By Zelalem Girma (PhD), Keyir Staff Writer
Every morning, just after the sun nudges past the horizon above Addis Abeba’s sprawling skyline, 51-year-old Yeshareg Sinishaw rises from her modest home in Ferensay Legasion. The mud-and-wood shack she rents for 2,000 Br a month houses not just her fragile belongings but decades of longing and perseverance. Widowed 15 years ago, she has raised two children alone, her son now works at a local furniture shop while her daughter attends a vocational college in the capital.
Yeshareg is among thousands of low-income residents enrolled in the government’s safety net programme, contributing to communal sanitation in exchange for a stipend. “It barely covers rent,” she says, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. After her municipal cleaning duties, she washes clothes and bakes injera for neighbours to make ends meet. Her dream of owning a home, once buoyed by her registration in the 2013 (2005 E.C.) condominium housing scheme, now feels painfully remote.
“I’ve saved only 35,000 Birr,” she says, staring down at her weathered passbook from the Commercial Bank of Ethiopia. “Even if I win the lottery, how will I afford the house?” Her voice cracks with doubt, yet she remains devout. “Only God knows. I still save. Maybe a miracle will happen.” Yeshareg is far from alone.
Hosaena Getnet, a 46-year-old civil servant, lives in a relative’s compound in Bole District with her husband, three children, and a housekeeper. The arrangement is financially manageable, she pays no rent, but emotionally taxing. “I’m grateful, but it’s not freedom,” she told Fortune. “My children can’t even come and go freely. We need a place of our own.”
Registered first in the 2005 (1997 E.C) lottery programme and again in 2013 (2005 E.C.), Hosaena has managed to save about 80,000 Br sporadically, using bonuses and unexpected income. “It’s been 20 years. I’m still saving, still hoping,” she says, her voice both weary and resolute. She pins her hope now not only on public schemes but also on new modalities involving private developers.
Her optimism is cautiously shared by Fikadu Alemu, head of the Construction Sector and deputy director general at the Addis Ababa Housing Development Corporation (AAHDC). In an interview with Fortune, Fikadu acknowledges both the gravity of the housing crisis and the institutional efforts underway.
“Since its inception, the Corporation has built more than 317,000 housing units under various schemes, 10/90, 20/80, and 40/60,” he said. These units, distributed through 14 rounds of lottery for the 20/80 scheme and three for the 40/60 scheme, were meant to democratise home ownership for thousands of Addis residents.
But the reality has been far from ideal. Fikadu pointed to the legacy of inefficiency inherited from the pre-2018 political era. “There was an overreliance on daily labourers, lack of project management, and serious delays,” he said. “After the reform, we were handed nearly 139,000 incomplete units and 56 billion Birr in bond loan debt.”
It took negotiations with the Ministry of Finance and a memorandum of understanding with a commercial bank to finally complete and transfer these units by 2022. Yet the task remains Sisyphean. Over half a million registrants from the 2013 programme still await housing allocation.
Fikadu cites a confluence of challenges, supply chain disruptions, a contracting sector depleted by political instability, and uncoordinated oversight across project sites. Even as units are built, demand outpaces supply at alarming rates, fuelled by urban migration and demographic pressure. https://youtu.be/Qoy3U4ibwSU?si=wuNymfUtrtS98Kx9 .
To mitigate the crisis, the City Administration under Mayor Adanech Abiebie unveiled a six-pronged housing strategy in 2021. It blends legacy housing schemes with new market-based approaches: continuation of the 20/80 and 40/60 models, partnerships with over 30 private developers, including OVID and gift real estate, cooperative housing initiatives for public and private employees, joint venture models based on shareholding, provision of lease land at concessionary rates, infrastructure support for independent developers.
The OVID development in Gelan-Gura, for instance, will see 18,000 of its 60,000 units allocated to government-assigned beneficiaries. Similarly, Gift Real Estate will allot 33pc of its 8,000-unit project to civil servants. Another 13,000 units under construction by Ayat Real Estate in Kasanchis have earmarked 35pc for public use.
“Public-private cooperation is not a substitute but a complement,” Fikadu emphasised. “We continue to play the central role in land provision and infrastructure, while developers bring financing and innovation.”
Sites such as Legehar, Paisa, and Bulgaria Square are now buzzing with activity, with 30pc of the 120,000 total housing units under construction designated for government distribution. High-rise projects at Ginfile and the German site employ 24/7 modern construction models, part of an aggressive strategy to cut delays.
Despite these developments, Fikadu recognises the emotional toll on long-time registrants like Yeshareg and Hosaena. “We urge citizens to keep their savings active. Those who remain consistent will be prioritised. But we also understand the frustration. It’s our mandate to honour these commitments.”
Recent months have seen intensified supervision of developers and site engineers, with a forthcoming launch event anticipated to distribute a new wave of units. The administration’s next fiscal agenda will reportedly centre heavily on urban housing expansion.
Yet for citizens like Yeshareg, faith in institutions has frayed. “I don't think I’ll ever win,” she says. “But I keep saving. Maybe not for me, but for my daughter.”
It is a sentiment that underscores the moral imperative at the heart of Addis Ababa’s housing crisis: while mortar and scaffolding may eventually bridge the supply gap, trust will take longer to rebuild.
In the words of Mayor Adanech, recently addressing city council: “We are not just building homes. We are building dignity.”
For many, dignity starts with a key, a front door, and finally, a place to call home.