'Woke' Musician Passes Young, 36

Early on Tuesday morning, youth from the surrounding parts of Addis Abeba entered the city, chanting and wielding sticks. They were angry, and by the time police were routing them back out, violence had ensued. Cars were burnt, buildings were stoned, shops were looted, bombs were set off and lives were lost.

By the time the day was out, political leaders were jailed, and the next day, counter-protests had erupted in Addis Abeba. Youths of the city were out, chanting and wielding their own sticks. Under an internet blackout, the Diaspora community had taken up arms, metaphorically at least, the authorities in Arat Kilo had ramped up rhetoric against messages perceived to create conflict between peoples, and the country, at least in the central parts, had lived through one of its most harrowing moments. Why?

The spark that lit the flame occurred in the southern outskirts of Addis Abeba when a famous musician was shot in his car, according to police reports. He was rushed to a hospital, but it was too late by then. He had passed away.

Reports of his death came that very evening, and by the morning of Tuesday, the news had travelled across the country and overseas. There was no doubt that there would be trouble, although it was hard to tell if this would be the explosive event that would bring the political tensions that had been building up within Ethiopia to a boil.

But Hachalu Hundessa, who was laid to rest in Ambo on Thursday, was not just a famous musician. He was one of the touring figures within the political movements of the past few years who inspired profound emotions on either side of the political aisle. There is disagreement over to whom he mattered more, but there is little ambiguity that he will be remembered as a martyr.

His life had long been intertwined with political movements in Oromia Regional State. It makes sense then that he had his political upbringing in the city where he was born and raised - Ambo - a flash point for various protest movements. It was also there that he began playing the traditional musical instrument, the Kerar.

Kumela Kelbessa, a childhood friend, remembers him gathering students around to play the instrument for them.

There was a spot where he used to practice his kerar, Ambo Alemtu. There was also a hill by his parents place where he would go to practice. It was not a popular hobby as far as his father, Hundessa Bonsa, was concerned, who wanted him to concentrate on his studies.

“But art was in his nature,” says one of Hachalu’s nine siblings, Sisay.

Ambo Alemtu also served as a place where people gathered to discuss politics and protest against the government. His participation led him into trouble with the authorities at a tender age, and his taking part in a movement in the early 2000s landed him in prison. He was attending high school by then and would spend the next years of his life in prison.

“He was affable and charismatic and able to captivate people,” says Kumela, who describes Hachalu as, in contemporary political parlance, 'woke'. “That was why he was imprisoned.”

After spending five years in prison, he went back to high school, received his diploma and continued down the path on his career as a musician. Part of his sentence was spent writing songs. Outside of prison, his formative years as a professional musician started as a drummer for a band in Adama, where he worked clubs.