilitators.

“That proves structure and respect can do the job,” he told Fortune. “We don’t need more personnel. What we need is stricter monitoring and consistent penalties.”

A live dashboard tracking the city’s new Velocity electric buses, passenger counts, fare mix, and location is displayed. The city now has 81 terminals and 85 enterprises, with more than 100 staffed locations, although some lack formal structures. Thousands of students and unemployed youth volunteer during rush hour after completing a seven-day course that covers financial literacy, discipline, and public safety.

Back on Mozambique Street, another dusk settles over a line of weary commuters. The sun was gone, the crowd thinned, and Adnan still waited for a taxi. A facilitator waved down an empty van, but the driver rolled past, horn blaring. Change is coming, city officials insist, but for riders like Adnan, the road home feels longer than ever.

Many of the holdups are low-tech. Drivers cling to basic phones because smartphones are more prone to theft. Punching a 13-digit account number on a tiny keypad is slow; one mistake means starting over from scratch. Siket Bank’s engineers promise a more straightforward menu and a QR code option, but that will require sturdier handsets than most drivers trust themselves to keep.

Road tweaks are coming, too. The corridor project bundles taxi reform with resurfaced asphalt, wider sidewalks, bicycle lanes, marked crosswalks, pocket parks, and designated parking bays. Officials pitch it as a package: digital payments to clean up the money, and physical investments to clean up the streets.

Even supporters concede the early days feel messy.

“The benefits are ultimately for the drivers themselves,” said Berhanu, teh lecturer, urging patience. “Transport is the lifeblood of a city; change never arrives as fast as the traffic light turns.”

Though he believes those who showed dedication deserved better recognition, he sees the broader changes. New transit hubs and digital payments are steps worth the temporary inconvenience.

Real Estate Faces Sweeping Regulatory Overhaul

Officials of the Ministry of Urban & Infrastructure have tabled a draft regulation they believe will restore public trust and tighten fiscal discipline.

Unveiled at the “2025 Ethio Real Estate Summit” on June 14, 2025, at the Sheraton Addis, the draft comes amid a storm of pent-up demand, rising costs, and widespread financing dysfunction. It coincides with the launch of the Ethiopian Real Estate Developers Association (EREDA), now positioning itself as both a stakeholder and a pressure group in the evolving regulatory landscape.

The regulation, if approved, will be a sweeping move to rein in an opaque and underregulated real estate market. It is a presale-tiered finance framework designed to restrain the speculative use of buyer advances.

Developers who secure more than 80pc of project costs from presales will be compelled to provide a 20pc loan guarantee. Those with presale receipts between 50pc and 80pc will be required to present a bank guarantee and commit one-fourth of the total project cost as a disbursed loan.

For underfunded projects below the 50pc mark, the draft imposes the heaviest restrictions, including CFO-backed guarantees and stringent disbursement limits. Only 30pc of the construction funds may be accessed, with half of which is withheld until 20pc of the construction is verified.

The regulation mandates escrow accounts co-managed by developers and buyer representatives, echoing international practices that insulate buyers’ funds from potential misuse. Disbursements tied to construction milestones should be reported to banks within two weeks, while project infractions, ranging from unauthorised presales to misleading marketing, could invite stiff penalties, including fines of up to one million Birr and permanent license revocation.

However,  the rollout is already encountering industry headwinds.

Alemayehu Ketema, president of the newly formed Association and a veteran developer, warned that the proposed financial guarantees risk inflating housing costs rather than curbing developer risk.

He criticised the draft for lacking flexibility in its treatment of fluctuating input costs, VAT computations, and cost pass-throughs in partially completed housing units.

“Without government backing to lower operational costs, especially land lease fees and the price of imported materials, housing will remain unaffordable,” Alemayehu told Fortune, on the sidelines of the draft’s presentation at the Summit.

Alemayehu also lobbied for exemptions for smaller-scale projects under 6,000Sqm, along with revised procedures for modifying site maps in near-completed projects.

The Association is not merely pushing back. It is also actively repositioning. Its Secretary General, Kedir Seid, announced plans to establish a headquarters and engage the state-owned Ethiopian Investment Holdings in bulk-import arrangements to lower input prices and sidestep foreign exchange bottlenecks.

Letters of credit, long seen as a choke point, have become a primary industry grievance.

“Bulk importing will give us stronger negotiation power,” Alemayehu said.

Officials appear receptive but cautious. Tsegaye Moshe, an advisor at the Ministry, disclosed that eligibility for discounted land leases in Addis Abeba has been relaxed, from a 10,000-unit threshold to 2,500 units, in a bid to attract affordable housing projects. Areas under the Industrial Parks Development Corporation (IPDC) are now obliged to build a minimum of 500 units, and presales for joint and fractional ownership structures have received formal sanction.

A liberalisation move permits foreign investors to own up to 49pc of real estate projects through joint ventures, conditional on capital inflows being denominated in foreign currency. These arrangements are expected to support technology transfer and skills development, while fully compliant domestic developers are expected to benefit from land grants and duty-free status, even outside public-led housing initiatives.

The regulatory recalibration arrives amid a profound urban housing shortfall. Ethiopia’s urban population has surged by 160pc over the past 15 years, with Addis Abeba alone needing nearly 1.2 million housing units. While the World Bank projects a national need for 486,000 homes annually, completions hover around 165,000. Private developers have contributed only 21,000 units over a decade, dwarfed by the government’s condominium scheme, which has registered over one million units but handed over only 384,000.

Soaring prices and limited mortgage access unveil this undersupply.

A one-bedroom condominium now commands 1.1 million Br, while two- to three-bedroom units fetch as high as nine million Birr. Compounding the problem is the exponential growth in construction costs, which are now 43 times higher than they were 25 years ago, far outpacing the fivefold increase in public salaries. With only four percent of private housing financed through formal bank loans, informal credit continues to dominate.

Stakeholders like Meseret Mekonen, CEO of NMC Real Estate, bemoan a credit environment steeped in aversion. Despite delivering 1,000 homes, Meseret failed to secure a two billion Birr loan for an 11.5 billion Br project.

“I approached 10 banks,” she said. “None were confident enough to lend. I’m building entirely using my own resources.”

