I made my way recently to Social Addis for the tenth gathering of Writer Circle, and found the room fuller and braver than the one I had sat in 10 months earlier. What began as a simple wish among friends, a stage given over entirely to poetry and writing, has in that short span become one of the most quietly important spaces for young writers and spoken-word artists in Addis Abeba.

Ethiopia's long literary tradition keeps breathing through another generation.

Social Addis sits on Mickey Leland Road, a.k.a Chichinya neighbourhood, a newer, creative pocket of the city. Set above street level, its rooftop looks out over its neighbours and gathers local and international artists, musicians, photographers, filmmakers and creatives of all kinds.

On the last Thursday of each month, the place turns into a home for writers, where poems, spoken word, song lyrics, personal essays and every imaginable form of creative writing come alive before an attentive audience.

The idea behind Writer Circle is a plain one. It is an open mic where writing itself takes centre stage. Each performer gets five minutes to share original work. On a typical evening, between 10 and 13 people step up to the microphone, a few seasoned, many doing it for the first time.

The format is deliberately welcoming, a space where expression matters more than polish.

It is hard to separate that ambition from Ethiopia's own literary inheritance.

This is one of Africa's oldest written and oral traditions, stretching back more than 1,000 years. Poetry has served as sacred expression, a vehicle of military and anti-colonial resistance, religious reflection and political critique. Traditional forms such as Qene carried extraordinary linguistic sophistication, while oral storytelling ferried history from one generation to the next.

That inheritance now travels in a different vessel, as spoken word, poetry slams and live competitions draw ever younger audiences hungry for voices that mirror their lives.

Amharic poetry has, over recent years, grown into an energetic culture of live performance. National competitions have produced champions able to represent the country abroad, and independent organisers keep opening spaces where poetry is celebrated outside the classroom. Yet for all that momentum, opportunities built specifically for writers stayed scarce, and that absence is what Writer Circle set out to fill.

The story began with Tsirha Tsegaye, a poet who wanted a place where poetry could stand on its own, without competing against music or other entertainment. Unable to find such a venue, she turned to a close friend, Natnael Tadelle, who had already made his name by winning the second Ethiopia Poetry Slam national championship and representing Ethiopia at an African competition in Ghana in 2025.

At almost the same moment, the event organiser, Nafiba Tamiru, was talking with another poet, Tsion Fisseha, who joked that she would gladly attend any event Nafiba put on, so long as it was about poetry. That passing remark grew into something larger.

Nafiba reached out to Nathnael about a poetry night, not knowing he had already been planning an open mic of his own. Before long, Tsirha, Nathnael, Nafiba, Tsion and Sosena Moges had formed a five-person team set on building Writer Circle.

They first considered calling it Unplugged, then set the name aside to avoid confusion with existing brands, choosing a brand that put community ahead of performance.

The first event took place in October last year. The organisers expected perhaps 30 people. More than double that number came, proof that an audience had been waiting for precisely this. Encouraged, they kept to the last Thursday of every month, and over the following nine months both attendance and participation climbed.

Having sat in the room at the first gathering and the tenth, I can vouch for the difference. In those early days, many preferred to listen. By the tenth, noticeably more were stepping onto the stage for the first time, no longer content to observe, willing to share pieces they had long kept private.