It is small enough to rest in the palm of a hand, delicate, golden, and almost weightless. Yet the 19th-century hairpin that arrived in Addis Ababa a few weeks ago carries a history far heavier than its size suggests.
For more than 150 years, it existed elsewhere, passing through private hands, preserved in a velvet-lined box, and detached from the story it once belonged to. It had last been seen in Ethiopia in 1868, in the final days of an imperial court unraveling under war.
Now returned to Ethiopian custody, the hairpin of Empress Tiruwork Wube appears, at first glance, to mark a rare moment of closure. An object taken in the aftermath of the Battle of Magdala has found its way home.
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But its return does not resolve the history it represents.
Instead, it opens broader and more complex questions about how a vast body of Ethiopian cultural heritage, dispersed across continents since the 19th century, is traced, contested, negotiated, and, in rare cases, recovered.
An Object, and the Life It Carries
The hairpin stands out as an object of exceptional craftsmanship. Distinguished by intricate filigree work and an elaborate design, the piece features a decorative upper section with eight bell-like structures dangling from golden chains.
Alula Pankhurst (PhD), anthropologist and son of renowned historian Richard Pankhurst, observes the hairpin is unusually large.
“Many of the others were much smaller,” he told The Reporter Magazine, concluding that “there is no hairpin that is as beautiful as this one in any of the collections.”
The true significance of this hairpin lies in its association with Empress Tiruwork Wube.
Known by the titleItege, traditionally reserved for an emperor’s wife, she was the second and last wife of Emperor Tewodros II, who reigned for 13 years in the mid-19th century. She was also the daughter of DejazmachWube Haile Maryam, a powerful regional ruler during the ZemeneMesafint.
Her marriage to Tewodros followed his military defeat of her father in 1855, a union shaped as much by politics as by circumstance. Such alliances were not unusual at the time, yet the relationship itself was strained.
“Relations between her and Tewodros were never very good,” said Alula, citing that her father remained a prisoner of the Emperor even after their marriage.
Tiruwork’s life took a tragic turn during the British expedition to Ethiopia. After Tewodros’s defeat and subsequent death at Magdala, she and her young son, Prince Alemayehu, were taken into British custody. Already suffering from illness, she grew weaker during the journey toward the Red Sea. She died on May 16, 1868, not long after the march began.
Her story is marked by absence as much as by record.
“There are no photographs of her,” Alula notes. What remains are fragments: written accounts, a few engravings, and objects once in her possession, now held in British institutions. Among them is the hairpin that was returned to Ethiopia in March.
From Imperial Court to Auction Floor
The provenance of the hairpin is unusually well documented. When it resurfaced at auction in Rome, it did so through Bertolami Fine Art, a private auction house dealing in antiquities and fine art. The auction house was acting on behalf of a private consignor, a common practice that further obscures ownership. Such arrangements, where auction houses act on behalf of private owners, often shield the identities of consignors, complicating direct restitution efforts.
The item was accompanied by a presentation box bearing an inscription reading: “hairpin worn by Toronesh, wife of King Theodore, daughter of the King of Tigray, brought from Abyssinia by J. Sinclair, 33rd Regiment, 1868.”
The name “Toronesh” reflects (rather inaccurately) an earlier form of Empress Tiruwork’s name. Crucially, J. Sinclair was the doctor attached to the British regiment that led the assault on Magdala. He later cared for the Empress in the final days of the expedition and her life.
Alula observes the documentation accompanying the hairpin is decisive, pointing to the consistency of names, handwriting, and historical context. It was identified by researchers and heritage observers monitoring international auction catalogues, triggering immediate verification by Ethiopian authorities.
“There is no doubt about its provenance,” he said.
According to the Royal Ethiopian Trust, a non-profit organization founded by Prince Ermias Sahle-Selassie Haile-Selassie to support the preservation and repatriation of Ethiopian cultural heritage, the object traces to Dr. James Sinclair, a surgeon attached to the regiment that led the assault on Magdala.
In a written response to The Reporter Magazine, Prince Ermias Sahle-Selassie stated that the hairpin “fell into his possession in the weeks following the fall of Magdala and the death of Empress Tiruwork during the long march toward the Red Sea coast.”
Yet even with clear provenance, the circumstances of its removal remain unresolved. “We don’t know if he took it when she was ill or died, or whether she gave it to him,” Alula noted.
That ambiguity became part of the negotiation itself. Professor Abebaw Ayalew, director-general of the Ethiopian Heritage Authority, recalled that one argument raised was that the hairpin might have been given as a gift.
Ethiopian officials rejected this interpretation, noting that such a personal ornament would be highly implausible as a formal gift from an empress to a male military doctor, and that Sinclair’s position as a physician placed him in proximity during moments of vulnerability.
Such exchanges highlight that restitution debates are shaped not only by documentation, but by culturally grounded interpretations of plausibility.
Restitution in Practice
For the Ethiopian Heritage Authority, restitution begins with documentation.
“The work has two parts,” Professor Abebaw told The Reporter Magazine. “The first is building an inventory… identifying what we have, in which country, in which location, or in which museum… sometimes this includes items in the hands of private individuals.”
The second is continuous monitoring.
“We have a list of auctioneers that we monitor regularly… we follow what they put out,” said the Director-General. It was through this system that the hairpin was identified when it appeared at auction in 2025, and verification proved decisive.
“Since it was looted at Magdala, we issued a notice for them to stop the auction,” Abebaw explained. The auction house withdrew the item “immediately without hesitation because the country of origin was known.”