Others echo her frustration. Zinabu Tebeje of Africon Group dismissed assumptions of 300pc profit margins, attributing pricing pressures to rising input costs rather than developer profiteering.

Zinabu estimated that land and labour alone account for half of a project’s cost structure, further squeezing margins.

“Housing prices have remained stable for the past three years despite rising construction costs,” Zinabu said.

In an environment where soft loan facilities are scarce and long-term mortgages remain commercially unviable, many developers are calling for bolder policy intervention. These include subsidised interest rates, free land allocations, and duty-free import status, particularly for developers meeting affordability benchmarks and sustainability metrics.

Yet, regulatory opacity remains a concern. The rules surrounding fractional ownership are still ill-defined, and developers fear double taxation under certain private partnership structures.

For Leul Dereje, a veteran consultant, the proposed presale collection threshold needs a clear definition, especially in a market increasingly oriented toward semi-finished units. He also warned that a looming 10pc fuel price hike could further erode already thin margins.

“Long-term mortgages are unprofitable, and real estate loans are widely abused,” he told Fortune, citing banks’ reluctance to extend tenors.

The draft’s strict disciplinary measures, he argued, should be matched with reforms that promote liquidity and clarify contract enforcement.

“The blocked account mandate benefits banks more than builders,” Leul said. “We need fund release schedules better aligned with real construction milestones.”

Still, the Ministry remains firm on its long-term objectives, localising 70pc of construction inputs within a decade and drafting a separate housing finance proclamation to build out the moribund mortgage sector. The broader goal, according to Tsegaye, is to root out speculative excess while enabling a robust, transparent, and scalable housing market.

Debebe Seifu serves as the finance director of the Association and the general manager of Jambo Real Estate & Construction. He wants to see the upcoming regulation to target the legal uncertainties that enable fraud under rigid compliance regimes. He urged more straightforward guidelines on fractional ownership and private partnerships to enable “a level playing field.”

However, as the regulation winds its way through consultations and revisions, the balancing act between protection and productivity has only just begun.

Electric Blitz Strands Domestic Car Builders

A sudden ban on the importation of semi-knockdown and completely knockdown kits for gasoline-powered vehicles, a move authorities say rapidly accelerates a shift toward electric mobility, has left a burgeoning industry disoriented.

For the domestic assemblers that produced roughly 21,800 vehicles last year, including more than 2,000 electric units, the edict landed without warning. Many had been operating lines dedicated to gasoline kits, supported by bank letters of credit and a predictable import regime.

For Mintesnot Tessera, general manager of Belayab Motors, one of the 14 assemblers active in the market, the authorities “never provided” a firm timeline, although he had seen a sign about a potential ban.

Effective May 15, 2025, the measure allows only electric, hybrid or ambulance kits to enter the country. According to officials of the Ministry of Industry, the policy move forms part of a broader, 10-year strategy to phase out gasoline cars, develop local technical skills, curb mounting fuel import bills and tackle worsening pollution in Addis Abeba and other cities.

However, the abrupt cutoff has thrown manufacturers and buyers into uncertainty, an outcome policymakers are now scrambling to manage.

“A clear transition period would have allowed the industry to adjust,” Mintesnot told Fortune.

Until May’s announcement, assemblers like Multiverse Enterprise Plc had mapped out plans for new diesel and electric taxi models. Multiverse, which had partnered with the Defence Engineering Industry Corporation (DEIC) to assemble 5,000 vehicles, relied on a down payment of roughly 1.5 million Br for a five million Birr diesel package. Under the new rules, electric taxis now carry a sticker price of 8.5 million Br with a 2.5 million Birr down payment, an increase many drivers cannot absorb.

“For almost all drivers, this amount is financially out of reach,” said Nuredin Ditamo, chairperson of the Blen Taxi Association. “Desperate operators had hoped for state support or trade-in programs to cushion the blow.”

In addition to the financial shock, infrastructure shortcomings pose another obstacle to rapid electrification. Charging stations remain scarce outside of Addis Abeba, and most current installations offer slow charging. Field vehicles used in remote regions, typically double-cabin pickups, often lack electric versions with the necessary range or payload capacity.

Semereab Serekeberhan, deputy board director of the Ethiopian Automotive Industries Association, applauded the green push but urged policymakers to allow exemptions for specialised vehicles until viable electric alternatives are available.

“We’re not informed ahead of time,” he said. “Without exemptions, critical services could be disrupted.”

The policy has also strained financing channels. The Commercial Bank of Ethiopia (CBE), the largest state-owned lender, has declined to open letters of credit for gasoline-based kits since the ban on such transactions was implemented.

According to Seid Negash, who heads Multiverse’s import operations, banks are concerned about the risk of importing now-prohibited items. The abrupt tax and customs changes have also compounded liquidity pressures. With no formal grace period for existing inventory, assemblers have faced the choice between writing off assets or scrambling to retool facilities for a product line in which the domestic market is still nascent.

On June 9, the Ethiopian Customs Commission issued instructions to its regional offices, mandating stricter inspection protocols and designating that any attempt to import kits not allowed will incur penalties equal to twice the vehicle’s value, along with forfeiture. According to Yonas Teklewoled, head of the Commission’s operations division, detailed declarations and rigorous oversight are essential to enforce the ban.

“We remain aligned with the policy’s goals,” he told Fortune. “But, explicit directives are important to ensure smooth implementation.”

Within the Ministry of Industry, officials are racing to fine-tune technical guidelines and policy frameworks. Tilahun Abay, strategic affairs executive,  acknowledged the need for a “reasonable adjustment period” to train workers and allow existing gasoline kits, many of which benefited from prior government support, to clear customs.

The Ministry plans to convene affected parties for a series of meetings to address issues and roll out financial and administrative incentives for local electric vehicle (EV) assemblers.

Still, analysts warn that rolling out ambitious green policies without commensurate infrastructure and regulatory certainty can backfire.

Bereket Tesfaye, an EV consultant and general manager of Circular Nexus Consulting, praised the government’s environmental objectives but cautioned that the country’s grid remains fragile and that trained technicians are in short supply. He urged the authorities to study the staged approach used in countries like Norway, where incentives for early adopters and careful sequencing of charging-network expansion accompanied gradual phase-outs of gasoline vehicles.

