February 18 (Yekatit 11) was never meant to be an ordinary day in Mekelle, capital of Tigray Regional State. In years past, the city would be transformed by vibrant decorations, grand festivities, and songs of victory. As the most meaningful political anniversary in the region, it marks the 1975 founding of the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) and its armed struggle.
This year, however, Mekelle wore a very different face.
While government offices and banks remained closed as they always do for the holiday, the spirit of celebration was nowhere to be found. There were no colorful decorations and the streets remained strikingly quiet. Instead of the usual jubilant crowds, Mekelle felt like a hushed, ordinary weekend.
Throughout the week, TPLF officials reportedly remain locked in lengthy and unproductive meetings, while the people of Tigray were left in a state of agonizing limbo. A sense of profound uncertainty prevails over the city.
“We truly do not know what will happen from one minute to the next, or what we might wake up to in the middle of the night,” says Timnit Araya, a mother of two living in Mekelle. “Nothing is certain.”
A sense of doubt and anxiety has taken hold of Mekelle’s residents. While a broader business slowdown has left much of the economy, including the hospitality industry, languishing from a lack of visitors, two sectors are overwhelmed by activity though for very different reasons.
These are the transport and banking sectors; while one prospers from a surge in demand, the other greets its clients with nothing but disappointment and frustration.
Commercial bank branches in Mekelle are caught in a frenzy as people scramble to withdraw cash, yet many banks are unable to meet demand owing to a severe liquidity crunch in the region.
ATMs all over Mekelle are plastered with “out of service” signs written on them, while most branches have halted withdrawals entirely and provide only non-cash services. A few private banks, such as the Bank of Abyssinia, continue to issue small amounts, but they have capped withdrawals at 1,000 Birr per week and require lengthy procedures for every transaction.
Even this small sum comes with heavy restrictions. Beyond standard banking paperwork, depositors must sign an agreement acknowledging they cannot withdraw another 1,000 Birr for a full week. Even then, funds are only provided if the branch has cash available.
Over a four-day visit to Mekelle, The Reporter Magazine witnessed several branches declining withdrawals entirely, and heated arguments between frustrated customers and bank staff were a common sight.
Digital payments are surging out of necessity, which is accelerating the move away from cash. This shift is effective not only for large enterprises but also for small-scale retail shops, three-wheeler transport providers, and even micro-businesses such as shoe-shining services.
This transition is perhaps more prevalent in Mekelle than in Addis Ababa, largely due to local mandates.
“At the beginning, there was resistance, but the administration began enforcing online transfers,” one shopkeeper noted.
The safety net, however, does not exist outside of Tigray’s urban centers.
“In smaller towns and rural areas of the region where mobile banking hasn’t taken root, you simply cannot survive on 1,000 Birr a week,” said the shopkeeper.
Fuel prices in Mekelle are nearly double the official rate in Addis Ababa. While a liter of gasoline (benzene) is officially priced at approximately 130 Birr in the capital, it sells for 283 Birr on the black market in Mekelle. The strain is deepened by a severe wage backlog. Many among the region’s civil servants face a worsening struggle, having received no salary disbursements since the start of January.
Like the banks, the transport sector is overwhelmed by residents trying to leave. While this demand has made the industry highly profitable, it is fueled by desperation; many people, especially Tigray’s youth, are fleeing the region for Addis Ababa by any means available.
Unlike trips from Addis Ababa to Mekelle, where plane seats often go unoccupied, flights going the other way are packed to the brim, with passengers often having to book tickets up to 10 days in advance.
The flights are filled with women, children, and families carrying basic household items as they abandon their homes.
To those seeking an alternative way out of danger, road transport offers no relief. Ticket offices are besieged by crowds, yet many remain shuttered because they are fully booked for days.
On February 17, Selam Bus—a carrier known for its safety and reasonable prices—was fully booked for a week, eventually posting a notice stating that tickets were sold out for the following week, until February 24.
While the standard bus fee is normally 3,000 Birr, tickets are sold for up to 6,000 Birr through brokers. Many bus companies operate this way: minibuses charge up to 6,000 Birr, while Land Cruisers and other private vehicles command prices as high as 12,000 Birr.
