The footsteps, bargaining voices and rustle of cotton cloth that once filled Shematera in Mercato have faded.
The narrow passages that used to carry customers searching for handwoven fabrics feel unusually quiet, rows of locked doors standing where one of Addis Abeba’s oldest trading areas kept its daily rhythm.
For more than 15 years, Getahun Demissie arrived at his shop every Tuesday morning expecting another ordinary day. His business depended on a network that stretched far beyond his storefront, from weavers who travelled to the market after producing handwoven cloth to traders like him who bought the products and supplied customers seeking Ethiopia’s traditional fabrics.
That routine ended last month, abruptly. When Getahun, a father of three, opened his shop, officers from the Mercato No. 1 Tax Bureau branch arrived carrying a notice stamped with a single disruptive word, “closed.”
More than 10 tax officials, accompanied by law enforcement officers from the Addis Abeba Police, moved through the building, ordering traders to shut their shops and fixing closure notices to the doors.
“They told us they were doing it because they received an order from higher officials,” Getahun told Fortune. “I asked them why they were sealing our shops and what mistake we had made, but that was the explanation they gave us.”
Three weeks later, the doors remain closed.
Inside, nearly 180 shops have been shut, affecting hundreds of business owners who live by selling traditional clothing. Many still gather around their locked shops, while the customers who once crowded the area have largely vanished. A few refuse to give up, trying to sell from balconies near the sealed doors.
“We didn’t expect the closure to continue for this long,” Getahun said. “But nothing has changed.”
For him, the closure is not only a business problem but a personal crisis. He rents his residence and his shop, has four children in private school, and carries monthly expenses of nearly 60,000 Br. With his income cut off, Getahun does not know how he will meet those obligations.
“Where should I get the money to pay for my children’s school registration?” he asked. “Where should I get the money for my house rent?”
For now, his family is surviving on what it has already saved.
“But if this continues, I don’t know what will happen next,” Getahun said. “We’re just waiting quietly and watching.”
The disruption reaches well beyond individual traders. Shematera’s market depends on a chain that ties together thousands of people, from weavers to traders selling finished garments, tailors and workers who provide finishing and ironing.
About 15,000 people are estimated to depend on activity connected to the building alone. The closure has stopped the movement of goods that carries their income.
For generations, the area has been more than a cluster of shops. Set within Mercato, Africa’s largest open-air market, it has been a centre for handwoven cotton cloth since the Derg regime. Traders who once worked from open-floor stalls moved into formal shops, organised themselves and built the current five-storey building, while thousands of vendors still sell traditional fabrics in the surrounding streets.
The confrontation began with a change to the tax system. The federal government amended the income tax law and ended the turnover-based arrangement under which traders had long paid fixed amounts.
“After they amended the law, they ran to Mercato,” said Getahun. “We became the first punished by the change.”
The traders insist they are not refusing to pay. They were operating under the system the authorities themselves had provided. Many claim that they are now pushed into a new framework “without sufficient consultation” or time to adjust.
However, officials at the Addis Abeba Revenue Bureau concluded that many of these traders’ daily sales exceeded a threshold, requiring them to issue receipts. They also estimated daily revenue at more than 7,000 Br and judged that many were earning above two million Birr a year, compelling them to join the VAT system.
Business owners there rejected the assessment, arguing that it ignores a business whose margins are shaped by buying costs, payments to suppliers, labour and other operating expenses. However, the underlying objection is that a receipt-based system does not fit how their supply chain works.
Many businesses in Shematera buy fabrics directly from weavers who produce them outside the formal receipt system, then finish them before selling. They wonder how they can “suddenly operate.” issuing receipts when their suppliers do not issue them receipts.
Tsegaye Wana, who has worked in Shematera for nearly 30 years and is the sole provider for his three children, built his whole model around a chain that has existed for decades.
“I bought everything without a receipt,” he told Fortune. “I never received a receipt from the weavers. Now they are asking me to sell with receipts. How is that possible?”
Tsegaye argued that the dispute could have been settled through discussion, and that traders repeatedly raised their concerns, moving between the woreda tax office and the Mayor’s Office.
“We discussed the issue and were waiting for a solution,” he said. “In the meantime, they came and sealed our shops. This is unjust.”
For businesspeople like Tsegaye, the cost runs past lost income.
“This kills my family’s morale. It makes us feel like we could become homeless,” he told Fortune.
The workers who serve the market but own no shops have been hit as hard. Yohannes Workineh, a father of four, has spent more than two decades providing ironing, embroidery and tailoring for Shematera’s shop owners.
The closure cut his income at a stroke. Two weeks had passed without earnings.
“My family and I are living in constant fear,” he told Fortune.