“Policy must be anchored in real-world constraints,” he said. “Without meticulous planning, we risk creating new problems while failing to solve existing ones.”

Hefty Deposit Thresholds Threaten Maritime Labour Export Ambitions

Mufariat Kamil, minister of Labour & Skills (MoLS), is rewriting the rules on overseas work, hoping to export skilled labour rather than being limited to housemaid services.

A bill her experts have circulated would let fully foreign-owned outsourcing agencies operate in the country and launch in the maritime trade, where her officials want Ethiopia, though landlocked, to supply crews to world shipping lines. The Ethiopian Maritime Training Institute S.C. (EMTI), in partnership with Bahir-Dar University, graduates more than 500 marine engineering and electro-technical officers each year. Its executives want to see this figure doubled.

The Ethiopian Manning Agency GmbH places graduates with established carriers, transforming classrooms in the Amhara Regional State into a talent pool for vessels thousands of miles away.

The bill encourages foreign agencies that can train workers and secure placements, a step Mufariat and her officials believe is needed, as experienced local agents are scarce. The measure also shifts labour-export policy toward jobs that require credentials, starting with seafarers but designed to extend later to other skilled occupations.

The existing law, written mainly for housemaids bound for the Gulf countries, left professionals such as officers and engineers out in the cold. When the Ministry assumed the mandate of overseas employment, it began drafting a replacement, hoping to curb illegal brokerage and murky fees through a central labour market information system and stricter oversight. Close to 92pc of the 521,000 workers sent since 2023 have passed through this system.

“The draft law introduces major changes to the outsourcing of Ethiopian workers,” said Sitina Mengistu, a legal adviser at the Ministry.

Under existing rules, agencies cannot send workers abroad unless Ethiopia has a bilateral deal with the destination country. The bill would permit outsourcing through Ethiopian consulates, even in the absence of a bilateral agreement. It also lets the Ministry work with foreign companies to train and certify labour that could later be hired overseas.

“We’ll work out the details during implementation to ensure it complies with conflict-of-interest rules and allows qualified foreign maritime agencies to operate here,” she told Fortune.

Money is where the draft bites. Employers should pay for contract authentication, but workers still bear the costs of passports, police clearances, birth certificates, and training. Agencies would need capital of five million Birr to 20 million Br and are required to park bonds of 50,000 to 250,000 dollars in blocked accounts, thresholds that rise with the license class. Those funds cannot be drawn down for day-to-day expenses, removing an incentive that agencies previously leveraged to secure credit or earn interest.

However, the deposit required unsettles smaller outfits such as Bereka, an Addis Abeba-based agency that mainly places housemaids, drivers and occasional hairdressers. Its managers say they lack the cash for a lump-sum deposit.

“We want to send skilled labour to foreign employment,” said Mohammed Awel, a founding shareholder. “If the Ministry makes things possible, we want to be part of it.”

However, he feared that the blocked-account rule was a burden the firm could not overcome.

Resistance is spreading inside the Ethiopian Overseas Employment Agencies Federation. Its members have discussed the issue twice.

“Most agencies opposed its core ideas,” said Seid Ahmed, the group’s public-relations head and a board member.

Seid faults the bill for omitting crisis-management plans for natural disasters or diplomatic rifts and questions whether many companies can afford the annual renewal fees or the value lost on the deposit that earns no interest.

“This could severely damage the sector,” he said, warning that up to 80pc of agencies could close if the thresholds stand. “We play a crucial role in generating foreign currency income.”

According to Aseged Getachew, an economist by training and former state minister for Labour, local firms rarely recruit directly. Instead, they sign deals with foreign partners and earn commissions of about 900 dollars a worker, an amount that often drops to 500 or 600 dollars when they chase volume.

“It’s a volume game,” he told Fortune. “Sometimes, you’ve got to compromise to stay in the business.”

Aseged sees upside in letting established maritime agencies to run operations in Ethiopia, arguing that trained officers could boost foreign-currency earnings.

“We’ve the workforce, and with the right channels, we can become a key player in the global maritime labour market,” he said.

Still, he finds gaps. The bill does not say which local agencies may focus on skilled labour, and none now do. He also fears the quarter of a million dollars in deposits will deter most players and leave the field to a few well-funded firms. Without clearer tiers, he warned, larger companies might encroach on roles intended for smaller ones.

“Unless these barriers are reconsidered, we risk locking out the very actors who’ve kept this sector alive,” he warned.

Officials say they will listen, and the bill remains open for comment. Federation members are drafting counterproposals that lower bond levels, stagger renewal fees, and outline how to rescue workers in the event of a war or pandemic. Employers, meanwhile, are crunching numbers to see whether higher service charges can offset the tougher rules.

Legal Battle Over BGI Ethiopia Shares Escalates to Federal High Court

A high-stakes legal battle over the disputed ownership of shares in one of Ethiopia’s most iconic breweries, BGI Ethiopia Plc, has reached the Lideta Division of the Federal High Court.

Lawyers representing Zewdnesh G. Asrat filed an appeal last week, challenging a lower court’s ruling that dismissed her claim as time-barred and contractually grounded, a legal characterisation her legal team vehemently disputes.

At issue is Zewdnesh’s assertion that her 27pc stake in BGI Ethiopia, formerly the state-owned St. George Brewery and now a subsidiary of the French beverage giant Castel Group, was unlawfully transferred without her consent. She seeks restitution amounting to over 8.28 million Br for lost dividends and damages, naming as defendants BGI Ethiopia, Brasseries International Holding (BIH), the former CEO Jean-Paul Blavier, and Hebu Properties Ltd., which she accuses of unlawfully receiving her shares.

The case traces its roots to the 1998 privatisation of St. George Brewery, when BIH acquired full ownership for 10 million dollars. Zewdnesh’s lawsuit, filed in May 2024, marks the first public legal challenge to the share transfer process of this transaction. But in April, Judge Gerawork Yitbarek of the Federal First Instance Court ruled that her suit was time-barred, characterising it as a contractual dispute governed by the limitation periods under Ethiopia’s Civil Code.

The Court also imposed 30,000 Br in legal costs on the Plaintiff.

