When a bride married a teacher in Ethiopia, there was once a song to celebrate her choice: “የኛሙሽራኩሪኩሪ፣ወሰዳትአስተማሪ” — roughly, “Our bride, be proud, be proud, the teacher took her away.” The anonymous teacher who recalled the lyric has spent more than a decade in an elementary classroom. He invokes it wistfully, as a marker of a time when teaching conferred status, security and pride. “Teaching was considered the top profession,” he said. “But today, no one sings pride songs for teachers.”
The contrast, for him, is stark. Once revered as pillars of knowledge and moral guidance, Ethiopia’s white-collar professions — from teachers to doctors to university academics — are struggling to sustain their prestige and, increasingly, their livelihoods. He believes teaching has morphed into a profession weighed down by financial strain and dwindling public regard. The decline is not only symbolic. It is rooted in economics, shifting social perceptions and the day-to-day pressures of survival.
“‘If you want to earn money, don’t be a teacher,’” he said bluntly. He currently teaches eighth-graders, and the message he delivers to his own peers is clear: passion alone no longer sustains a career in education.
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But the satisfaction of shaping minds does little to balance the books. The pressures extend beyond low pay. Students themselves, he has noticed, are increasingly skeptical about the value of education. Combined with rising housing costs, soaring living expenses and stagnant salaries, those attitudes paint a sobering picture for anyone considering the profession. “Payment is a central challenge,” he emphasized. The erosion of societal respect compounds the problem, discouraging the next generation from entering classrooms as teachers. “Society does not encourage children to become teachers,” he added. “There will be students in the future — but possibly not enough teachers.”
The problem of low salaries extends to higher education, where the monthly pay for educators at Ethiopia’s public universities is a mere 8,474 birr for a graduate assistant and only 21,491 birr for a full professor. This is equivalent to approximately USD58 and USD148, respectively.
Entry-level teachers in Kenya for instance earn about USD 250 a month, with senior posts exceeding USD 1,600.
“It’s disheartening to find myself in such a situation,” an assistant Professor at Bahir Dar University told the Reporter Magazine. “Many of my classmates who weren’t academically successful are now in well-paying fields. I, on the other hand, dedicated myself to my studies, became a graduate assistant, and advanced step by step. Yet, our pay is worlds apart.” With a tone of unease, he added, “It’s a thought I know sounds foolish, but I sometimes wish I hadn’t done so well in school.”
The same story echoes in medicine.
Once one of Ethiopia’s most esteemed callings, the medical field is now losing both its luster and its talent to economic pressures. A physician who now works as a real-estate sales consultant explained why he left the hospital. “I stopped practicing medicine is because of the payment, and the working environment, including its work-life balance,” he said. “Also, the relationship with your peers and with your seniors was not pretty much good.”
His journey underscores a troubling paradox. Despite the high social value placed on medical expertise, neither compensation nor working conditions match the years of training required. Asked if his education feels commensurate with his earnings, he replied without hesitation: “No, never. Not even close. Sometimes I ask myself, am I even healthy after learning all those years and then getting paid almost equal to those who took three- or four-month courses? Not even equal — below those who took three or four months.”
The erosion of respect for medicine mirrors the challenges in education. While doctors remain scarce and educated, inadequate pay is steadily undermining their standing. “Even though you’re scarce and even though you have education, if you’re not paid well, people don’t respect you,” the doctor said. “Especially in the earliest times, doctors were really respected. I guess they were paid well. But now…respect is declining, really declining over time.”
Financial pressure has become more than a source of dissatisfaction—it dictates career choices. The doctor-turned-real-estate consultant described the strain of navigating medicine’s early-career realities. “During the last year of medicine, we worked as interns, and the payment we received didn’t go beyond day-to-day expenses,” he said. “Asking your parents for money after they let you study all those years was really difficult.” Teachers face a similar reckoning, enduring meager salaries despite crushing workloads.
Their experiences are echoed in data. A 2023 study by Kassahun Gessesse and PetetiPremanandam, which surveyed academic employees in Addis Ababa’s public and private universities, found widespread dissatisfaction with pay, supervision, promotion opportunities and organizational policies. Although most respondents reported satisfaction with the work itself, overall job satisfaction fell significantly below expected levels.
“Overall job satisfaction across both sectors fell below the expected average, raising serious concerns about the long-term prestige and sustainability of academic professions in Ethiopia,” the authors concluded.
