Moonlight in Zoma

May 17 , 2025. By BEREKET BALCHA ( Fortune Staff Writer )

Zoma is not just a park; it is a rare ecological vision brought to life. Clay houses, long abandoned in modern construction, have been reborn as living spaces in harmony with the land. Cobblestone paths weave through cascading slopes that beckon visitors to linger, to snap photos, to remember. Zoma is proof that coexistence between people, animals, and nature is not only possible, but also deeply nourishing, writes Bereket Balcha.

A leisurely Sunday afternoon at a coffee shop near Mekanisa Abo Mazoria turned into a spontaneous adventure. Over coffee, my friend mentioned a nearby park often described as a nature lover’s paradise, Zoma Museum. I had heard about it in passing and through media coverage but never made the trip myself. The word “museum” seemed slightly misleading for what turned out to be a mostly open-air haven bursting with indigenous vegetation.

We bought our tickets at a small kiosk that doubled as a souvenir stand. The 150 Br entrance fee felt reasonable, though I reserved judgment for after the experience. My first impression was the park’s uneven, sloping terrain, which must have posed challenges for development. A narrow cobblestone path led us in, flanked by raw, wooden handrails and winding walkways.

Immediately, the park’s lush greenery revealed itself. Indigenous plants, carefully landscaped gardens, and vibrant pathways greeted us with fragrant air infused with scents of besobela (Ethiopian basil), ariti (wormwood), coffee, mint, and more. Splashes of color from flowers blanketed the compound like a living tapestry.

What fascinated me most were the fruit trees, guava and avocado, heavy with ripening fruit. Avocados littered the ground beneath one tree, returning nutrients to the soil as natural compost. It was a quiet, self-sustaining ecosystem, beautifully maintained and deeply intentional.

Nearly everything within the compound is crafted from natural or reclaimed materials. Stools, bridges, walls, even the restrooms, are built with wooden frames and clay. The landscape, vegetable nurseries, and pristine gardens bear witness to the insight and care of its founders: Meskerem Assegued, a curator and anthropologist, and Elias Sime, an acclaimed artist.

Young couples, parents with children, and solitary visitors wandered the grounds in quiet reflection. The rustle of dry leaves underfoot, the chirping of birds, and the cracking of tree bark served as a natural soundtrack. There was a shared, unspoken reverence for the place, an oasis for those deprived of their birthright to clean air and serene surroundings.

Everyone I observed appeared calm and joyful. I was reminded how kindly nature treats us, when we treat it kindly. Yet, too often, we defy the balance, disrupting ecosystems and inviting disaster. At Zoma, I was reminded of an alternate path.

A sudden wave of nausea had me searching for a restroom. Expecting a rudimentary setup, I was surprised by the clean, well-lit, and cozy interior. The facilities were simple, yet far better maintained than those in many of Addis Abeba’s more modern establishments, where automatic sensors and “state-of-the-art” toilets often malfunction. Zoma’s restrooms, by contrast, were fully functional and abundant.

In fact, the thoughtful provision of such basic amenities should be a standard for any public facility. Yet in Addis, access to a clean toilet remains a luxury in too many places. Legislating for mandatory sanitation standards in recreational and public spaces would be a major step forward in improving public health and dignity.

Refreshed, we sought a place to rest our legs. The central garden lounge was the perfect retreat, surrounded by towering trees, climbing vines, and wooden stools tucked discreetly among the foliage. We ordered freshly made pineapple and strawberry juices, served cold and generous in portion. Sipping them in this tranquil hideaway felt like indulgence at its finest, as though we had stumbled upon a tropical sanctuary untouched by the rush of city life.

As twilight fell, the compound took on a magical tone. We wandered toward the vegetable nursery, following a cobblestone path alongside gabion stone walls. At the end was a wide garden sloping gently downward. Beside it stood a striking rectangular building with large French windows, stone pillars, and warm amber lighting—evoking the classical charm of Rome’s Pantheon.

Children played on slides while youth somersaulted across the grass. We gave in to the temptation and kicked off our shoes, lying back on the soft lawn. Above us, the moon beamed gently. I was reminded of an old jazz ballad I loved during my university days: Moonlight in Vermont by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong. I played it on my phone. As Ella’s angelic voice intertwined with Armstrong’s husky croon, the atmosphere took on an almost cinematic softness.

Nearby, a clean cattle shed housed a gentle herd chewing their cud under the moonlight, as if listening too.

Zoma is not just a park; it is a rare ecological vision brought to life. Indigenous herbs like flourish here. Clay houses, long abandoned in modern construction, have been reborn as living spaces in harmony with the land. Wooden benches tucked among the gardens offer moments of rest and reflection. Cobblestone paths weave through cascading slopes that beckon visitors to linger, to snap photos, to remember.

Zoma is proof that coexistence between people, animals, and nature is not only possible, but also deeply nourishing. It is a model worth emulating if we are to heal our fractured relationship with the earth.

PUBLISHED ON May 17,2025 [ VOL 26 , NO 1307]

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