Brewing Trouble as Tella Bars Go Dry

Jul 13 , 2025. By BEZAWIT HULUAGER ( FORTUNE STAFF WRITER )

The sweet-sour scent of "tella" still lingered in the cramped compound off Tunisia Street, close to Addisu Gebeya, even though the drink itself is gone. Days ago, 200Lts of the home-brewed beer were poured away, another casualty of a quiet but determined crackdown in Addis Abeba.

"I just dumped the spoiled batch," said Esubalew Adane, standing beside the empty earthen jars.

It cost him 12,000 Br, money he could ill afford to lose.

Esubalew's shop had been open only four months when police walked in and ordered him to shut his doors. Officers told him to switch his license from "traditional alcohol retail" to "food only". The business stayed dark for nine days while he filled out forms and queued at desks. When he reopened, the changes felt like a hollow victory. The "Wancha," traditional ox-horn cups, sat unused.

In their place were plastic tumblers and commercial beer bottles that did not need 15 days of fermenting.

"Without tella, the business makes no sense," he said.

He arrived in the capital from Debre Markos, a town in Amhara Regional State, after tailoring work dried up in the ongoing conflict. A Tella-Bet, a traditional brawl, looked like a lifeline. He knew the rhythm of brewing. Gesho (Ethiopian hops) leaves for bitterness, barley and wheat for body, and patience for flavour.

Now, livelihood hangs by a thread. The two women he employs depend on the shop. His wife and two children, back in Debre Markos, also rely on him. Officials have even asked him to declare 50,000 Br in capital instead of the 10,000 Br he managed to scrape together. He has no idea where to find the difference.

Walk 400m down the road, and Tagele Endale is staring at a locked door of his own. A single red stamp on a "sealed" notice has shut his Tella Bet for three weeks. Like Esubalew, he can reopen only if he swaps beer for food. His problem is time. Four hundred litres of fermenting tella sit idle in a back room. If it spoils, he would lose 25,000 Br.

Meanwhile, the rent ticks on at 20,000 Br a month.

"I doubt the profitability if we change it to food," he said.

Tagele runs another branch in Qechene neighbourhood, but that area has its own worries. Late last month, a woman working after midnight was attacked outside one of his outlets.

Local officials from the Wereda Peace & Security Bureau believe that Tella Bets invites trouble. This view led to the closure of 11 licensed Tella and Areqe brawls in recent weeks and drinks seized from unlicensed vendors.

"The main reason is security," said Nathan Rundasa, head of the local trade bureau.

A city-level study flagged specific neighbourhoods as hotspots for petty theft and late-night violence. In the first 15 days of the campaign, officials took 25 "legal actions".

"These places have been monitored before," Nathan told Fortune. "But many of them have become breeding grounds for crime."

Not everyone buys the argument, though.

Anteneh Moges stores his Tella in a shaded warehouse near Gerji, where 13 workers help him supply more than six outlets. A bank manager by day, he treats the drink as an investment.

His retailes pay up to 600,000 Br a year in taxes. He shells out 1.5 million Br in rent. For him, the trade is clean, profitable, and predictable.

"I've never seen a fight in these places in all the time I've worked in the industry," he said. "Intoxication brings celebration, not violence."

Research suggests the truth is more complicated. A 2024 paper in the journal "Substance Abuse Treatment, Prevention & Policy" found that hazardous drinking touches about nine percent of the population and is linked to risky sex-related, traffic crashes, and violent crime.

Men are nearly 10 times more likely than women to fall into harmful patterns. And, alarmingly, drinking in the student population is on the rise. Tella is woven into everyday life and occasions such as weddings, funerals, and religious festivities. But, researchers warn that widespread consumption carries costs that the law rarely captures.

City officials logged 11,517 incidents of fraud, forgery, violent assault, and illicit trade, fueled in part by tips from residents. However, they insist that they are not singling out brewers.

According to Ashenafi Birhanu, communications director at the Addis Abeba City Administration Trade Bureau, the crackdown targets any outlet judged a public-safety risk.

"We're not saying they are illegal," he told Fortune. "We're only de-risking the areas."

Traders usually get notices first, but for Ashenafi, "peace and security have no patience." Owners are told to relocate or change their line of work.

Addis Abeba has issued more than half a million licences across a thousand sectors. A traditional alcohol permit is "one of the easiest." Applicants can even file online, but it will not save a bar if the police decide it is in the wrong spot.

The Mayor, Adanech Abiebie, has urged residents to help keep the city safe. Last week, she told councillors that 7.9 million people had taken part in block-level forums, clearing suspected hideouts and setting up volunteer patrols. More than 3,628 pieces of information flowed to the authorities, who see the closed Tella houses as one piece of that broader push.

Addis Abeba alone produces more than two million hectolitres of tella each year, disclosed a study published this year in the Journal of Ethnic Foods. With retail prices of industrial beer rising, demand for the cheaper traditional brew has soared. Some outlets shift up to 800Lts a month.

The drink fuels an informal economy of grain traders, transporters, potters, and workers employed by the brawls. Excise taxes on commercial beer, meant to curb consumption, may have pushed drinkers to the cheaper, unregulated tella instead.

For Abdurazak Nesro, a senior legal adviser,  "It's a self-inflicted wound."

Legal experts like him say blanket closures of these outlets violate the right to work. They argue that the constitution guarantees the right to pursue any lawful trade.

"Citizens accept maladministration in silence," he said.

He wants a proper grievance channel and suggests the Anti-Corruption Commission should review the decisions.

On Tunisia Street, the changes are visible and unsettling. The shelf that once held jog clay jars now displays bottled water and mid-shelf wine. The kitchen, too narrow for real cooking, is a store-room of empty jars and dusty gauges.

Esubalew, apron tied at the waist, watches the door as though a customer might surprise him. Most walked past. Some peered in, sniffed the air, and moved on. The promise of fresh Tella was the lure. Without it, his place feels like a room waiting for its purpose.

Tagele talked with his landlord about a rent cut he is unlikely to get. He sketched numbers on a scrap of paper: lost sales, souring grain, interest on a small loan.

"I migrated to escape the war and find work," he said. "Who needs clothes when they can't even survive?"

His question hangs over the city's informal business sector. When war, inflation, or policy change snuffs out one trade, people jump to the next. But shutting the door on Tella leaves a gap that many do not know how to fill.

In Gerji, Anteneh checked on his workers. They stack barrels in a cool corner and scrub residue from the floor. Business is still good for now. Yet, every phone call brings rumours: another neighbourhood, another closure. If his outlets disappear, his own operation will follow.

"We pay our taxes," he said. "We keep people employed. What else do they want?"

City officials note that many Tella houses open late and close earlier than commercial beer halls. Critics counter that police presence is lighter in poorer neighbourhoods, making small bars soft targets.

"If there are criminal incidents, they should be addressed case by case, not by blanket shutdown," Abdurazak said.

For months, Addis Abeba has tried to drag its informal economy into the daylight, issuing licences and urging traders to pay tax. Traditional alcohol was seen as a success story. Low hurdles, online applications, a bit of paperwork, and the state gained revenue.

PUBLISHED ON Jul 13,2025 [ VOL 26 , NO 1315]