“I can’t continue like this. If the shop remains closed, I’ll have to carry loads to put food on the table for my family,” he said.
When traders cannot sell, weavers lose buyers, tailors customers and transporters businesses. The closure of one building has drained a whole network.
Officials at the Addis Abeba Revenue Bureau reject the claim that traders were unfairly singled out. According to Biniyam Mikru, who heads the Bureau, the Bureau gave merchants “enough time” to comply before enforcing the law.
“We waited for them for more than six months to come into this system,” Biniam told Fortune. “But, they didn’t come. The law should be enforced. That is what we did.”
Biniam argued that Shematera was identified because many of its shops trade at revenue that requires receipts and VAT registration. A single traditional cloth can sell for more than 10,000 Br. A trader selling even one a day would pass the two million Birr threshold.
He also dismissed the argument that buying without receipts makes compliance impossible, saying traders can document expenses by other means. According to him, his Bureau did not demand VAT without sales, but asked traders to report their actual transactions.
“We didn’t calculate their VAT based on our daily income assessment,” he said. “We only asked them to report their sales and pay VAT accordingly. We asked them to have receipts. We sealed their shops after explaining the remedies. Once they come into the system, we’ll open their shops.”
The Mayor, Adanech Abiebie, administers a geographically compact but commercially dense economy with a high concentration of taxpayers, businesses, property transactions, and consumption.
According to a macroeconomic survey conducted three years ago, Addis Abeba produced goods and services valued at more than two trillion Birr. Although the figure predates the latest budget cycle, it offers the most recent official-style measure available of the capital’s economic size.
Its budget for the concluded fiscal year was 350.13 billion Br. Although five times lower than the federal government’s budget, it demonstrates a substantial spending capacity and an unusually high degree of financial self-reliance. But there is a gap of nearly eight billion Birr between its revenue collection target and its actual revenue, putting pressure on officials like Biniam to mobilise more.
A high revenue target has intensified pressure on businesses and property owners.
Not everyone views the Bureau’s approach as the problem. Dawit Kejela, a tax expert and former Revenue Office official, believes the Bureau largely followed proper legal procedure, since any business whose annual sales cross the VAT threshold is required to register.
“Consumers ultimately pay VAT,” he said. Businesses collect it on behalf of the government and remit it to the tax authority. It should not be viewed as a tax burden on the trader.”
He rejected the idea that missing supplier receipts make compliance impossible, noting that hotels, service providers and manufacturers often buy without standard receipts yet still issue them when they sell.
“Shematera is not fundamentally different,” he said.
Even so, Dawit sees room for cooperation. Though he considered the assessment method broadly reasonable because it rests on sales rather than profits, he argued that both sides would gain from agreeing on how it is applied.
According to him, where weavers cannot provide formal receipts, traders could prepare purchase vouchers and have suppliers sign them, gradually drawing more of the supply chain into the formal system.
“It would eventually benefit the entire sector,” he said.
The confrontation comes as the federal government pursues one of its most ambitious domestic revenue drives in years. Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s Administration has put fresh weight on lifting tax revenue and widening the base, backed by international lenders, among them the International Monetary Fund (IMF), which has pressed Ethiopia to enhance tax mobilisation and rely less on domestic borrowing.
The harder enforcement has bred frustration, with many taxpayers arguing that officials keep squeezing businesses and salaried workers already in the formal economy, while a far larger informal sector remains untaxed.
Businesspeople like Dawit Geze see it differently, framing the fight not as a refusal to pay but as a denial of the chance to resolve the disagreement through administrative channels.
“We don’t owe the government even a single Birr in unpaid taxes,” he said.
“We’ve always paid the fixed tax the government required from us.”
The shops were sealed while their owners were still waiting for a solution.
“They tell us to pay, but how can we pay when our shops are closed, and we can’t work?” wondered Dawit. “They didn’t treat us like taxpayers. They treated us like people operating outside the law. We’ve also lost our right to ask questions and seek accountability.”
This captures a dilemma facing any government trying to raise revenue without wrecking livelihoods built over decades.
For the Bureau, the campaign is doing what reform is meant to do. Addis Abeba has expanded its collection sharply, mobilising 351 billion Br this fiscal year, close to 70pc of it from taxes, almost a sixfold increase on the city’s revenue six years ago. Its target for the coming year is more ambitious still, 502 billion Br, about 43pc above the previous plan.
“Our tax collection capacity has increased,” Biniyam said.
The Bureau is chasing businesses that should be registered for VAT and employers who fail to remit employment income tax.
Business owners in Shematera are preparing to contest the decision in court, setting up one of the capital’s most closely watched disputes over tax enforcement.