Landing in Addis, Leaving With a Receipt

Jan 17 , 2026
By Kidist Yidnekachew

---

The atmosphere at Bole International Airport no longer centres on reunion alone. Aggressive solicitation, targeted at diaspora visitors, has become routine. Requests focus on dollars, not local currency, revealing a hierarchy of value placed on foreign earnings. Family visits increasingly carry financial obligation. The experience risks turning homecoming into an exhausting transaction.

---

A few weeks ago, I went to Bole International Airport to welcome my uncles back to Addis Abeba. It should have been a simple, happy occasion. Instead, the experience left me thinking about how much the atmosphere of the city has changed. While waiting in the arrivals area, two things stood out, both sharply different from previous visits. The airport no longer felt like a place of reunion. It felt like a space of aggressive solicitation, where members of the diaspora are treated less as returning family and more as targets to be pursued.

The first thing I noticed was the sheer number of real estate agents. They waited for the diaspora like predators, eager and impatient to deliver their pitches. In some cases, three different agents from the same company crowded around a single individual. They were not standing quietly with signs. They actively pursued people, selling dreams of property ownership before travelers had even taken a proper breath after long flights. The experience felt overwhelming. These agents appeared to see the diaspora as quick investments, ignoring the reality that many had just completed exhausting journeys and simply wanted to reunite with their families.

More irritating than the sales pitches were the people asking for money. These were not the familiar beggars often seen on Addis Abeba’s streets. They were presentable individuals who employed a very specific and persistent approach. They followed members of the diaspora from the terminal to their cars, showering them with blessings and prayers. It was calculated pressure. They did not ask for Birr. They asked for dollars.

I witnessed a moment when a diaspora traveler told one of these individuals that he had no dollars and asked a local relative to offer Birr instead. The Birr was refused. The person insisted that the traveler’s money was “better.” Even a single dollar, they said, was preferable to local currency. They would not let go. They followed him through the parking area until exhaustion took over. Eventually, like many others, he gave in, handing over a few dollars or a couple hundred Birr just to be left alone.

The entire scene felt unsettling. I do not remember the airport being like this only a few years ago. Our relatives usually return every three years or so, but this visit felt fundamentally different. It revealed a growing, unspoken expectation that anyone arriving from abroad is a walking ATM.

We often talk about the importance of the diaspora, and it is true that much is expected of them. Still, it should be enough that they spend their hard-earned money on their families and home villages. They should not be burdened with constant pressure to give wherever they go. It feels as though the moment they set foot in the country, the process of taking from them begins.

That realisation led me to uncomfortable questions about our motivations. If diaspora relatives arrived without suitcases full of gifts, would we still be as eager to see them? If they came from neighboring countries not perceived as wealthy, would the excitement be the same? For many, the answer is probably no. Reunions have taken on a transactional nature. We invite them into our homes and show them around the city, yet almost everything is paid for with their money. We act as hosts, while they shoulder the cost of hospitality.

This is not true for every family. Some households in Addis are well-off and carry no such expectations. They make arrangements, pay for meals, and welcome relatives with genuine care. They ensure visitors feel truly at home. Still, for a large segment of the population, the arrival of a relative from abroad is viewed primarily as an economic opportunity.

What I saw at the airport reflects a deeper problem. When family members are reduced to “dollars” instead of “people,” the idea of community begins to erode. The real estate agents and persistent blessers are only the most visible expression of this mindset. They embody a belief that the diaspora owes something simply because they live elsewhere.

Coming home should mean rest and reconnection. Many relatives work demanding and isolating jobs abroad, saving for years just to visit. Meeting them with pressure, harassment, or aggressive sales is a poor reflection of who we are. We should be shielding them from such experiences, not contributing to them or silently accepting them.

I hope we can return to a time when the airport represents genuine emotion instead of a marketplace. These are our brothers, sisters, uncles, and aunts. They come seeking belonging, not to be hunted. If we continue down this path, we should not be surprised when they visit less often, or when they begin to feel like strangers in their own land.

---

PUBLISHED ON Jan 17,2026 [ VOL 26 , NO 1342]

---

[ssba-buttons]