Music Bridges Cultures

Apr 4 , 2026. By Blen Hailu ( Blen Hailu (blenmahi12@gmail.com) studied marketing, management and law. She works in communications and digital content creation, with a focus on human rights, equity and youth engagement.  )

The connection between Ethiopian and Sudanese music is not simply a matter of influence; it is something more layered, historical, and emotional. For decades, melodies, rhythms, and even vocal styles have moved back and forth across the border, carried by migration, shared border and history, and mutual admiration. Writes Blen Hailu (blenmahi12@gmail.con) studied marketing, management and law. She works in communications and digital content creation, with a focus on human rights, equity and youth engagement.

Around Lem Hotel, near Sidra Hotel, there is a villa house tucked quietly under the name Mesob Habesha Music Center. The gate stands wide open, almost as if it has been waiting all day for guests to arrive, with ivy spilling gently over the edges and trees arching above it in a soft, natural welcome. As you step inside, a long, wide path stretches ahead, lined with dense greenery and tall trees that seem to walk alongside you, guiding you deeper into the space. The noise of the city slowly fades, replaced by the subtle rustling of leaves and distant notes of music drifting through the air. It feels less like entering a venue and more like stepping into a hidden world.

As you continue along the path, you pass a villa house where musicians and artists spend their days rehearsing, experimenting, and creating. There is energy in the air, a quiet hum of creativity that lingers even when the rooms themselves are still. Then, just beyond, the restaurant reveals itself, a complete transformation into a cultural heaven. Built from rock, with a roof carefully layered in bamboo sticks, the structure feels deeply rooted in tradition. The walls are covered with artistic works, each telling its own story, from textured paintings to carefully preserved Cow Skin decorations. Wooden chairs and tables, worn yet sturdy, complete the space, giving it an earthy authenticity that cannot be replicated.

To the left, tucked into the corner just as you enter the restaurant, drinks are served in a way that feels both casual and ceremonial. Tej, Arqe, and Tella are poured alongside beers and whisky, offering a blend of traditional and modern tastes. I had been to Mesob on different occasions before, both as an event organizer and as an attendee, giving me a chance to experience the space from different perspectives while observing the work behind it.

Throughout the week, the center hosts a variety of music events, each with its own rhythm and identity. The Mesob band performs every Monday, often inviting guest musicians and singers to join them on stage. Tuesdays are dedicated to Azmari Night, where the sounds of the masinqo and accordion bring storytelling to life. This time, however, I attended something new to me, a Friday Jazz night known as “Beewnet Qine.”

The night was started by Helen Abera and her band, who came together with the purpose of exploring new ways of performing Jazz. Their approach felt experimental yet grounded, blending improvisation with carefully composed pieces. Helen performed mostly original songs, and the crowd seemed fully tuned in, listening with an intensity that spoke louder than applause. There was a sense of connection, as if the music was not just being performed but shared, unfolding in real time between the artist and the audience.

Later in the evening, before the Jazz session took its full shape, the energy shifted as another performer took the stage. Hazim Alshalei, a Sudanese singer, brought a different kind of movement into the space. From the moment he began, the crowd responded, rising from their seats, clapping, and dancing. The audience itself was a reflection of the city’s diverse people of different age groups, foreigners, Sudanese residents, and locals all blending into one collective presence.

He performed a variety of songs, including the famous “Sukker” by Abdel Karim Alkabli, a piece that holds deep meaning across borders. The song later found its way into Ethiopian music through an Amharic adaptation known as “Sikuar,” performed by Menelik Wosenachew. Hearing it in this setting felt like witnessing a bridge between cultures, a reminder of how music travels, transforms, and finds new life in different places.

After the performance, I had the chance to speak with Hazim, and through that conversation, a deeper understanding began to unfold. The connection between Ethiopian and Sudanese music is not simply a matter of influence; it is something more layered, historical, and emotional. For decades, melodies, rhythms, and even vocal styles have moved back and forth across the border, carried by migration, shared border and history, and mutual admiration. Ethiopian artists like Menelik Wosenachew, Aster Aweke, Tilahun Gessesse, and Teddy Afro have found audiences in Sudan, where their music resonates despite language differences. In the same way, Sudanese musicians have left their legacy on Ethiopian listeners, creating a continuous exchange that feels organic rather than intentional. What makes this relationship even more profound is that Sudan itself is a country of immense linguistic diversity, with over a hundred languages and dialects spoken, yet many Sudanese listeners describe Ethiopian music as something they feel instinctively, as if it speaks directly to them beyond words. There is a shared emotional vocabulary in the scales, in the way voices bend and stretch notes, in the melancholic yet hopeful tone that defines much of both musical traditions. It is a connection that does not require translation, only listening.

The Mesob Habesha Music Center, hidden in the corner of Lem Hotel, has become a space where these kinds of moments happen naturally. It serves not only as a venue but as a gathering place for artists, musicians, painters, poets who come together to practice, perform, and exchange ideas. The environment encourages collaboration, allowing different forms of art to exist side by side. Created by the Mesob cultural music group, who were formed in 2012 in Addis Abeba, is at the heart of this space. The group consists of six traditional instrumentalists, each bringing their own creativity to the collective sound.

Among them is Tasew Wendem, who plays the Washint, an Ethiopian traditional flute. He has become one of the central figures in organizing and managing events at the center. His presence reflects the group’s commitment not only to performance but also to creating opportunities for others. At one point, the group struggled to find a consistent space for practice, and this experience has shaped their vision for Mesob. They hope the center will encourage young artists, giving them a place to develop their skills and express themselves freely.

As the night continued, I spoke with people in the audience both regular visitors and those attending for the first time. Despite their different backgrounds, their responses were strikingly similar. There was a shared appreciation for the space, for its atmosphere, and for the performances it hosted. Some spoke about the sense of community they felt, while others highlighted the quality of the music. For first-timers, there was often a sense of surprise, as if they had stumbled upon something unexpected yet deeply meaningful.

I left the night with a deep sense of appreciation for the space and everything it holds, from the music and the people to the quiet details that make Mesob feel alive. It wasn’t just an evening out, but an experience that stayed with me, lingering in the melodies and conversations long after I had gone. Having been there both as an organizer and as a guest, I found a new kind of enjoyment this time, one that felt more personal and immersive. It’s a place that draws you back without effort, and I already find myself looking forward to visiting again soon, to once more be part of that atmosphere where music, culture, and community come together so naturally.

PUBLISHED ON Apr 04,2026 [ VOL 27 , NO 1353]