By Thomas Araya Ethiopian Tribune columnist

In Addis Ababa’s financial district, optimism hums beneath the din of economic anxiety. For the first time in modern memory, Ethiopia’s gold exports have outshone coffee, generating a record-breaking $3.5 billion over the past fiscal year, more than doubling the nation’s traditional top earner and igniting talk of a possible turnaround for the battered birr. Supporters of Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed’s administration hail the surge as proof that the country’s reforms are beginning to bear fruit, whilst critics, both at home and in the diaspora, warn that the glitter of gold may mask deeper fragilities in Ethiopia’s economic core.

At the heart of the story lies a paradox. The birr, floated in late July as part of the Government’s IMF-supported liberalisation programme, promptly lost nearly two-thirds of its value. Prices of essentials soared, foreign reserves dwindled, and the public’s purchasing power eroded almost overnight. Yet even as households struggled, the state’s coffers began to refill not with coffee or aid, but with bullion. The resumption of operations at Midroc Gold Mine Plc, once paralysed by environmental disputes, and a new incentive scheme rewarding artisanal miners for legal exports, have propelled Ethiopia into the ranks of Africa’s top gold exporters almost by accident.

The transformation has been nothing short of dramatic. Just two years ago, Ethiopia’s gold sector was mired in controversy and underperformance. Illegal mining operations flourished whilst formal producers struggled with regulatory uncertainty and environmental challenges. The Midroc mine, which accounts for a substantial portion of current output, had been shuttered following protests over ecological damage and community displacement. Artisanal miners, who have extracted gold from Ethiopian soil for generations, operated largely outside official channels, smuggling their findings across porous borders to fetch higher prices in neighbouring markets. The Government estimates that for every dollar of gold officially exported before the reforms, perhaps three dollars’ worth left the country illicitly.

The turnaround came through a combination of pragmatism and necessity. Faced with a foreign exchange crisis that threatened to paralyse imports of fuel, medicine, and essential foodstuffs, the Government moved to regularise and incentivise the gold trade. New regulations offered artisanal miners guaranteed prices tied to international rates, tax exemptions for declared production, and simplified licensing procedures. For the first time, small-scale miners could operate legally without navigating a labyrinth of bureaucracy or risking confiscation of their livelihoods. The response exceeded all projections. Within months, thousands of miners had registered, and gold began flowing into official channels at unprecedented volumes.

Government loyalists describe this as the beginning of an “Ethiopian monetary reawakening”. A senior economic adviser in Addis Ababa called it “proof that domestic resources can replace dependency on loans and conditional aid”. They point to the improved fiscal outlook, with the gold windfall strengthening Ethiopia’s hand in ongoing eurobond restructuring talks and reducing pressure on the central bank to borrow from abroad. The adviser noted that gold revenues have already enabled the Government to meet critical debt service obligations that would otherwise have triggered default, preserving Ethiopia’s access to international capital markets at a crucial juncture.

Amongst sections of the Ethiopian diaspora, particularly in London, Washington and Dubai, the mood is cautiously hopeful. One economist based in Europe argued that the Government’s pivot to gold could mark “a quiet but significant shift from commodity dependence to reserve leverage”. They explained that, if managed with discipline, Ethiopia could follow the lead of emerging powers such as China, which have used gold not just as a hedge against inflation but as a strategic tool to reassert monetary independence. Historical precedent offers both encouragement and warning: nations from Turkey to Russia have built gold reserves to insulate themselves from currency shocks and geopolitical pressure, yet success has depended critically on institutional strength and policy consistency.

Indeed, the global context favours such ambition. Across Asia and the Global South, a movement is under way to re-anchor currencies in gold, challenging the hegemony of the US dollar. China’s so-called “gold corridor”, a network of vaults and exchanges linking BRICS nations, is designed to enable trade and lending in yuan backed by physical gold. By repositioning gold as a Tier 1 financial asset under Basel III regulations, Beijing and its allies are attempting to rewrite the rules of global finance, shifting trust away from paper money and towards tangible, finite reserves. The implications extend far beyond trade settlements. Central banks globally are accumulating gold at rates not seen since the collapse of Bretton Woods, driven by concerns over currency debasement, sovereign debt levels, and the weaponisation of dollar-denominated payment systems.