“During the period when Ethiopian Airlines suspended flights following the conflict in T(s)elemt, a friend of mine transported people for 30,000 Birr each,” said a travel agent in Mekelle.
At Mekelle’s bus station, midnight is a time of intense activity rather than rest. Buses begin their journey to Addis Ababa via the Afar region under the cover of darkness, usually from 11 PM to 1 AM. For security reasons, vehicles do not travel alone; they move in convoys, as even traveling short distances at that hour is risky.
Why Tigray’s Youth are Fleeing
Young people make up a significant portion of those fleeing the region for the capital.
“It is an attempt to escape a war of which they have a very painful recent memory, and to avoid possible forced recruitment,” says Birikti Gidey, whose two cousins left Mekelle abruptly.
“They are under 20 years old. They saw reports on social media about preparations for another war and made their own decision to flee after a brief discussion with us,” says Birikti.
Her cousins vividly recall the previous war in northern Ethiopia: the total siege, the lack of transport, and various atrocities. “They wanted to escape that and ensure it wasn’t repeated.”
Unfortunately, they did not make it to Addis Ababa. They were detained in Dessie, where they remained in the custody of security forces when The Reporter Magazine spoke to Birikti.
“They were detained in Dessie,” she said. “Their ID cards and phones have been confiscated, and they remain under investigation.”
Like many fleeing Tigray, her cousins relied on an informal route controlled by brokers to make their escape. Brokers have become ubiquitous, with most transactions being handled through them rather than via formal channels.
Birikti’s cousins had arranged what they thought would be a direct trip to Addis Ababa in a luxury SUV. Instead, they were funneled into a network resembling a human trafficking operation, which saw them handed off from one minibus that does not carry a permit for long-distance travel to another.
In Dessie, around halfway through their journey, they were intercepted by security forces and had their belongings confiscated, according to Birikti.
To many of Tigray’s young, the risks on the road are worth taking.
“Friends who traveled by bus a few days ago mentioned that border crossings can be unpredictable—especially the route through Wollo in the Amhara region. We’ve also heard the Afar route is heavily militarized and prone to sudden closures. Basically, we’re just taking a chance and hoping for the best,” said another traveler.
This individual was boarding a minibus from Mekelle, fully aware that such vehicles are not legally permitted to travel directly to Addis Ababa.
In contrast, older residents seem more inclined to “wait and see.”
Habtu Guesh, a 46-year-old owner of a small printing business in Mekelle, shared this sense of weary endurance.
“We’ve been hearing rumors of an upcoming war for a long time now. I have reached the point where I treat it like any other news. The psychological warfare is hurting people more than the actual events on the ground,” Habtu told The Reporter Magazine.
Tigray’s DDR Dilemma: Between Disarmament and Despair
Despite various reports of heavy military mobilization by both the federal government and the Tigray Defense Force (TDF) in the region, a significant military presence was not visible within Mekelle itself during The Reporter Magazine’s visit.
On the eastern outskirts of the city lies a camp etched into the memory of many Ethiopians: the former Northern Command (Semen Eiz) headquarters.
This is the site where, according to the federal government, the initial attack occurred in November 2020, sparking the devastating two-year war in the north. Today, the camp serves a more somber purpose. It has become a residence for injured and physically impaired soldiers—men who have lost limbs and live with the permanent scars of battle—where families now come to visit those broken by the previous conflict.
Yet, Tigray remains one of the most heavily militarized regions in the country, but following the 2022 Pretoria Agreement, the Disarmament, Demobilization, and Reintegration (DDR) process officially entered its demobilization phase in November 2024.
Mekelle is one of three primary hubs—alongside Edaga Hamus and Adwa—where demobilization operations were centered.
It has been over two and a half years since the National Rehabilitation Commission (NRC) announced it was preparing 16 camps to rehabilitate those Ex-combatants across eight regions, with 10 located in Tigray.
Of the 371,971 ex-combatants the National Rehabilitation Commission (NRC) aims to demobilize across Ethiopia, Tigray accounts for the vast majority: roughly 72 percent, or approximately 270,000 individuals.
