Ethiopia, Somaliland 2025 – The New Humanitarian, RSI
Negesu, 60, is a farmer in a small village nestled among the hills of West #Arsi, Oromia, Ethiopia. Like many here, his life is simple—hard work in the fields and tending to livestock. But for months, his heart has been heavy. Two of his sons vanished overnight, only to resurface later, calling from Somaliland. Their goal? Reaching Saudi Arabia to find work and change their family’s fate.
“They told me they needed more money for the ‘Dallaalaa’ (trafficker), or they’d be stuck—who knows what could happen to them,” Negesu recalls. He sold cattle to save them. Now, one of his sons, Abdelfattah, is in Yemen. He clutches a photo as he speaks.
Just a few houses away, Bonsai shares a similar story. “My sons, Ramato and Hussein, ran away one by one in the night, leaving everything behind. I haven’t seen them for so long… I don’t know if I ever will.”
Her other son, Muse, adds: “They showed up calling us from Somalia. They were stuck along the #migration route” As he searches his phone for the number of one of the traffickers he spoke to, he explains: “Life here is hard. My brothers are convinced by the idea that in the Gulf countries, you can change your life”
Tens of thousands of young Ethiopians take the dangerous Eastern Migration Route each year, hoping for a better future. From the Arsi zone alone, over 10,000 set off annually, according to local authorities. The elder Hussein Badanso, Abba Gadaa (a senior leader in #Oromo culture), speaks with resignation:
“It is a reality. There are conflicts in Oromia and to the north in Amhara. Life costs more and more, there is a lack of jobs and opportunities because the land is not enough for everyone. The motto is: ‘Either you go to Saudi Arabia, or you go to the grave.’”
For the poorest, the #Somalia route is often the only option—a perilous path controlled by jihadist groups like Al Shabaab and the Islamic State. Many migrants are imprisoned, exploited or forced to radicalize along the way. Moreover, while shipwrecks off Djibouti are widely reported, what happens in #Somaliland and #Puntland, off Bosasso, remains almost a mystery.
Yasin has just returned to his village, a few dozen kilometers from Dire Dawa, after a two-year ordeal. Hoping to transform his family’s future, he embarked on a treacherous journey through Somalia and Yemen to reach Saudi Arabia. But soon after arriving, he was arrested in a raid.
“I spent nine months in prison in horrific conditions—300 people crammed together, treated like cattle. Anyone who complained was beaten.”
Repatriated by Ethiopian authorities, he still holds onto his crumpled Laissez-Passer—a painful reminder of his journey.
Abdoulkadir, from Harar, shares a similar fate. After paying smugglers to reach the Saudi border, he and hundreds of others faced gunfire from Saudi police. “We ran for our lives, stepping over dead bodies.” He was later arrested, deported, and sent back to Ethiopia.
Despite the trauma, some migrants are already thinking of trying again. “There’s a belief that Saudi Arabia is heaven, but in reality, there’s only slavery,” says Fitsum Gashaw, a psychologist working with returnees for CIFA NGO.
At the bus station in Dire Dawa, young men continue to leave, taking the Eastern Migration Route—a path traveled by over 200,000 Ethiopians in 2024 alone.
Many opt for the longer, riskier route through Somalia to avoid detection by Ethiopian authorities. “If you don’t have enough money or want to avoid being tracked, Somalia is the way,” says Petros (name changed), who fled conflict in Amhara after being labeled a FANO supporter.
Adame, another young man from Amhara, knows this struggle too well. His mother and sister were killed in retaliation because his brother is a FANO rebel. He made it to Somaliland but ran out of money before reaching Puntland. Now, he works as a greengrocer’s helper in Hargeisa, saving up for another attempt.
“I know I’ll risk my life more than once. But there’s nothing left for me in Ethiopia.”
Small groups of boys and men walk under the scorching sun of Somaliland’s desert, making their way to Hargeisa, then Berbera, before heading back down to Las Anod and into Puntland. Up to that point, the journey is relatively safe—just avoid the checkpoints and Somaliland police. They travel entirely on foot, carrying nothing but a few personal belongings wrapped in plastic bags.
They are all Ethiopians following the Eastern Migration Route. They aim to eventually reach Saudi Arabia for better job opportunities.
Most migrants take the shorter route through Djibouti, but an increasing number choose to pass through Somaliland and enter Puntland to attempt the crossing from the port of Bosasso. Last year, more than 54,000 migrants took this path.
The journey is cheaper and faces fewer controls, but it is significantly longer, exhausting, and dangerous. Migrants rely on several traffickers who often resort to torture and blackmailing families for ransom. In Puntland, they face threats from Al-Shabaab and ISIS. The Gulf of Aden crossing is especially dangerous, with shipwrecks common and no rescue services.
Somaliland, an unrecognized state that declared independence from Somalia 34 years ago, stands as an unusual geopolitical exception along the journey. Ethiopian migrants pause in its major cities, taking on jobs to save money before moving forward.
In Hargeisa, they work in bustling markets as street vendors, car washers, or construction laborers. In Berbera, home to a crucial commercial port, security is too tight for traffickers to risk departures across the Gulf of Aden. Migrants can only stand on the beaches, looking out at the Indian Ocean—many seeing the sea for the first time in their lives.
During Ramadan, Berbera is a calm place to pray and rest. In the decadent historic center, if they keep a low profile and are not noticed by the military, they find brief moments of peace working in the fish market or as carpenters while making contact with the traffickers. But the respite never lasts. The journey must go on.