For Ethiopia, whose foreign exchange woes stem in part from chronic overreliance on the dollar, this global turn towards bullion-backed systems offers both opportunity and peril. Some analysts suggest that the country could, in time, leverage its reserves as collateral for infrastructure investment through new mechanisms such as the BRICS New Development Bank, bypassing traditional Western lenders. Others, however, warn that the path to such autonomy is strewn with institutional pitfalls. Ethiopia’s financial infrastructure remains underdeveloped, its regulatory framework fragmented, and its vulnerability to external shocks acute. The country lacks the sophisticated banking sector, transparent governance structures, and diversified economy that have enabled nations such as Singapore or the United Arab Emirates to transform commodity wealth into enduring prosperity.

One diaspora commentator cautioned that “gold can strengthen a currency, but it cannot fix governance”. They argued that unless Ethiopia invests in robust monetary management, transparency, and anti-corruption oversight, the newfound wealth could easily dissolve into political patronage and capital flight. This sentiment is echoed by domestic economists in Addis Ababa, who privately concede that Ethiopia’s gold boom has so far been more about short-term liquidity than long-term transformation. They point to the absence of a coherent national strategy for deploying gold revenues, the continued weakness of key institutions, and the risk that windfall gains will be consumed by recurrent expenditure rather than invested in productive capacity.

Within the ruling Prosperity Party, however, there is pride in having turned crisis into momentum. Party officials argue that the Government has learnt from the painful liberalisation process — acknowledging the turbulence but insisting that a market-responsive exchange rate is necessary for sustainable growth. One insider described the new gold revenues as “a lifeline that allows Ethiopia to pay for imports and stabilise the birr whilst reforms take root”. They emphasise that the revenue stream has bought time for deeper structural adjustments, including subsidy reforms, state enterprise restructuring, and financial sector modernisation, to take effect without triggering social unrest or economic collapse.

Critics counter that this optimism risks overlooking the structural contradictions of Ethiopia’s economic model. The same IMF programme that encourages export-led growth also imposes constraints on state intervention, limiting the Government’s room to channel gold revenues into industrial expansion. Moreover, the benefits of the rally are yet to trickle down to ordinary Ethiopians, who face rising living costs and unemployment. Urban workers report that their salaries, whilst nominally increased, have failed to keep pace with inflation. Small businesses struggle with imported input costs that have tripled or quadrupled since the currency float. The social contract between state and citizen, already frayed by years of conflict and political tension, faces new strains as inequality widens and expectations of reform dividends go unmet.

The question now confronting policymakers is not how much gold Ethiopia can export, but what it will do with it. Should the reserves be held as a strategic buffer, reinvested into productive industries, or integrated into a broader bid for regional monetary independence? Each path carries distinct risks and rewards. Holding reserves offers stability and insurance against future shocks but forgoes potential returns. Investment in manufacturing or agriculture could generate employment and diversify the economy but requires institutional capacity Ethiopia may not yet possess. Pursuing monetary independence through gold-backed instruments offers sovereignty but risks isolation if mismanaged.

In a world where gold is once again the arbiter of trust — where China uses bullion to build an alternative financial order and the US tightens its grip on its own reserves — Ethiopia stands at an inflection point. The choice is not between East and West, but between vision and complacency. The Government’s ability to navigate this moment will depend on whether it can build consensus around a coherent economic vision, strengthen institutions to manage complexity, and demonstrate to a sceptical public that today’s sacrifices will yield tomorrow’s prosperity.

As one Ethiopian scholar from the diaspora put it: “Gold gives you credibility, but only good governance turns it into sovereignty”. Whether Ethiopia’s leaders can make that leap will decide if today’s gold fever becomes tomorrow’s economic foundation — or another mirage in the long desert of African promise. The answer, like the country itself, remains suspended between possibility and doubt, awaiting the choices that will define a generation.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

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By Ethiopian Tribune columnist Sewasew Teklemariam  

Whilst the rest of the world dutifully follows Pope Gregory XIII’s 442-year-old decree, Ethiopia continues to march to the beat of its own chronological drum, and frankly, good on them. As Adey Abeba flowers burst into their golden glory across the Ethiopian highlands this September, they herald not just the arrival of 2018! yes, you read that correctly, but the enduring rebellion of a nation that looked at Western calendar imperialism and said, quite simply, “no thank you.”

The Ethiopian calendar, with its delightfully obstinate thirteen months and its charming refusal to acknowledge that Christ was born when everyone else thinks he was, stands as perhaps the last bastion of temporal sovereignty in an increasingly homogenised world. Whilst other nations eventually capitulated to Gregorian pressure, England held out until 1752, spawning actual riots over “stolen” days! Ethiopia never even entertained the notion. One imagines Pope Gregory XIII spinning in his grave every September as millions of Ethiopians cheerfully celebrate their New Year whilst the rest of us trudge through autumn.

