Propelled by smartphones and social media, street photography- the art of capturing urban life’s essence—has become a global vernacular. From the socially conscious urgency of North American cities to Europe’s cinematic romanticism, Asia’s fast-paced futurism, and Latin America’s bold visual storytelling, the genre is as diverse as the streets it inhabits.
In the alleys of Addis Ababa, amid the layered rhythm of minibus horns and hurried footsteps, a quiet revolution is unfolding. A new generation of photographers is documenting life as it unfolds: spontaneous, unscripted, and deeply human.From its bustling chaos to contemplative stillness, their images offer intimate portraits of a nation in flux. Street photography here is no longer just an artistic endeavor; it is emerging as a cultural identity.
For Genaye Eshetu, the journey began with an unexpected obsession. “When I got my first camera, I was so obsessed,” she said. “I even fell and broke my elbow trying to save it while shooting on the street.”
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With a background in language, literature, and journalism, photography wasn’t her original path. “I took a media course where photography was just one component,” she recalled. “I started shooting as a hobby. Eventually, it became my full-time job.” Today, Genaye is a humanitarian visual storyteller whose lens captures both urgency and empathy.
Though her primary work lies in humanitarian photography, Genaye’s curiosity led her to street photography about two years ago, often while traveling. One memory stands out: training in Thailand, where she was still recovering from her camera-related fall. “I was learning while bandaged,” she said with a laugh.
Sehin Tewabe, a co-founder of Artawi Gallery, found her way to photography in similarly organic fashion. “I was the family photographer at gatherings when I was a teenager,” she said. What began as a hobby evolved into a calling—and eventually, a livelihood.
From passion project to professional path
As more young creatives turn to photography as a means of storytelling, a lingering question remains: Can it pay the bills? Passion is one thing; sustainability is another.
For Genaye, the answer came gradually. As she shared her work online, interest grew. “People who saw my photos started reaching out, offering to pay me for shoots,” she said. “Eventually, I left my full-time job and committed fully to photography.”
For Sehin, the turning point came in 2015, through the lens of Instagram. “That platform changed everything for me. It’s where I discovered street photography and built a community that shaped my artistic voice.”
Years of freelancing and underpaid assignments later, she co-founded Artawi Gallery in 2022. The space was born out of frustration—her solo exhibition “Ashendiye in Lalibela” had faced multiple rejections. “We didn’t wait for permission; we created the space we needed,” she said.
Since its founding, Artawi has hosted over 13 exhibitions, quickly becoming a haven for emerging artists. “We’re building a space where people feel they belong,” Sehin said.
Today, her prints sell for an average of 3,500 birr (roughly USD 35)—a modest but symbolic breakthrough in a still-nascent market for street photography in Ethiopia.
Turning artistic passion into a sustainable livelihood is a challenge anywhere—but in Ethiopia, where the art market remains nascent and infrastructure limited, the path is particularly steep. Still, a new wave of photographers is carving out space for itself, fueled by determination and digital reach.
Social media has been both a lifeline and a paradox. For photographers like Genaye and Sehin, platforms such as Instagram helped build early audiences and connect globally. “When I got back to Ethiopia, people who had seen my photos online started calling me with offers,” Genaye said. But online visibility does not replace physical validation. That legitimacy, however, is hard-won.
“No, it’s not easy to get your work into galleries,” she added. “The art space here still needs work. We don’t have enough galleries, and access is limited.” Sehin agreed, recalling the early days of Artawi Gallery, which launched with little more than grassroots support. “Friends and artists like Tamerat helped me when spaces said my work wasn’t ‘secular enough,’” she said.
While dedicated photography galleries remain rare, spaces like Studio 11—which focuses on female artists—and Artawi signal a shift. “These spaces show the future is promising,” said Genaye.
Yet the street is not always a neutral canvas. Ethiopia’s long-standing sensitivities around image-making—rooted in decades of reductive portrayals by the international media—still cast a long shadow.
“A single photo has shaped how the world sees this country—as perpetually starving,” Genaye said. “That has made people wary. Peacekeepers and even everyday citizens view photographers with suspicion. You say, ‘Let’s document the change,’ and people get uncomfortable.”
The grit to persist
For women photographers in Ethiopia, these challenges are compounded by gendered expectations and physical demands.
“Carrying gear, traveling on foot—it’s physically demanding,” Genaye said. “You have to be fit. The difference is real.” Then there are societal perceptions. More than once, she and other women have faced not only skepticism but outright hostility. “We’ve had people try to grab our cameras, saying, ‘You can’t do this, you’re women’—even though we were there in a professional capacity.”
Yet gender also opens doors that might remain closed to others.
“In rural areas or sensitive contexts—childbirth, victimization, cultural traditions—women can tell stories other photographers might miss,” Genaye explained. “It gives you access to a different version of the narrative.”
Patience, persistence, purpose
Neither photographer romanticizes the journey. For those hoping to follow in their footsteps, their advice for the next generation is pragmatic:both emphasize process over speed—build slowly and intentionally.
“Once you’re clear about your passion, keep learning,” said Genaye. “Photography requires patience. Experiment. Discover your strength. Identify your niche.”
Sehin stressed consistency and resourcefulness: “Start with what you have—even if it’s a phone. Be visible, be kind, and build real relationships.”
They also urge young photographers to apply for residencies and competitions, both locally and internationally. “There are opportunities,” said Genaye. “But it takes rigorous effort to find and pursue them.”
Despite the hurdles, there is a palpable sense of momentum. “There are more young photographers in Ethiopia now than ever before,” said Genaye.
Street photography, still a fringe practice in the formal art world, is slowly claiming its place—through independent galleries, digital platforms, and grassroots communities.
“It’s more than income; it’s identity,” Sehin said. “And for Ethiopia, it’s more than imagery. It’s memory being built in real time.”
