The Qera livestock market, on Alexander Pushkin St., wakes before sunrise. Beneath a pale sky, cattle traders in felt hats tease reluctant bulls with twists of rope, boys chase bleating goats through muddy alleys, and butchers wander the corrals sizing up the weight of an ox by sight alone.

Deals begin with banter, a shout of greeting, a clapped palm, and end with the gesture that has signalled trust for generations. A firm handshake and an elder’s vow ascertain that the animal is sound. Where cattle measure wealth and weddings are judged by the size of the slaughter, the art of bargaining is as cherished as the feast that follows.

That handshake, however, is no longer enough for the city’s tax officials.

A new rule requires any butcher who buys animals without receiving a printed receipt to instead collect data from the seller. The butcher is required to record full names and address, write the agreed price, attach a photocopy or screenshot on mobile phones of the seller’s identification card, secure a signature, and staple a bank transfer slip if money changes hands electronically.

The entire bundle should be delivered to local revenue offices as proof of the transactions.

This is part of the fiscal policymakers and tax officials to meet a hefty federal budget bill, hitting the threshold of almost two trillion Birr. For a government bound by a deal with the IMF, committed not to borrow from the Central Bank to pay its budget deficit, its tax agents are aggressive, if not desperate, to scrap every revenue stream. After all, they recognise that the amount of tax collected as a ratio to the GDP is the lowest in Africa.

Tax authorities argue that the change in the livestock market is essential. They see it as one of the most lucrative trades, but also a leaking bucket for taxes.

“Receipts are the only way to stop tax evasion,” said Sewnet Ayele, head of communication at the Addis Abeba Revenue Bureau. “Whether from the seller or through the new buyer-submitted contract system, documentation protects the public purse.”

If a butcher inflates the purchase price on the voucher, auditors can compare slaughter numbers and regional price data and accept only 65pc of the claimed amount. The balance is subject to tax.

Inside the Qera market, the new rule felt like a reversal. Paperwork, photocopiers, and bank slips have turned a fast-moving, mostly cash economy into a bureaucratic obstacle course.

According to Ayele Sahle, general manager of the Addis Abeba Butchery Association, which has spoken for the trade since 1956, the new way of buying cattle puts far more pressure on his 1,300 members.

“In these open markets you can’t find a photocopy machine, let alone draft contracts under the sun while a bull tugs at its rope,” he told Fortune.

Addis Abeba counts more than 2,000 butcheries, where more than half pay monthly fees to the Association to finance a welfare scheme generous by Ethiopian standards. A member gets paid compensation of 200,000 Br if a carcass fails the vet’s test; fire-accident aid, up to 100,000 Br toward funerals, and overseas medical cover of 400,000 Br. All of it depends on shops staying open.

Not everything about the trade fits nostalgic images of masculinity and ease. The Association’s welfare fund paid out 33 funeral grants last year, mostly to men trampled while loading cattle onto lorries or cut by the industrial saws now common in modern shops.

Fire gutted two stalls in Qality, the southeast part of the city, and another six members lost entire carcasses when inspectors at the Abattoir condemned them for disease. According to Ayele, stable taxation would help free up funds to train staff and improve hygiene.

“We want fairness, not favours,” he said. “Tax us in a way we can manage.”

At Mite Special Butcher, near Wello Sefer, its owner, Mitiku Moshago, pulled on a blood-red apron and recalled the trouble that began with a single stack of sheep. In 2022, he bought 26 animals at Qera.

The trader handed over a receipt printed in Gamo Zone, hundreds of kilometres away. The city office rejected it.

“It put me in serious trouble,” he said, “adding more cost to my annual tax.”

Last year, Mitiku paid more than 300,000 Br in sales. A former soldier wounded in battle, and a father of five, he supplements his income with a monthly disability payment of 4,700 Br, but fears he may soon need a different trade altogether.

Across town, Wendmamachoch Butchery employs 16 staff and usually stores two cattle a day, swelling to 10 in the busy seasons or double that number during holidays. Last year, when buying cattle from Bale, Adama, Wollega, and Gonder, Wendmamachoch paid more than 1.2 million Br in tax.

How high a butcher shop sits on the tax ladder depends on daily throughput, location and size. The Bureau sorts businesses into four bands.

The highest assumes an average of 148Kg of ox meat and 115Kg of cow meat sold each day. The smallest,60Kg and 45Kg, respectively. Officials multiply these numbers by seasonal price charts to estimate annual income, then levy tax. Butchers argue the method punishes honest traders when paperwork gaps open and auditors discount part of their expenses.

“If I keep demanding a receipt, I can’t get enough number of cattle,” said Girma Assefa, manager of Wendmamachoch Butchery, fearing that strict insistence on receipts would strangle supply. “Holding documents together while negotiating is almost impossible.”

The Association’s leaders thought they had a solution. More than a year ago, they proposed folding the tax into the slaughterhouse service fee already collected by the Addis Abeba Abattoirs Enterprise. A butcher pays 200,000 Br each time the Enterprise inspects, slaughters, quarters and stamps an animal.

Adding a tax element per carcass, they argued, would close loopholes without choking the market. The Enterprise agreed. In a letter to the Mayor’s Office, its managers argued that the Enterprise’s digital database could report every animal processed and the fee attached to it.

However, obtaining a receipt is rarely simple. Traders often work on handshake credit, primarily when they have known a buyer for years.

Girma Kebede has sold cattle in Qera for two decades. He supports six children and usually travels to Harar, Jimma or Bale to assemble 15 to 20 heads before driving them north.