The United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), a key supporter of the initiative, reported in November 2024 that the National Rehabilitation Commission had begun the process for 75,000 ex-combatants in Tigray. However, other reports suggest lower figures, with data on completed demobilizations varying widely across different sources. The commission’s recent report on its part shows that the total number of ex-combatants since the program began implementation is 85,000 nationwide, making the figure for Tigray 63,000.
There is yet another thing that remains unclear: who the DDR is for. DDR is meant to facilitate the transition of former combatants into civilian life while fostering long-term peace and stability. However, the DDR process in the region appears to be taking a selective form. Most ex-combatants interviewed by The Reporter Magazine were either elderly or permanently injured and physically unable to continue their service.
“These ex-combatants receive 90,000 Birr through the DDR project, but from what I’ve seen, it doesn’t work for everyone,” explained one Ex combatant who returned to civilian life voluntarily, forfeiting his potential financial benefits. “I have friends who want to be included in the DDR program, but they aren’t allowed because they aren’t injured. They want to return to civilian life, but they don’t want to do it for free. So, they stay in the ranks, waiting for an opportunity to benefit from the program.”
Haunted by the Past, Fearing the Future
After spending over a year on the Sekota front—a location now reportedly seeing renewed military mobilization—the former Northern War combatant found life unrecognizable upon his return home to Mekelle. The bakery and retail shop he had owned before the war were no longer viable.
“What awaited me was over a year’s worth of rent arrears—an outstanding debt for my housing,” he says. He eventually had to negotiate a settlement with his landlord to clear the balance.
Even then, he faced a massive hurdle in making his bakery operational again. The price of flour had skyrocketed from 700 Birr to over 10,000 Birr per quintal—a staggering 1,300 percent hike. This was largely because the federal subsidies that eased costs before the war had vanished. He now earns a living providing transport services in the city with his three-wheel rickshaw.
“We have been barred from the city center and pushed to the outskirts,” he says.
Yet, he feels fortunate compared to his peers.
“Among the youth I went to the front with, I know many who are living tragic lives with permanent injuries and physical impairments. I have friends who are forced to live in a way where they cannot even take care of their basic needs, relying on adult diapers. That is in addition to the many I know who were killed, leaving their families behind,” he says heavy-heartedly. “And look, it is in this situation that they, the politicians, are warming up for another round of war.”
The silence in Mekelle on Yekatit 11 (February 18) speaks louder than the victory songs of previous years. For the families watching their sons disappear into the hands of brokers and the uncertainty of the road, the fear is not merely of a new conflict, but of a recurring nightmare. They remember the siege, the hunger, and the atrocities of the last war—and in the quiet streets and fully booked flights, they see the same storm gathering once more.
Many residents interviewed by The Reporter Magazine expressed a palpable sense of coldness and resentment toward the TPLF and the current leaders of the regional administration. Some spoke with deep bitterness, blaming them for the prevailing chaos and a catastrophic failure in leadership.
“A sullen silence has taken over the population; they would likely revolt if it weren’t for the heavy suppression,” the ex-combatant noted.
However, this disillusionment is not reserved for regional leaders alone; many of those approached also harbor painful, vivid memories of the federal government’s actions. Throughout the city, the dominant atmosphere is one of profound fear, uncertainty, and a crushing sense of helplessness.
Despite divisive political rhetoric and sensationalist media narratives, a resilient bond of national identity seems to persist among many residents. This tension has even touched the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, a primary unifying force in the country—particularly in regions like Tigray, where Tewahedo Christianity remains the dominant faith.
“We have suffered enough, even from the speeches and actions of religious leaders at Amist Kilo,” one congregant shared. “However, I believe we share one church and one faith. As people of faith, we cannot deny that unity despite these unpleasant circumstances. My hope is that we all find the time to repent and apologize to one another.”
Both the federal government and Tigray leadership continue to trade accusations of military mobilization in their correspondence with international bodies. As Timnit noted, this leaves local residents, once more, in a state of deep uncertainty about what happens next.