Still, structural constraints remain. Auction houses are not required to disclose the identities of private owners, limiting direct engagement. In such cases, recovery depends on intermediaries and negotiation.
More broadly, restitution pathways diverge sharply depending on historical context. Items looted during the Italian occupation fall under binding legal frameworks such as the 1947 Paris Treaty, which enabled the return of major artifacts including the Axum Obelisk, according to Abebaw.
By contrast, objects taken during the Magdala expedition fall outside such legal mechanisms, leaving negotiation as the primary route.
This limitation is compounded by international law. The 1970 UNESCO Convention on illicit trafficking applies only to objects removed after that date, excluding most Ethiopian artifacts taken in the 19th century. As Abebaw explained, this creates a structural gap in restitution efforts and there are ongoing calls to expand the convention’s scope.
Negotiation, Not Resolution
At the point where legal tools end, negotiation begins.
The Royal Ethiopian Trust intervened and secured the hairpin through negotiations with Bertolami Fine Art in Rome, following its withdrawal from public sale. The subsequent acquisition was conducted through the auction house, with donor funding mobilized by the Royal Ethiopian Trust.
“Negotiating the return of these precious artifacts requires patience and strategy, not confrontation and demands,” Prince Ermias Sahle-Selassie told The Reporter Magazine. “More often than not, confrontation results in these items disappearing.”
Instead, he described an approach based on “quiet diplomacy,” emphasizing cooperation over confrontation.
“We made it clear that we wanted the hairpin not for ourselves, but to be returned to the people of Ethiopia,” he added.
Repatriation, he noted, takes multiple forms. “Some are purchases… others take the form of long-term loans, and still others are outright gifts.” The priority he suggested is ensuring that culturally significant objects are accessible to the public rather than “hidden in a basement.”
This approach reflects practical realities, but also exposes a tension.
“Would you buy back your own stolen property?” Professor Abebaw asked. “Knowing it is yours… that is absolutely out of the question.” He warned that purchasing such objects risks legitimizing wrongful ownership.
Yet in practice, constraints often narrow the available options. In the case of the hairpin, its material value introduced additional urgency. As Abebaw explained, the concern was that if the hairpin could not be sold as a heritage object, its material value as gold made it vulnerable to destruction:
“They could melt it down and sell it for its material value alone,” he said, noting that its historical significance could have been permanently lost if reduced to raw metal.
Another major barrier is resistance rooted in precedent. As Abebaw explained, many institutions hesitate to return artifacts because they fear it will “create a precedent” for broader claims. This concern shapes negotiations across museums and private collections, reinforcing a system where returns remain exceptional rather than systematic.
Beyond individual negotiations, the case reflects a wider dispersal of Ethiopian cultural heritage across global collections.
A Fragmented Archive
The hairpin is one among thousands of objects removed during the Magdala expedition. Alula estimates that these artifacts are dispersed across “twenty-seven different museums in the UK,” as well as in other countries.
They include manuscripts, crosses, tabots(replicas of the Ark of the Covenant), royal regalia, and everyday objects, forming a fragmented archive of Ethiopia’s 19th-century history.
Yet the larger challenge lies in what cannot be seen.
“It’s very difficult to know exactly… because we don’t know what there is in private collections,” said the anthropologist.
This creates a reactive system. Objects come up for auction infrequently and often unexpectedly, requiring a rapid response.
“You have to have the money ready… especially if it’s an auction,” said Alula noted, highlighting the importance of timing and financial readiness.
At the same time, recent returns appear to be generating momentum. According to Prince Ermias Sahle-Selassie, increased awareness is prompting some private holders to come forward, acknowledging artifacts in their possession and, in some cases, expressing willingness to return them.
Certain categories of objects are more likely to be returned. Human remains and sacred religious items tend to generate stronger moral consensus, making them easier to recover than other forms of cultural property.
After Return: Rebuilding the Narrative
At the National Museum of Ethiopia, the hairpin will form part of a dedicated exhibition space for restituted heritage.
“Rather than just placing an object and a caption… we need to build a narrative,” Abebaw told The Reporter Magazine. The aim is to present not only the artifact itself, but the story of its displacement and return.
The exhibition will also acknowledge those involved in these efforts. “It carries a good message for people and encourages others,” he added.
The hairpin’s return is part of a broader process. The RET confirmed it has also secured a 19th-century shield linked to Magdala, which will be displayed alongside the hairpin in a newly created exhibition space at the National Museum, where restituted artifacts are being curated for public display.
More than 70 artifacts have been returned to Ethiopia in recent years through negotiation, voluntary return, and diplomatic engagement, as Abebaw notes.
In many cases, discoveries originate from individuals. As Abebaw emphasized, tips from Ethiopians abroad have played a crucial role in identifying artifacts and initiating negotiations. Heritage protection, he stressed, is a shared responsibility between the state and its citizens.
An Unfinished Return
The return of Empress Tiruwork Wube’s hairpin marks a rare success. Yet it also underscores how much remains unresolved.
Most artifacts taken from Magdala remain abroad. Legal frameworks offer limited recourse. Private markets remain opaque. And restitution continues to depend on chance discovery, rapid response, and negotiated compromise.
In this context, the hairpin is less an endpoint than a case study.
It demonstrates that recovery is possible but also that it is contingent, shaped as much by present-day systems as by historical claims.
The object now rests in Addis Ababa, soon to be displayed within a carefully constructed narrative space. It will be seen not only as an artifact of beauty, but as a witness to loss, to survival, and to an ongoing effort to bring history home.
