Anchored to the Heart of the Land

Anchored to the Heart of the Land

Mar 21 , 2026. By Eden Sahle ( Eden Sahle is founder and CEO of Yada Technology Plc. She has studied law with a focus on international economic law. She can be reached at edensah2000@gmail.com. )

A personal journey from aspiring migrant to committed resident reveals shifting perceptions of opportunity and fulfillment. Exposure to life in Europe, marked by stability and comfort, initially reinforced long-held ambitions. Over time, experiences of loneliness and emotional distance challenged these assumptions. Ethiopia, despite its economic and structural challenges, offered a stronger sense of connection and belonging. The narrative highlights a contrast between material stability and social cohesion.

There are dreams that feel certain when you are a teenager. They form early, shaped by what you see, admire, and believe will improve your life. Mine was clear. I wanted to become a lawyer, and I wanted to leave Ethiopia. I imagined a life far away in places that seemed to offer certainty, comfort, and broader opportunity. At the same time, another voice stayed constant in my life. My father.

My father’s story did not follow the same path. He came to Addis Abeba from Eritrea as a teenager and chose to stay. He built his life here, rooted himself, and carried a steady love for Ethiopia. I remember long conversations where he tried to help me see the country through his perspective. He spoke about purpose, responsibility, and belonging. He prayed for the nation, its leaders, and its people, and he taught me and my siblings to do the same. He wanted us to stay, to grow, and to give back. Still, no matter how much he explained, I could not feel what he felt.

Leaving Ethiopia was not just an idea. It became a goal. Life eventually opened that door. Two years after graduating, I began working with international companies, and in my early twenties, I spent months abroad. At first, it felt like everything I had imagined. Europe, especially cities like Paris and London, drew me in immediately. I walked for hours, admired the architecture, sat at roadside cafés, and watched people move through their day with a kind of ease I had not experienced before. There was comfort. People were kind. Electricity and water were reliable. Streets were clean. Systems worked. Life felt structured and predictable.

I traveled across several European cities, each one adding to that sense of fascination. I believed I would build my life there. It felt like the obvious choice. Why stay in a place filled with challenges when I could live somewhere that seemed to function smoothly and offer more?

Then something shifted. I began to miss Ethiopia. Not only my family or familiar faces, but the place itself. Addis Abeba started to feel distant in a way that went beyond geography. I missed the rhythm of life, the noise, the unpredictability, and even the imperfections. I missed the warmth of people, the casual conversations, and the sense that no one is ever entirely alone. The feeling surprised me. It was not something I had planned or expected.

That was when my father’s words began to take on meaning. Not as ideas, but as something I could feel. I started to understand what he had been trying to show me. Ethiopia carries something beyond infrastructure or convenience. It lives in the culture, in the way people show up for one another, and in a shared sense of community. People give what they have, even when it is little. There is a resilience that becomes clear only after stepping away from it.

At the same time, I noticed something I had not expected. In countries where resources were abundant and systems functioned smoothly, many people still struggled. Loneliness, anxiety, and depression were common. Therapy was part of daily life. Emotional distance seemed widespread. It challenged what I had believed for years. I had assumed better resources meant a better life. What I saw suggested something more complex.

Fulfillment, I realized, is not built on comfort alone. It comes from connection, meaning, and feeling supported. In Ethiopia, life includes real challenges, but it also offers a strong sense of belonging. Community is not an idea people discuss. It is something they live.

That does not mean life here is easy. Many Ethiopians, especially in rural areas, live in persistent poverty. Access to stable income, healthcare, and infrastructure remains uncertain. At the same time, a smaller part of the population lives with comfort and stability. The contrast is visible and raises difficult questions about inequality and development.

Still, within that reality, there is a kind of strength that is hard to explain. People endure. They adjust. They find ways to create moments of joy within limitation. That shared experience seems to form a bond that is not easily found in more individual-centered societies.

Just as I reached the point where moving abroad felt like the natural next step, my perspective shifted. I stopped seeing Ethiopia only through what it lacked. I began to see it as part of who I am. The challenges, the beauty, and the contradictions all became personal. I felt a growing sense of responsibility to contribute, to stay present, and to make a difference where I could.

This shift extended into my personal life. I married a man who, like my father, carries a deep love for Ethiopia and prays over it. Together, we are raising a daughter who is already forming her own connection to this place. In our home, there is a shared sense of identity that feels grounded and intentional.

I have seen this connection in others as well, even those who did not grow up here. Foreigners who come for work or short visits often find themselves wanting to stay. Just last week, I had dinner with a foreign couple who had completed their project and were preparing to leave. They were emotional, struggling with the idea of saying goodbye. It stood out to me, especially because they came from a country many Ethiopian youth risk their lives trying to reach.

There are also more difficult stories. I know of a family friend’s son, a young man who left Ethiopia through unsafe routes in search of a better life abroad. What he encountered instead was isolation and disappointment so deep that he could not carry it. He took his own life. His story is painful and not unique. It reflects the gap between expectation and reality that many people experience.

All of this has made one thing clear. No country offers a perfect life. Comfort does not guarantee happiness, and struggle does not erase it. Ethiopia, with all its complexity, holds something deeply human. It offers connection and a reminder that life is shaped not only by what you have, but by who you have and how you live together.

There is still work ahead. Poverty, instability, and limited opportunity require attention and action. At the same time, there is hope. It lives in the resilience of people, in their determination to keep going, and in the belief that change is possible.

Sometimes, the place you once planned to leave becomes the place you choose with clarity. Not because it is easy, but because it is yours. That realization settles quietly, but when it does, it changes everything.

PUBLISHED ON Mar 21,2026 [ VOL 26 , NO 1351]