Zewdnesh’s legal team, a quartet of senior partners from Ethio-Alliance Advocates LLP, including Yehualashet Tamiru and Kaleegziabher Gossaye, is now challenging both the factual and legal foundations of that decision. They argue that the Court “misclassified the matter entirely.”

“This was always a property case, not a contract matter,” Zewdnesh’s counsel said. “Registered shares are not ordinary movable assets. No statute of limitation should preclude their rightful reclamation.”

The appeal asserts that the lower court failed to engage with established precedent, including constitutional protections and cassation court rulings that elevate shareholder rights, particularly in formerly state-owned enterprises. The appellants maintain that the ruling overlooked the distinct legal nature of share ownership, incorrectly tying the case to contractual timelines.

Complicating the matter further is the Court’s unsolicited invocation of arbitration. In its dismissal, the Judge ruled that the dispute ought to have been resolved through arbitration, even though neither party had raised the issue, nor did the Court cite any contractual agreement compelling such resolution. Zewdnesh’s lawyers argue this was a judicial overreach.

“A judge must decide on matters properly before the Court,” reads the appeal, “Not introduce new legal theories to dismiss a meritorious claim.”

Adding substantive weight to the appeal is a forensic report submitted in May 2024, which questions the authenticity of Zewdnesh’s signature on minutes from a 2001 general assembly where her share transfer was allegedly approved. According to the Plaintiff’s lawyers, experts cited inconsistencies with her known handwriting, suggesting forgery, a claim that, if proven, could undermine the entire basis for the defence’s case and toll the limitation period.

The Plaintiff also invoked extraordinary circumstances, claiming threats against her and her family during the politically volatile early 2000s. Her lawyers argue that these threats impeded her ability to seek legal remedy at the time, and that the statutory clock for filing claims should only begin once it was safe to act.

The defence, led by Solomon Emeru, remains firm in its rebuttal. It maintains that Zewdnesh was physically present at the 2001 assembly, participated in the process, and consented to the transaction. Even if her signature were forged, a point they dispute, Solomon argued that the statute of limitations would still bar the claim, regardless of its merits.

Zewdnesh’s lawyers cite the 1988 Investment Proclamation, which required Ethiopian investors to retain at least 27pc equity in joint ventures. If BIH indeed acquired full ownership, as the appeal claims, the transaction may have contravened this legal threshold, potentially undermining its validity.

The case now sits before a higher judicial authority, drawing attention to legal ambiguities at the intersection of property rights, foreign investment, and evolving commercial jurisprudence.

Tax Overhaul Treats Lawyers as Traders, Ignites Bar Uproar

The legal fraternity is facing a moment of uncertainty as sweeping tax reforms have effectively changed the long-standing fixed-rate tax scheme for lawyers, without offering a clearly defined replacement.

The amendment, part of a broader overhaul of the federal tax code, has stripped legal practitioners of their previous categorisation under Category B, leaving nearly 27,000 professionals in a state of fiscal and regulatory limbo.

A disagreement over the nature of legal practice remains at the centre of the controversy.

Officials from the Ministry of Finance defended the reform as a critical step toward modernising the tax system, expanding the tax base, curbing the abuse of tax incentives, and addressing tax evasion. With a 1.93 trillion Br federal budget to finance and a 1.5 trillion Br domestic revenue target for the 2025/26 fiscal year, tax authorities are under pressure to enhance compliance across all sectors, including the legal profession.

However, the Ethiopian Bar Association and a broad spectrum of legal professionals view the reforms as a categorical misstep.

Tewodros Getachew, the Association’s president, warned that the new system conflates legal advocacy with commercial trade, ignoring the profession’s public service obligations, ethical constraints, and irregular income patterns.

“A lawyer can’t advertise or operate freely like a businessperson,” he told Fortune.

Under the previous fixed-rate regime, lawyers paid a set annual amount, often ranging between 10,000 Br and 30,000 Br, depending on firm size and client volume. The new rules scrap that simplicity, shifting lawyers into a system where income should be meticulously documented and taxed accordingly, despite the legal framework’s failure to clarify their classification.

Some attorneys have already faced steep payments when submitting financial statements last year, based on the old system, with dues ranging from 21,000 Br to as much as 200,000 Br.

The move comes despite a two-year study by a joint committee comprising members from the ministries of Finance and Justice, as well as legal professionals, that concluded in December 2024. It advised against subsuming legal practice under the Commercial Code, citing ethical obligations, fee ceilings, and the unpredictable nature of legal case work.

Its findings were ultimately overlooked when Parliament passed the new income tax proclamation.

Lawyers are now required to maintain comprehensive financial records, an obligation they argue ignores the unique structure of their profession. Unlike commercial entities, legal practitioners contend with lengthy, irregular case timelines, client advances, and an obligation to undertake pro bono work. The Ministry of Justice mandates that at least three pro bono cases be handled annually by each attorney, while informal estimates suggest that up to 40pc of professional time may go uncompensated.

Veteran lawyers like Belay Ketema and Daniel Fikadu have voiced apprehension over what they perceive as an erosion of legal autonomy and disregard for professional realities.

“We aren’t opposed to taxation,” said Belay, “but the profession’s specific character must be acknowledged.”

According to Daniel, while labelled as professionals, their classification remains unclear.

“Issuing receipts does not transform a law office into a business under the Commercial Code,” he said.

Federal tax officials such as Mulay Weldu, head of tax policy at the Ministry of Finance, maintain that reforms are overdue. He described the fixed-rate regime, which covered 99 sectors, as antiquated, particularly for higher-earning individuals.

“The reform introduces a progressive tax regime more in line with standard accounting practices, aimed at transparency and efficiency,” he told Fortune.

While tax experts like Biruk Nigussie, a former official at the Addis Abeba Revenue Bureau, recognise the importance of fiscal modernisation, they caution against a blanket approach.

“Professional tax policy should reflect the function of the service being taxed,” Biruk told Fortune. “Otherwise, it risks weakening institutions vital to the rule of law.”

Banks Edge Rates as Birr Slides and Pretenses Hold the Line

The foreign exchange market tiptoed through last week, exposing small cracks in the managed currency regime. Posted quotes from more than a dozen commercial banks, set beside the National Bank of Ethiopia’s (NBE) own numbers, showed how the banks tried to balance official guidance with the hard task of finding scarce dollars.

