Maidimu, Ethiopia – Like many people from Ethiopia’s Tigray region, Fesseha has seen her life torn apart and pieced back together. She has lived through war, hunger and the loss of the land that once sustained her family. Displacement has taken homes and scattered families, yet not the faith or memories she carries.
Maidimu, much more than rows of shelters
The story of Maidimu, a site for internally displaced persons in the northwestern part Tigray, ends where it began: with the wisdom of its elders, who hold together the threads of identity and tradition. Amid the rows of shelters and the rhythm of daily chores, the elders remind younger generations that displacement does not erase identity. They embody patience, offering perspective and guidance, showing that even in uncertainty, roots can still hold. At the same time, the situation for those displaced in Maidimu is increasingly dire, caught between the bleak prospects of safely returning to their homes and the dwindling humanitarian aid reaching the camps due to severe funding shortfalls.
‘I thank God that I’m still here. It was my time to rest, but we don’t always get what we want,’ says Abate, sitting quietly with prayer beads moving gently through his fingers.
He has lost his home and community, but not his faith.
‘We share everything here, from the smallest to the biggest things in our lives,’ says Elifey, displaced since 2013 and living at Maidimu for the past 11 months. At the camp, and across Tigray, the EU’s partner International Organization for Migration (IOM) delivers life-saving assistance including shelter, food, health care, drinking water and other essential services.
In one corner of the site, scraps of fabric, laughter, and conversation weave into a kind of home. Selling handcrafted goods brings income, but more than that it restores pride and preserves culture.
‘This is the only place we can truly feel at home, where we can be ourselves.’
A dream edges closer
‘I left my home 4 years ago,’ says Fesseha.
In 2015, after a 16-day trek across arid terrain, she gave birth on the side of the road – no shelter, no midwife, no support.
Displacement eventually brought her to Maidimu, where she has been longing for home ever since. Amid all this upheaval, one change made daily life easier: water. A new station eased the burden, turning long, risky walks into shorter, safer routines.
‘Without it, we would still be carrying water from far away. It was unbearable.’
Whispers of home
‘I used to enjoy listening to the radio,’ says Gebremedhn. ‘You hear both good and bad news. My radio is more than a friend to me.’
Displaced to the Maidimu site, Gebremedhn retreats into solitude with his radio. While others gather to talk, he spends long hours alone, tuning in for the news. His deepest hope, he says, is to one day hear: Prepare yourselves to return to your homeland; tonight will be the last night you spend in this site.
Clouds of uncertainty
‘I have 10 children,’ says Mebrat. ‘But now we are all separated. My family is in Sudan and I’m here alone with only 1 child. The loneliness is overwhelming.’
She once farmed more than 20 hectares, harvesting season after season. Now her fields lie empty. In Maidimu, she keeps her hands busy, threading cotton with quiet patience under the shade of a single cloud.