A January 2025 systematic review of health extension workers in Ethiopia drew a similar picture. The study, titled “Health Extension Workers’ Job Satisfaction and Associated Factors in Ethiopia”, attributed regional differences in satisfaction to disparities in the health-care system’s hierarchy, resource allocation, workload, autonomy, workplace environment, salaries and job responsibilities.
Sectoral differences offer nuance. Academics in private universities reported slightly higher satisfaction with pay and supervision, while public university staff valued job security more. Yet across both sectors, financial constraints overshadowed professional fulfillment. Teaching follows the same pattern: intrinsic motivation remains high, but extrinsic rewards lag far behind effort and social expectations.
Salary comparisons sharpen the contrast. Ethiopian doctors and teachers earn between 10,000 and 25,000 birr a month depending on experience, position and location. The monthly salaries for general practitioners and specialists are 10,600 and 12,600 birr, respectively, which translates to roughly USD73 and USD87 at the current official exchange rate.
In Kenya, compensation is far higher: doctors can earn anywhere from USD 1,607 at lower-level facilities to over USD 10,900 at senior levels. Such disparities help explain why Ethiopian professionals migrate or abandon their fields altogether.
The doctor explains he has no plans to return to practicing medicine in Ethiopia. Practicing abroad might be an option, but even that carries a steep price. “Even if you get a scholarship, there are costs for the process, for the ticket. To cover those costs, I would need to save up at least three years of my salaries,” he said.
The shortage of health professionals adds another layer to the crisis. According to recent workforce data, Ethiopia has about 22,366 general practitioners and specialists serving more than 109 million people—roughly one doctor for every 4,902 citizens. Regional disparities are even more stark: Addis Ababa has one doctor for every 474 residents, while in Benishangul-Gumuz the ratio stretches to one for 10,771.
If professionals continue to leave or switch careers, the gap in access to care will only widen.
Even government interventions have yet to reverse the tide. The Federal Civil Service Commission recently announced substantial salary increases for government employees, raising starting pay for bachelor’s degree holders from 6,940 birr to 11,500 birr and boosting top-tier salaries to as much as 39,000 birr.
Systemic pressures, not just individual choices, are eroding the stature of these white-collar professions. A former university lecturer, reflecting on his own experience, saw the decline as part of a broader cultural shift. “There’s a general tendency toward anti-intellectualism, a disdain for knowledge,” he said. “If that’s the case, how can we expect someone to undertake the rigorous study required to become a medical doctor?”
He also spoke bluntly about the arithmetic of survival. “I used to receive a gross salary of over 21,000 birr; my net pay was 14,500 birr,” he recalled. “What can that salary provide? Is it enough for rent, children’s school fees, stationery, a quintal of teff, or a pair of shoes?”
Under such conditions, educators must prioritize survival over quality, compromising the very expertise they are meant to uphold. “Lecturers and teachers cannot focus on educational quality when their primary concern is finding other means to provide for their families,” he said. Workloads are punishing, often extending far beyond official hours. “If you’re lucky, you have to work 24 hours,” he added, describing the strain on even the most dedicated professionals.
Chalachew Berihun, (PhD), a human-resource management expert at the Civil Service Commission, argued that medical professionals should concentrate on their primary jobs rather than side hustles. But he acknowledged the root cause. “Low wages drive professionals to seek alternative income, which in turn reduces their effectiveness in primary roles,” he said. “The solution is better pay to ensure better performance.”
The stakes go well beyond personal hardship. Teachers shape the intellectual foundation of the next generation, while doctors safeguard public health. When these pillars are weakened by low pay, poor working conditions and declining respect, the country’s development suffers. “Teaching is a crucial part of a country’s development and sustainability,” the teacher said. “Challenges should be resolved quickly. Teaching should not be a transitional profession where someone teaches only until they find a better job.”
“If you could afford it, you would consider going abroad,” the doctor-turned-real-estate consultant admitted, highlighting the push and pull between national service and economic survival.
Yet even amid the gloom, there are glimmers of hope. Both educators and medical professionals say proper structural reforms—higher wages, improved work-life balance, and genuine recognition of professional contributions—could restore the appeal of these careers.
For teachers, an enabling environment is essential to keep them in the classroom. “An environment must be created to enable teachers to grow and advance themselves so people will willingly join the teaching profession, and we won’t lose teachers in the future,” the teacher said.
Ethiopia stands at a crossroads. Prestige alone cannot sustain these professions. Compensation, working conditions and societal support must accompany respect. Without them, classrooms may lack teachers and hospitals may lack doctors. The nation risks a future without the very people who educate its children, heal its sick and advance its knowledge.