The most apparent split ran between two commercial banks.

On Saturday, June 21, the Commercial Bank of Ethiopia’s (CBE) buying quote sat at 131.50 Br to the dollar, the lowest for the week and among the lowest on record this year. Oromia Bank, by contrast, continued to pay 135 Br, a premium it had offered for almost two months.

Market watchers saw the gulf signalling diverging tactics. CBE appears to be intent on limiting its dollar liabilities, while Oromia is bidding aggressively to meet its near-term obligations.

Across the market, averages told a calmer story. Banks paid roughly 132.11 Br for each dollar and sold at about 134.87 Br, leaving a tight spread of 2.76 Br. Most private banks clustered around that midpoint.

The Bank of Abyssinia, Awash, Wegagen and Zemen rarely moved more than a few tenths of a Birr, parking purchase quotes in the mid-132 Br, and sales quotes in the mid-134 Br. Dashen paid a touch more, about 132.16 Br, apparently to keep its name in front of corporate exporters hunting for a price.

A composite ranking that rewards higher buying prices and lower selling prices puts the Central Bank on top with an average purchase quote of 134.79 Br and a sale quote of 134.86 Br. Its screen rates, however, act more like a lighthouse than a trading desk. Behind it came the Bank of Abyssinia, CBE, Cooperative Bank of Oromia (Coop Bank) and Dashen, locked in a statistical tie.

Patterns become sharper when daily movements are compared. On the buying side, CBE, Dashen, and Coop Bank followed almost identical lines, revealing a similar assessment of risk. The Central Bank’s quote drifted on its own, reinforcing its role as a reference rather than a participant.

Selling prices, by contrast, moved almost in unison, a sign that unwritten rules keep margins predictable.

CBE’s reluctance to raise its buying rate, even as the Birr weakened, revealed that the Bank is willing to lose flows rather than overpay. Oromia Bank’s rich bid suggests heavy dollar demand within its books or among clients who may have been unable to wait. It shows how tight their position must be.

A bigger gap opened two days earlier at the Central Bank’s foreign-exchange auction. Eleven banks pursued 50 million dollars, and the weighted average clearing price reached 136.62 Br, more than two Birr above the industry average last week. The delta revealed a split between a formal auction that channels dollars to priority importers and a street market serving travellers, remitters, and the parallel forex market.

Analysts group the market into three camps.

The cautious cohort — CBE, Coop Bank, and Dashen — posted lower purchase prices, reflecting either thin dollar reserves or tight risk limits. The aggressive set — Oromia Bank, the Central Bank and Lion Bank — paid a premium, signalling pressing payout schedules. Everyone else sits in the middle, inching rates only when the leaders move.

Headwinds remain stiff. Export earnings and diaspora remittances are soft, while import demand for fuel, fertilisers, machinery, and consumer goods continues to swell. The Brewed Buck’s slide, still orderly, has steepened enough to raise fears of pass-through inflation once new shipments land.

Dashen’s small premium seems designed to stay competitive without starting a price war. CBE’s rigidity appears to be a bet that its balance sheet and state backing would keep retail clients in line. Oromia Bank’s pitch, meanwhile, has become a noteworthy outlier.

For now, a fragile equilibrium holds. Spreads are firm, daily swings are small, and the Brewed Buck keeps easing in measured steps. However, the divergence between auction and retail rates, and the extremes staked out by CBE and Oromia Bank, has unveiled tension that is building rather than easing.

Abyssinia and Awash banks adjusted their selling quotes in near lockstep, moving from 134.70 Br to under 135 Br after June 19. Analysts see the pattern as proof that a ceiling around 135 Br is understood, if not officially declared, the same invisible line that capped bids back in February when the Birr flirted with 133 Br.

Expanding Federal Budget Tests Limits of Fiscal Discipline

A well-worn adage says, “Budget is not destiny, but it is direction.” Examining the budget bill for 2025/26 now before Parliament, the federal government’s compass appears to be drifting.

The budget bill reads more like a political document than an account book. It sets spending at 1.93 trillion Br, more than triple the 561.7 billion splashed out in 2022/23.

At face value, the figures may inspire awe. However, without matching gains in revenue, productivity, or administrative capacity, they could risk turning from promise into burden. The burden may prove heavy indeed.

The spectacular rise is matched by an awkward reshuffle. Recurrent spending, the cash that keeps the civil service paid and lights on, has been set at 1.18 trillion Br, pushing its share of the budget from 28.9pc five years ago to 61.4pc now. The share of capital outlays, which was once 32.7pc, slid to 21.5pc.

A country with successive governments famous for roads and dams now mostly settles wages and consumption. It could be seen as a swing, as eating tomorrow’s seed corn to feed today’s hunger.

Regional governments feel the squeeze most keenly. Federal transfers, representing 36.3pc of the budget five years ago, slide to 16.3pc in the budget bill. On paper, this might signal new faith in local tax collection. More likely, it mirrors a drift towards centralisation and a widening vertical fiscal gap.

The Constitution promises fiscal federalism; its ledgers now whisper something different. Under-funded, regional states would be compelled to cut corners on schools, clinics, and roads, stoking disparities that may risk national cohesion.

Commitment to the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) has also stalled. Allocations aimed at achieving SDG targets have been stuck at 14 billion Br for five consecutive years. Back in 2022/23, it was 2.14pc of the budget; it is now a meagre 0.73pc.

Economists class such spending as a positive externality. Money that nudges the economy’s productive frontier outwards through healthier, better-educated citizens. Finance Minister Ahmed Shidie’s decision to freeze it chills more than the development lobby.

Nonetheless, execution, not allocation, could tell the grimmer tale of the budget before the legislative house. In the outgoing fiscal year, federal executive agencies have shown dismal implementation rates. For instance, the Ministry of Finance, the author of the budget bills, executed only 55.7pc of a budget that was 87.6pc capital heavy.

The pattern shows clogged procurement pipelines and frail project management. The timing of the fiscal impulse is misaligned, dulling its macroeconomic punch.

