Old Weddings Feed the Village, Today's Cater For Algorithm

Old Weddings Feed the Village, Today's Cater For Algorithm

Sep 6 , 2025. By Ahmed T. Abdulkadir ( AhmedT. Abdulkadir (ahmedteyib.abdulkadir@addisfortune.net) is the Editor-in-Chief at Addis Fortune. With a critical eye on class dynamics, public policy, and the cultural undercurrents shaping Ethiopian society. )

Addis Abeba dazzles on a wedding weekend. A parade of SUVs and Mercedes-Benzes noses through potholes toward the Sheraton Addis on Taitu St. or the dazzling new Skylight Hotel on Africa Avenue (Bole Road). Inside, chandeliers glint off mirrored walls, and florists build arches the size of small trees. Guests, dresses pressed and phones charged, brace as the DJ calls out the couple’s names.

The bride appeared first, her gown a streak of light in a hall primed for Instagram. Bridesmaids moved in a TikTok-ready routine. From a distance, it looked like prosperity had landed. A perfect day of wealth, style and happiness.

Looking closer, another story emerged. Much of the glamour rested on borrowed money, and an old Ethiopian dilemma of “Sew Min Yilal?” (What will people say?) clouds over like an extra guest at every table. Often, families strain their savings and credit to stage a show of plenty, hoping no one sees the unpaid bills under the napkins.

Not long ago, weddings were a communal endeavour. In the Dasenech community, a groom proved worth with cattle and goats. Among the Mareko, friends of the groom pretended to break into the bride’s home, testing his resolve. The Bena made him leap over oxen to display strength. Wealth was counted in livestock, alliances and the ability to feed the village for days.

In contemporary weddings, cash has replaced cattle, and rented luxury cars now stand in for oxen. Receipts from florists, makeup artists, photographers and hotels have become tokens of honour. A ritual that once expressed productive wealth now buys nonproductive glitter. The gift economy has been absorbed by the service economy, and a sacred rite has turned into a performance for sale. Social media fuels the new script. Hashtags such as "#habeshawedding" draw thousands of “likes,” making each floral arch, drone shot and choreographed "eskista" dance another unit of social currency.

The diaspora adds its own pressure. Couples in Washington, Toronto or Stockholm can afford celebrations that dwarf local paychecks. When clips of those parties ricochet back on TikTok, they set a gold standard that families in Addis Abeba, living on an average monthly income of about 7,000 Br, feel they should match. The result is a costly mismatch between imported aesthetics and domestic wallets, one deep enough to swallow savings accounts.

A modern wedding rarely ends with a single ceremony. The main event is followed by the day-after party, hosted by the bride’s family, and the reunion for wider guests. Add in pre-parties, bridal showers and bachelor nights, and expenses soar. Catering and a hall for 200 people can run from half a million Birr to over a million. Dresses, cars, photography, flowers and entertainment push the total higher still.

Even the lowest budget wedding, planners say, costs roughly 150,000 Br, about 2.3 years of the average household income. Traditional savings circles, such as "iqub", once enough to bankroll a feast, can no longer carry the load. Families lean instead on bank loans and high-interest micro-credit. The honeymoon bill is often their smallest worry.

However, the same money could serve as a down payment, seed capital for a shop or a buffer against inflation that erodes paychecks. Instead, it vanishes in 24 hours of rented opulence, leaving behind photographs, videos and the quiet anxiety of repayment schedules.

Why persist?

In an economy where jobs wobble and prices rise, a lavish wedding signals stability. It is conspicuous consumption at its purest, Thorstein Veblen’s theory dressed in tulle. To spend freely is to declare, “We are not struggling.” Cutting back risks whispers that the family is ashamed, unhappy, or simply poor.

Change, though, is stirring. A small but growing group of couples is saying no. They host intimate ceremonies, redirect money toward homes and businesses or avoid debt altogether. Their parents often protest, fearing that a scaled-down event hints at failure. Still, the rebels persist, fighting table by table and guest list by guest list. The wedding has become a paradox, though. It is a ritual designed to spark joy, now igniting anxiety; a celebration of union often begins with debt.

The costs are not only monetary but also psychological, reinforcing a cycle in which families attempt to purchase social standing at the expense of their future security. However, when the last "eskista" spin ends and the final bottle of wine is poured, the question lingers.

Have they built a day that glitters briefly, or a foundation strong enough to support a family for decades?

In Addis Abeba’s booming wedding industry, that answer is written less in chandeliers and hashtags than in the quiet calculus of loans yet to be paid.

PUBLISHED ON Sep 06,2025 [ VOL 26 , NO 1323]