This isn’t mere stubbornness, though one could hardly blame them if it were. The Ethiopian calendar rooted in the Bahere Hasab, or “Sea of Thoughts”, a rather more poetic name than anything the Gregorians managed. It operates on a cosmological framework that places divine promise at the centre of temporal measurement, calculating 5,500 years from Adam and Eve’s expulsion from Eden to Christ’s birth. If you’re going to count time, the logic seems to suggest, you might as well do it properly.

Yet this beautiful defiance faces modern threats that would make Gregory XIII’s papal bulls seem positively benign. Today’s calendar colonisation arrives not through papal decree but through the insidious influence of global standardisation and, rather more troublingly, through domestic actors who seem eager to surrender this magnificent inheritance for the sake of international conformity.

Protestant leaders, apparently determined to drag Ethiopia kicking and screaming into Western temporal submission, have begun questioning the wisdom of maintaining a calendar system that predates their own theological traditions by centuries. One wonders whether they’ve considered the irony of attempting to protestantise a calendar that existed long before Rome had any say in the matter, but historical awareness has never been the strong suit of zealous reformers.

The assault on Ethiopia’s chronological independence extends far beyond religious pressure. State television and radio, funded by Ethiopian taxpayers who presumably expect their institutions to serve Ethiopian interests, have become virtual advertising playgrounds for corporate sponsors during Enkutatash celebrations. The sublime irony of watching multinational corporations hawk their wares during a festival that celebrates Ethiopia’s refusal to bow to foreign influence appears lost on programme directors. These same corporations, one suspects, would rather Ethiopia abandon its inconvenient calendar altogether, imagine the administrative headaches of dealing with a nation that insists on celebrating New Year in September and operates on an entirely different year altogether.

The Gregorian calendar’s triumph wasn’t merely about astronomical accuracy, though the ten days that vanished in October 1582 certainly helped realign Easter with the spring equinox. It was about power, pure and simple. Catholic nations obeyed immediately; Protestant regions delayed for centuries; Orthodox territories resisted longer still. The calendar became a weapon of cultural conquest as effective as any army. Nations that adopted it acknowledged papal authority and Western supremacy, whilst those that resisted faced increasing isolation from international commerce and diplomacy.

Ethiopia’s quiet rebellion against this temporal tyranny represents something far more significant than calendar preference. In an age when global standardisation threatens to flatten cultural distinctiveness into profitable uniformity, Ethiopia’s insistence on maintaining its own rhythm of time serves as a masterclass in civilisational confidence. The country didn’t simply resist the Gregorian calendar, it preserved something infinitely more valuable: the right to measure its own existence according to its own cosmic understanding.

Consider the global implications of this temporal independence. International organisations must accommodate Ethiopia’s calendar in their operations. Airlines adjust schedules, embassies plan accordingly, and multinational corporations, much to their evident frustration, must navigate the delightful complexity of doing business with a nation that operates on different temporal assumptions altogether. Ethiopia forces the world to bend, rather than bending itself to the world’s convenience.

The annual blooming of Adey Abeba flowers during Enkutatash carries profound symbolism that extends far beyond seasonal celebration. These golden blooms, appearing with clockwork precision just as Ethiopians welcome their new year, seem to mock the arbitrary nature of Gregorian New Year festivities. Whilst the rest of the world celebrates renewal in the depths of winter, Ethiopia’s new year arrives with nature’s own fanfare, a cosmic wink suggesting that perhaps they’ve been keeping time correctly all along.

The flower’s ephemeral beauty mirrors Ethiopia’s calendar itself: precious precisely because it refuses to conform, valuable because it maintains independence in a world drunk on standardisation. Each September, as Adey Abeba carpets the highlands in defiant yellow, it serves as nature’s reminder that some things simply cannot and should not be homogenised for the convenience of global commerce.

Yet the forces arrayed against Ethiopia’s temporal sovereignty grow stronger each year. Protestant missionaries, armed with the peculiar conviction that spiritual salvation requires calendar submission, continue their campaign to drag Ethiopia into chronological conformity. Corporate sponsors, frustrated by the inconvenience of accommodating Ethiopian exceptionalism, exert subtle pressure through their monopolisation of state media during the very celebrations meant to honour Ethiopia’s independence.

The state broadcasting institutions, funded by Ethiopian citizens who presumably expect their taxes to support Ethiopian culture rather than subsidise foreign corporate interests, have become willing accomplices in this cultural erosion. The spectacle of watching multinational brands dominate Enkutatash programming whilst Ethiopian calendar traditions are relegated to brief ceremonial mentions represents a particularly galling form of neo-colonial appropriation.