Regulators make better use of pennies than ministries do of the budget. The Federal Auditor-General and the Ethiopian Capital Market Authority spent 77.6pc of their allocations. Defence gulped 91.5pc of its 88.5 billion Br budget. Economic affairs officials received 24.2 billion Birr, mostly for capital expenditure, yet executed only 57.9pc. Justice agencies hit 66.4pc, police and prisons 87.3pc, proving that efficiency is fickle.

Behind every line item ticks a debt clock. If expenditure grows by nine percent a year and revenues do not, the debt-to-GDP ratio will breach 60pc by 2035, above the 55pc limit the IMF and World Bank deem sustainable for low-income countries.

Even a rosier scenario where the GDP grows by eight percent with flat revenues, merely stabilises the ratio near 35pc, too high for comfort. Faster growth on its own will not rescue the fiscal situation; only a surge in tax and non-tax revenue can. It seems that federal authorities have taken note of this, judging by their relentless pursuit to boost domestic revenues, with the tax-to-GDP ratio planned to reach double digits in a few years.

The foreign exchange realities may add another wrinkle. In dollars, the budget bill is worth about 14.3 billion, below the 16.8 billion dollars figure a year earlier and even the 14.5 billion dollars of 2023/24. Depreciation and inflation erode the government’s ability to import fuel, fertilisers, medicines, and machinery. Although the budget swells in Birr; the dollar value shrinks.

Taken together, the trends make for uncomfortable reading. The state spends more, invests less, recentralises funds, under-shoots the SDGs and underspends even the money it allocates. Inflation sits high, reserves sit low, and politics remains fraught. The risk may not be an immediate default, but it could spiral into a slow-burn stagnation that wastes the country’s youthful demographics.

However, budget planners cannot be left without options.

Expenditure should be yoked to productivity again, channelling more cash into public infrastructure that can generate business and employment, and social services in education and health. The tax net needs widening, VAT compliance needs to be tightened, and state-owned firms should be pressed to pay dividends that forecasts blithely assume will materialise.

The budget bill is expansionary yet under-executed, centralising yet federal in spirit, developmental in rhetoric but consumption-heavy in fact.

Persistent inflation, a liquidity crunch on the domestic front, and foreign exchange limitations, albeit improved marginally in recent months, compound the dangers. Paying salaries may soothe short-term unrest, but starving capital projects of funds chips away at future earnings. The dams, railways, and industrial parks that once dazzled the public are being eclipsed by payrolls and per diems. Capital expenditure share of the budget has slipped from nearly a third to barely a fifth, when compound growth from earlier years should be reinforced, not relaxed.

None of this should warrant panic, but it does demand a serious response. Federal lawmakers can establish a medium-term fiscal framework and advocate for codified rules, such as limits on recurring spending and debt ratios, to restore a measure of credibility. They could accelerate stalled tax administration reforms that promise quicker wins than broad new levies. They might also rekindle public confidence by devoting clearer shares of the budget to health, education, and infrastructure, areas that unlock concessional finance.

They can also press for transfers to regional states to be stabilised if federalism is to have any chance of functioning. No less important is that the SDG budgets need to grow if the development narrative is to hold water.

International partners continue to view Ethiopia as vital to the stability of the Horn of Africa. They can sweeten the adjustment with technical help and cheap loans, but only if Addis Abeba shows a credible plan for solvency. High inflation, rapid currency depreciation, and rising default premia already hint at tightening external financing conditions.

Ultimately, the gamble at the heart of the 2025/26 budget is clear. Spending big on recurrent items will buy social calm long enough for growth to return and debts to diminish in relative terms. It may. But if growth falters or the taxman comes up short, today’s calm will prove dear. The budget authors would then face harsh choices: slash spending, raise taxes, or plead anew with creditors.

The country has a young population, its infrastructure base, though fraying, is broader than a decade ago, and its geography offers trade corridors waiting to be developed. Fiscal overreach need not become fiscal collapse. But recovery starts with numbers, not aspirations.

Until the ledger balances growth against affordability, the nearly two-trillion-Birr budget will read less like a manifesto of renewal and more like a warning label.

As the Capital Rises, the Regions Wait for a Turn

It is stating the obvious to claim Addis Abeba is placed foremost in the economy, playing the protagonist, director and banker of national growth. The data affirms this louder than any.

Though the capital houses only three percent of the population, it produces 29pc of urban GDP and nearly a quarter of national output. Glass towers line Africa Avenue (Bole Road), fountains spray at Meskel Square, and highways speed commuters across the city, while coffee growers in Kaffa still pull timber and beans over dirt tracks to markets they barely reach.

That gap is no accident. Ethiopia’s development model follows a core-periphery script. The centre collects infrastructure, talent, and power, while the regional states supply raw materials, labour, and land without proportionate investment. Unequal-exchange theory calls it a one-way flow of surplus. Even the World Bank, not known for flattery, said the “rising tide” of growth “failed to lift all boats.” From 2005 to 2016, the bottom 40pc of rural Ethiopia saw no gain in per-capita consumption.

Concentrating growth in a single city makes the economy brittle. The Ethiopian Economics Association (EEA) reports widening regional gaps, with the capital and a few favoured zones absorbing the majority of the federal government’s capital spending. Vast areas remain untapped because they lack roads, clinics and electricity. Ironically, the federated states fund progress that they do not use.

The city’s dynamism also drains talent. Students, engineers, doctors and civil servants stream into Addis Abeba, turning regional towns into feeder hubs. The private sector vacuum also siphons ambition from secondary cities. Youth from Gondar, Dire Dawa, and beyond are drawn to the city, while teachers and civil servants from regional states seek transfers here. The periphery bleeds talent, ironically reinforcing the elite narrative that Addis Abeba must centralise resources because “the rest of the country has no skilled labour.” It sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

For many migrants, the switch is bittersweet. Escaping rural poverty often means replacing it with crowded housing and informal work. A recent demolition drive on the city’s edge displaced more than 100,000 low-income residents, showing how projects that beautify boulevards can uproot the workers who built them.

Capital follows pavement. Investment flows “as smoothly as a Sheger boulevard,” while infrastructure-poor but resource-rich states, such as Kaffa Zone, struggle to attract credit. In the eight years beginning in 2013, the rural population rose by 24.4pc, outpacing a 20.8pc rise in rural-to-urban migration. Rural Ethiopia grows faster than it urbanises, deepening a paradox. Prosperity clusters in the capital even as countryside hardship widens.

Attempts to spread industry often leave control in Addis Abeba. An industrial park may sit in Hawassa or Kombolcha, but cash and command still run through companies and firms headquartered in Addis Abeba. Local governments become spectators despite constitutional promises of self-rule and fiscal decentralisation. And numbers tell the story.

Only 57pc of districts in the Somali Regional State are reached by asphalt; coverage is lower in the Afar Regional State. Yet, the capital presses ahead with light-rail extensions, new terminals and beautification drives. Urban glamour is evident in Unity Park and along the main manicured roads, while clinics in Gambella Regional State lack access to clean water, and children in Benishangul Regional State walk for hours to school.

Policy moves from the centre can feel punitive at the edges. Currency depreciation and subsidy cuts planned in Addis Abeba reach villages in regional states not as reform but as higher food prices and the risk of drought. Systems theory would call it a feedback loop. Central nodes grow stronger as peripheral ones depend on them.

Leaders in Somali Regional State may say currency moves and subsidy cuts are drafted “without even a post-it of consultation.” Officials in Afar Regional State could voice similar complaints when decisions about freight tariffs or fuel prices arrive by circular from Addis Abeba. Such top-down governance, they could argue, treats local administrations as mere extensions of the capital rather than elected governments.

Even agencies meant to devolve resources often retain their senior managers and budgets in the capital, leaving regions with little say over projects on their own soil. The imbalance shows up in hard data. The Gini Coefficient index is climbing, and resentment in the hinterlands rises with it. The growth story risks resembling “accumulation by extraction,” with airports, rails, and green parks financed by resources from neglected districts.

Addis Abeba’s brand machine nonetheless sells optimism. Billboards hail the capital as a “Renaissance City”; its skyline is used as shorthand for national progress. Drought or hardship in rural zones rarely command the same airtime as a ribbon-cutting downtown. Symbolism, like tarmac roads, is unevenly laid.

Officials appear enthusiastic about digital transformation, achieving middle-income status, and new investment corridors. Critics argue that before the country wires itself for fintech, it should pave the way for Kaffa and give regions a voice in setting the plan. The hinterlands hide billions in potential output; unlocking it would enlarge, not diminish, the capital’s fortunes.

Over-centralisation is not merely unjust; it is inefficient. Hoarding talent and capital leaves much of the country underused and weakens the base needed for lasting growth. A strategy that channels money beyond the ring road, equips regional schools and hospitals, and lets local leaders set priorities could turn millions of spectators into stakeholders.

The cranes over the capital’s skylines could serve as a pathfinder to what the whole country could become. The challenge is to ensure those towers cast light, not shadows, on the lands that sustain them.

Matters of Manners

As we walked down the road from Mexico (then Maychew Square) to AU (then OAU), the four of us munched on what we called Nechu Qolo, properly called Shimbra Dube, bought from Mebrat Hayl recreation center. Thousands queued in the Bingo hall there, eyes glued to cards as winning numbers were called. Vendors selling qolo, chewing gum, and lewz (peanuts) swarmed the gates, catering to the players.

A familiar argument erupted among us over whether to take our “wuyiyit” taxi or spend the transport money on the delicious snack. My classmate Binyam Bisrat and I always voted for the snack. My younger brothers Abiy and Tewodros Balcha preferred the taxi.

As Berhanu Tezera once sang in his folk ballad you cannot get Shimbra Dube on credit. It was a snack paid for in hard choices. Buying the Qolo meant walking, and we elders had the burden of persuasion. We usually succeeded.

Binyam would eventually turn toward Bulgaria Mazoria, and the rest of us would climb the steep road to Sar Bet and the Vatican Embassy. Along the way, we would pass the makeshift football field, where I once saw national hero Mulugeta Kebede play joyfully with neighborhood kids. That alone made the long walk worth it.

Every evening at six, we would be stopped at the gate of the nearby military warehouse. The soldiers would lower the Ethiopian flag with solemn reverence. Their stern faces taught us patriotism without uttering a word. It left a lasting impression on what it meant to love your country.

Discipline and respect were daily rituals, not abstractions. At our church school, we lined up each morning, said the Lord’s Prayer, and sang the national anthem. On the streets, every adult became a surrogate parent. They would correct, scold, or even tap you on the wrist if you strayed, followed by the ever-familiar, “Boy, where are your manners?”

Social etiquette was not taught as a theory; it was modeled everywhere. Bowing to elders, using two hands to greet, and modestly refusing food out of politeness were part of daily life. Manners were not special; they were expected. Elders would bless well-behaved youth, and affection was a given, not a gesture.

It is easy to romanticize the past, but those norms of decency were real. I did not fully grasp how much they had eroded in our society until I visited Japan last December. From the moment I landed at Narita International Airport, people bowed deeply, offered help without hesitation, and made sure visitors felt seen.

In Japan, strangers go out of their way to assist, even overcoming language barriers with apps that transcribe and translate in real time. If you lose your phone on a Tokyo train, it will likely be turned to the lost-and-found. Such behavior reveals a national moral compass. Goethe once said, “A man’s manners are a mirror in which he shows his portrait.” Japan reflects its best self.

Contrast this with what I saw back home. In one spa, someone left their wet slippers on a shared stool despite ample floor space nearby. Was it thoughtlessness or spite? Either way, it denied others comfort. I have seen running taps left open in public restrooms, common spaces blocked as if privately owned, and even cars abandoned mid-road while their owners drink and dance nearby.

One night, a narrow one-lane road became a traffic nightmare because a group parked their 4WD right in the middle and refused to move. No one dared confront them. Their leisure mattered more than the needs of a dozen drivers trying to pass. It was both stunning and deeply disappointing.

Even in the men’s bathroom, basic decency is rare. I once saw a young man flush the urinal, a rare act, and thanked him. He shyly nodded, silently acknowledging our shared dismay. Others routinely urinate on seats without lifting the lid or even flushing. It is not about privacy. It is about carelessness.