Perhaps most perniciously, the campaign against Ethiopia’s calendar arrives wrapped in the language of progress and modernity. Adopting the Gregorian system, advocates suggest, would facilitate international business, ease diplomatic coordination, and demonstrate Ethiopia’s commitment to global integration. Such arguments reveal a profound misunderstanding of what Ethiopia’s calendar represents: not an obstacle to modernity but a testament to the possibility of indigenous modernity that doesn’t require cultural surrender.

Ethiopia’s calendar stands as living proof that there are multiple ways to measure time, multiple frameworks for understanding cosmic order, and multiple paths to engaging with the modern world without abandoning one’s civilisational foundations. In an era when cultural homogenisation masquerades as progress, Ethiopia’s temporal independence offers a radical alternative: the possibility of being fully modern whilst remaining authentically oneself.

The annual celebration of Enkutatash, therefore, represents far more than New Year festivities. It constitutes an act of civilisational defiance, a rejection of the assumption that modernity requires cultural capitulation, and a celebration of the radical notion that some things are worth preserving simply because they are ours. As Adey Abeba flowers bloom across Ethiopia this September, they herald not just the arrival of 2018 but the enduring possibility of cultural sovereignty in an age of aggressive uniformity.

Long may Ethiopia continue to keep its own time, if only to remind the rest of us that the emperor of standardisation wears no clothes, and that some forms of resistance are as beautiful and essential as flowers that bloom precisely when they choose to, regardless of what the rest of the world’s calendars might suggest.

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As the brutal war in Tigray winds down, the Ethiopian Army continues to reinforce it’s capabilities to be better prepared for the next conflict, likely with Egypt of Sudan.

Ethiopia has purchased at least 32 Chinese-made SH-15 (PCL-181) self-propelled howitzers.

The PCL-181 is a Chinese truck-mounted,155 mm self-propelled howitzer used by the People’s Liberation Army Ground Force.

This artillery system is highly mobile and can self-deploy over long distances. It is light enough to be airlifted by most medium transport aircraft including C-295, C-130, and Y-9 or similar military transport aircraft, making it a more flexible option for a country’s rapid reaction units.

Unit price of the SH-15 is around $2.1 million judging from the Pakistani export order.

The truck-mounted SH-15 (PCL-181) artillery system is fitted with a 155 mm gun-howitzer. Most likely it is a modified ordnance of an AH-2 155 mm/L52 howitzer. It is compatible with all standard 155 mm NATO ammunition, as well as indigenous ammunition developed by NORINCO. So this howitzer can use a wide variety of different ammunition. This artillery system is capable of direct and indiret firing. Maximum range of fire could be up to 53 km with a rocket-assisted V-LAP projectile.

The 32 Chinese-made SH-15 (PCL-181) self-propelled howitzers may have likely been purchased for the Tigrayan conflict however, they are arriving to late to participate. They will now provide important fire support capabilities to the Ethiopian forces in case of another conflict.

Souring relations between Khartoum, Cairo, and Addis Ababa over a disputed border region continues to be a source of potential conflict.

The three countries have also been at loggerheads over the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam (GERD), in a regional dispute that involves Egypt.

On the other hand, Ethiopia which was gearing up for a major confrontation with Egypt -Africa’s major military power over the GERD dam project, now has to contend with Sudan’s assault on its territory.

In the most recent escalation, Ethiopian Air Force (EAF) in July last year scrambled multiple fighter jets in response to an incursion by Sudanese ground troops in the border region.

Sudan and Ethiopia forces had clashed at the disputed al-Fashaga border after the attack that killed seven soldiers.

Sudan said that it fired heavy artillery and recaptured several of its territories that were being held by the Ethiopian army. “Sudan’s army fired long-distance artillery” said Assefa Ashege, a senior security official in Ethiopia’s Amhara region.

The unrest is caused by a quarrel over al-Fashaqa, where the northwest of Ethiopia’s Amhara region meets Sudan’s Gedaref state which has been settled by Ethiopian farmers for decades.

In 2021, Sudanese authorities confiscated a large shipment of arms arriving from neighboring Ethiopia, in Khartoum International Airport.

The shipment of 72 boxes reportedly contained weapons and night-vision binoculars.

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Ethiopian Airlines announced the resumption of flights to Mekelle, Tigray, beginning tomorrow. It is a decision made just a day after a federal government delegation, including Mesfin Tassew, CEO of Ethiopian Airlines, traveled to Mekelle, Tigray’s capital, to meet with officials of the Tigray People Liberation Front-led administration in the region to discuss the implementation of the peace deal signed between Tigrayan combatants and the federal government.

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