Then there is the culture of public rudeness. People stare at strangers for an extended period or even until out of sight without shame and for no apparent reason. Motorists ignore right-of-way. Queue-cutting is rampant. Worst of all, public urination, especially by taxi drivers, remains common. Some even urinate on their car wheels as if marking territory. Animals do so with biological purpose. Humans, in this case, have no such excuse.

A friend once visited Singapore and casually tossed a gum wrapper on the pavement. A Porsche driver stopped, picked it up, disposed of it properly, and left without a word. His silence said more than scolding could. “Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” was written all over that act.

In our part of the world, where acts like vandalism or public indecency are barely frowned upon, it was a revelation. But we are slowly changing. Decency and development are not at odds. In fact, old-fashioned manners often support modernity.

That is why, in Japan, even the samurai, clad in kimono, katana in hand, sandal-footed and hair in a topknot, waits his turn to board the train, avoids staring, and keeps to his phone on silent. Civilization is not just skyscrapers and smartphones; it is, above all, a matter of manners.

Why the Clock Should Not Run Out on Share Ownership

Ownership is widely recognised as the most comprehensive right one can possess over physical property, entitling an individual to control, use, enjoy the benefits of, and ultimately dispose of the assets in question.

This complete authority comprises three core aspects: usus (the right to use the property), fructus (the right to enjoy the fruits or benefits from it), and abusus (the right to dispose of or transfer it). Together, they grant the owner a vital power to use the property as desired.

The Constitution explicitly protects the right to property as a democratic right. Under Article 40(3), the Constitution guarantees every citizen the right to own property, including the right to buy, use, and transfer ownership through legal channels such as sales or inheritance. This constitutional provision acknowledges property ownership not only as a personal entitlement but as essential for broader economic and social stability.

However, such ownership rights are subject to legal restrictions intended to safeguard public interest and protect the rights of others.

The law categorises property broadly into movable and immovable properties, the former being tangible objects that can be moved without changing their inherent characteristics. The Civil Code further differentiates between ordinary movable property, such as everyday household items, and special movable property, which includes items like corporate shares.

The transfer procedures for movable properties, including corporate shares, vary based on their classification. For ordinary movable property and bearer shares, transfer of ownership is straightforward, requiring only the physical handover of the item or the bearer document. Once delivered, ownership is presumed to be transferred unless proven otherwise.

This simplicity reflects the practical need for efficiency and flexibility in commerce.

However, transferring ownership of registered shares, such as those issued by share companies or private limited companies (PLCs), involves a more structured procedure. Unlike bearer shares, registered shares are required to undergo formal registration procedures.

Ownership of these shares is transferred only after the transaction has been recorded in the company’s shareholder register. The registration details the names and addresses of the seller and buyer, the number of shares transferred, and the precise date of the transfer.

Transferring registered shares also demands a formal resolution by the existing shareholders. Such resolutions should be notarised and documented in meeting minutes. The company’s Memorandum of Association should be amended to officially acknowledge the new shareholder, displaying the change clearly in company records.

This formal approach to share transfers is meant to serve several crucial policy objectives.

Registration enables clear identification of shareholders, which is vital in industries with restrictions on foreign or diaspora ownership. It helps authorities ensure compliance by clearly identifying legitimate shareholders.

It also supports revenue collection efforts, particularly in the enforcement of capital gains taxes. When shares are sold above their original value, proper documentation through registration helps track these financial gains, ensuring accurate taxation.

Registration safeguards the interests of third parties. Share Companies, unlike PLCs, may experience discrepancies between subscribed and paid-up capital. Shareholders remain legally responsible for any unpaid subscribed capital. Without a formal register, determining financial responsibilities becomes challenging.

Accurate records clarify these obligations, ensuring transparency and fairness.

Registered shares often serve as collateral in financial transactions. Legal recognition through registration provides banks and other creditors with assurance about the authenticity of ownership, which is crucial when establishing valid security interests.

The legal characteristics of registered shares closely resemble those of immovable property, especially concerning proof of ownership and formal transfer procedures. This similarity prompts an important legal question, though.

Should ownership claims (petitory actions) over registered shares be limited by time?

From a plaintiff’s perspective, imposing a period of limitation can encourage timely legal action, ensuring cases are addressed promptly when evidence is fresh and reliable. For defendants, limitation periods offer protection against indefinite legal uncertainty, while courts benefit from managing their caseloads efficiently by avoiding outdated claims.

However, the argument against applying limitation periods to registered shares is compelling.

Ethiopia’s law lacks an explicit limitation period for registered shares. While the Civil Code, under Article 1192, sets a 10-year limitation for ordinary movable property whose location or ownership the owner has lost track of, it makes a clear distinction in Article 1186(2), suggesting that different rules apply to special movable property.

The absence of explicit time constraints for special movable properties, such as registered shares, implies the legislature’s intention to exclude them from limitation periods.

A precedent from the Federal Supreme Court demonstrates that no limitation period applies to disputes involving immovable property. Given the comparable formal requirements for immovable property and registered shares, this precedent logically extends to registered shares, reinforcing the position against limitation periods.

Neither do legal principles dictate that limitation periods should be narrowly interpreted. Without explicit legal provisions mandating such limits, courts should refrain from inferring them. The constitutional guarantee of property rights strengthens this position, emphasising that restrictions on fundamental rights require clear and explicit legal authorisation.

Considering the nature of property rights, it reinforces the argument against limitations. Property rights are inherently enduring and are not forfeited merely due to inactivity. For instance, shareholders maintain their ownership rights irrespective of their participation in corporate affairs or dividend collection. Therefore, inactivity alone cannot extinguish ownership rights.

Finally, moral and ethical considerations further support excluding registered shares from limitation periods. Property rights, historically upheld in Ethiopian legal tradition, emphasise lawful acquisition and protection against wrongful possession.

The ancient legal text, “Fetha Negest,” articulates this principle clearly: “Do not take the wealth of anyone by violence; do not buy from him by force either openly or by trick.” Thus, allowing property ownership to lapse simply because a rightful owner has not promptly contested unauthorised possession violates fundamental ethical standards.

The comprehensive protection of ownership rights, as detailed in the constitutional and civil law, supports maintaining unlimited temporal scope for claims over registered shares. Unlike bearer shares or ordinary movable property, whose ownership claims can lapse due to lack of timely action, registered shares demand continued ownership legal protection.